Clutching the remnants of Joss's dress like a lifeline, John climbed out of the Uber and slowly walked to the library. Upon arrival, he took the stairs, which were littered with books and the pages therefrom. As soon as he reached the small vestibule that led to the makeshift office he spied Finch sitting at his desk looking at the many live computer monitors spewing forth data unintelligible to anyone but himself. John quickly checked his watch, 5:17 a.m.

"You're in early this morning", John said, gingerly.

"I might say the same about you, Mr. Reese", Finch said. "I see that you have upgraded your work attire considerably", he added after taking in John's appearance.

"I'm just coming from Joss's place after the gala. No new numbers?" He walked over to their board which was mercifully empty.

"Not at the moment Mr. Reese." After a few moments Finch said, "I take it that things did not go as you had hoped with the Detective."

John huffed. "That's an understatement.'

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Reese."

John, now seated by the windows with Joss's dress draped across his knees, looked at Finch quizzically. "Did you know?"

"Pardon?"

"About Almeida, did you know?"

"What I know, Mr. Reese, is that you insisted that I stay out of your personal affairs, and that you forbade me to discuss the Detective with you in any non-work capacity. I performed in accordance with your wishes."

"You were to keep her safe, Finch. Regardless."

"Yes, and I conducted a thorough investigation into Senor Almeida to be certain that he posed no threat to Detective Carter and that he is as he claims." Finch paused. "I did try to warn you, John."

John hanged his head, feeling pity for himself. "I know you did Finch. None of this is your fault. Sorry."

Finch glanced at the monitors and stated, "You have the detective's dress from last night."

John looked up again. "You saw her? She was magnificent in it, wasn't she?"

"Yes, John, she was. What are you going to do with it?" Finch wanted to know much more, like how John acquired the dress in the first place, and why it was in tatters in the second place, but he didn't want to press his luck.

John stood and approached Finch, dress again in hand. "It was accidentally ripped and I thought maybe you could work your magic on it." He held out the pieces of the garment which Finch gently took. "I will do my best."

"You always do, Harold, you always do. But listen, I'm going Io the back for some shut eye. You'll let me know if anything comes up?", John asked, suppressing a yawn.

"Of course, Mr. Reese. Get some rest."

With that, John turned and headed for the spare bedroom off the back hallway. Once inside he stripped off his dress shoes, jewelry, underwear and tux and hopped into the shower. He lowered his head under the jets and allowed the hot water to massage his body, burdened by worries about Jocelyn. Oh, by now, John knew that Almeida wasn't a threat to her, but he was a threat to John's very existence. A threat to be overcome and eradicated – but how? Turning off the water, he quickly dried off, pulled a fresh pair of boxer briefs from the small dresser, and collapsed into a fitful sleep onto the double bed.

Back at the computer monitors, Finch worried about his friend. The situation with Jocelyn had the potential to drive John completely off the rails. John had been there previously – Finch had seen it first hand, and he certainly did not want that for his friend again, though the present situation had been of John's making. The solution was so simple! If only Mr. Reese would allow himself to be loved for the fine deserving man that he was! Finch prayed it wasn't too late.

Several hours later, Finch knocked quietly on the doorway to John's bedroom. "We have a number, Mr. Reese."

"Be right there Finch." John quickly rose, went to the bathroom for carry out a quick toilette, then dressed in one of the standard black suits he kept there. He soon entered the office area.

"What do we have Finch?"

"Kareem Wilson-Meade, age 7. Lives with his parents in Harlem."

"He's clearly not a perpetrator. Is he in danger from his parents?"

"Not sure – perhaps you should call Detective Fusco on this one", Finch replied.

"Text me the family's address. I will call Fusco on the way." John rushed to the underground garage, selected a non-descript vehicle and headed to the Harlem address Finch sent him.

Five and a half days later, John stood near the Wilson-Meade home as Fusco wrapped up the case, brought to a successful conclusion. Turns out that the boy was targeted for kidnap by two enterprising high school students who demanded $500 for the boy's return.

As the police were preparing to leave the scene, John surreptitiously motioned to Fusco, who then met him around the corner from the home. "How's Carter?", John asked.

Fusco couldn't believe his ears. "You're kiddin' me, right? You're askin' me about Carter? You threatened me with bodily harm if I mentioned her name to you, now you're askin' me how's Carter? Wait – I get it – you must have heard about her lover boy." Fusco grinned broadly, enjoying John's obvious discomfort.

"You're supposed to be watching out for her", John snapped.

"She's my partner and my friend. I am looking out for her. Sebastian's a nice guy, he's into her and she seems happy for the first time in a long while. Carter arranged for me and Rhonda to go to a gallery with them, after I told her that Rhonda loves that artsy fartsy stuff. Drove my stock with Rhonda through the roof!" Fusco gave John a sideways grin and a wink. "You want to know how Carter is, go ask her." With that, Fusco walked away.

Furrowing his brows, John suddenly remembered that he had just enough time to see Joss before she left for San Francisco with Almeida. What could he say to her, to convince her not to go? What could he do? She had refused his calls and texts these past days. If he had angered her the night of the gala (or the morning after), that certainly wasn't his intention. He decided he would play it by ear. John left the scene and headed over to the brownstone.

Arriving at Joss's address, John took a perch across the street. It was dusk and the houselights were on. John could see movement downstairs and he figured that Joss was making final preparations for her travel. Just then, John saw Sebastian's car slowly approach. It double-parked, the driver putting on the car's flashers. The driver climbed out of the vehicle and hurriedly took the stairs to Joss's door but before he arrived, the front door was opened by a smiling Joss.

"Good evening, Edouardo", Joss said to Sebastian's chauffeur/valet.

"Good evening, Miss. Are you ready?", he replied with a smile of his own.

"Yes, my bag is right here. Is Sebastian in the car?", she asked.

"No, Miss. He was detained but will meet you at the airport."

"I see."

Just then, Joss's detective's eye spotted movement across the street. She peered into the shadows and saw John standing there, watching her. Seeing her gaze, Edouardo was about to turn his head to see what had captured her attention when Joss said, "Would you mind to check the kitchen for me? I won't rest unless the stove has been triple-checked. It's to your right."

With that, Edouardo took off and Joss resumed her stare at John. How could he have the audacity to show up here tonight? I thought my message was loud and clear…

John stared back, taking in her appearance. She was wearing a sleeveless red swing dress, that tied at its high neck. The dress stopped several above the knee and nude-leather stiletto pumps accented the outfit. Perfect for joining the mile-high club, John thought, totally annoyed. She looked great, and John began wondering fancifully about Joss's choice of underwear, but then he rememberied that he wouldn't be the one finding out, a thought that annoyed him even further.

Joss recovered from the staring contest first as Edouardo approached. "All clear in the kitchen Miss. If that is all, we should be leaving now."

"Yes, thank you Edouardo. I'm set."

Edouardo retrieved her bag and lifted it with ease. He carried it down the stairs, while Joss closed the door and made certain it was locked. She caught up with Edouardo and followed him to the car while she shrugged on a short red jacket, continuing to steal glances at John. As Edouardo deposited the bag into the trunk, Joss held John's gaze over the top of the town car. Once the bag was stored, Edouardo opened the rear door and Joss got in.

As the car pulled off, John stepped to the center of the street, pleading with his eyes, that Joss wouldn't go. Don't leave with Almeida…Joss don't go…don't leave me, baby please, he mouthed silently, or was it aloud? He didn't know.

Joss looked out from the car's rear window and saw John standing in the street staring after her. She saw his lips moving, the sadness in his eyes, the longing …she felt his anguish…

"Is everything alright Miss?", Edouardo asked, concerned, watching Joss.

Joss faced front forcing a smile. "Yes, Edouardo, I'm fine. Just looking forward to the trip. What time is the flight? I hope I didn't make us late."

"We have time. The flight won't take off until 15 minutes after we arrive, whatever time we get there."

"I don't understand."

"It's a private charter out of JFK", Edouardo explained.

"Ohhhh", Joss responded, noting that Sebastian had yet to fail to pleasantly surprise her.

But back at the brownstone, John stood rigidly in the street, even though the car was no longer visible. Then he continued to stand, tears streaming, waiting, hoping for the return of a car that was speeding to JFK, taking its precious cargo, John's beloved, to her new lover…

A/N: So what now Mr. Smarty Pants? What now? Your woman has left on a trip to San Fran for a long weekend with a sexy, smart man who clearly wants her. Stay tuned!

Also, a quick note of appreciation to all of you who continue to read my stories. I hope you all are having great summers! I was under the weather during July and am just now catching up with my writing obligations, but never fear. I will soon have our star-crossed lovers back in Atlantic City. Until next time…