"Lieutenant, please leave the note, and get rid of the rest of it," she says to Provenza over her shoulder as she hurries out of her office to catch up with Andy. She places her hand on the middle of Andy's back to get his attention. He slows down, and hangs back as Detective Nelson escorts Connie Owens out of the Murder Room.

"Detective Nelson, I'll meet you in your department in a few minutes," Andy says before turning to Sharon and saying, "I don't suppose I can get you to change your mind about sending me home."

Sliding her hand from his back to his elbow, she gives him a warm smile and says, "No, absolutely not. You need to let Robbery-Homicide check for hidden surveillance, and then get some rest."

"Okay, but first I want to talk to the detective about an old case I worked back in the '90s when I was in Robbery-Homicide," he says.

"What old case?"

"Well, that's the thing. I can't remember the details; it's just been too long, but it's been bugging me since you told me your hairbrush was missing. I vaguely remember a series of break-ins, probably in the mid-90s, that involved personal items missing from the homes of several women living in the same high-rise apartment building. I'm pretty sure each woman was missing a hairbrush. Anyway, I think it's worth researching to see if there might be some connection."

"I trust your instincts," Sharon says, "I think it's a good idea." She pauses while a couple of people walk past them in the middle of the Murder Room, then she asks Andy, "Do you still want me to stay with you?"

Andy's face lights up, and he says, "Of course."

"I'm going to stop by my condo, and pack a few things as soon as I can get out of here. Honestly, I don't feel like being alone right now. I'll stop and get us something to eat for dinner before I head to your place."

Looking at her with a sly grin on his face, he says, "So, you're telling me you're not going to cook me a five-course meal tonight?"

Rolling her eyes at him, she says, "That's exactly what I'm telling you. Now, get some rest, but don't forget to call and let me know if Robbery-Homicide finds anything."

"Okay," he says with a grin still on his face as he watches her walk away. There are times when he's around her that he feels like a gawky junior high kid at his first dance; that's weird because in reality he's a pretty smooth operator, or at least he was once upon a time. The young woman who delivered the unwanted gift basket would've been putty in his hands back in the day. Back before he finally came to the realization that Sharon Raydor could be more than just a fantasy, much more. He couldn't have been more surprised when she essentially invited herself to his daughter's wedding. He wasn't expecting that; he wasn't expecting her to be a friend; he wasn't expecting her to become more and more important in his life; he wasn't expecting her to occupy more and more of his thoughts; he wasn't expecting to feel like a gawky junior high kid at his age. These are the thoughts on his mind as he rides the elevator down to Robbery-Homicide.

Sharon is having her own thoughts on the way to the ladies room before heading to electronics. She has been so busy all day absorbing and analyzing each piece of new information they've received. Her brain is on overload; however, that hasn't stopped her from dwelling on thoughts of Andy beside her in his bed last night. What a strange sensation it was for her to share sleeping space with another person after so long. She had felt like she was wearing kid gloves in bed; careful not to invade his space yet feeling overwhelmed by his presence. She thinks she'll always remember the searing kiss they shared right before the electricity came back on in his house. Even now, she can feel her lips tingling just thinking about it. She didn't realize how much she missed kissing; just kissing with no expectations of more, no pressure; just the feel of soft lips and stubble, the mingling of breaths and sighs. Snap out of it she thinks; you have a job to do, and you are the boss. She doesn't always like being the boss though. At times, like now, she'd love nothing more than to be a writer or a painter or a ballerina, anything but what she is: a person who deals with death almost daily. Fortunately, she has trained her mind to skim the surface when need be. She is able not to dwell on the horror; she is able, with her team, to put the pieces of a puzzle together, and push forward, always forward, for the answers. That's exactly what she needs to do now.

She can hear his obnoxious voice before entering electronics. Trey Fisher, the man who manages her building and several others, is a smug know-it-all. Plastering a fake smile on her face, she enters the room, shakes his hand, and says, "Thanks for coming in."

"I hope this won't take long," he says, "I have several appointments today, and I'm already running late."

"I should like to think you'd be happy to help with police efforts to assure no one else in our building is in danger, Mr. Fisher. But, no, this shouldn't take long. I'd like you to watch some clips from video you supplied us. It's important that we identify the intruder who was in my condo yesterday, and we need to know how he obtained a key."

"I don't understand why you think I can help, as I already told the police, I don't know a thing about what happened," he says with irritation on his face and in his voice.

Tempering her irritation, Sharon replies, "As per my contract with the homeowner's association, your office has a copy of my current house key. Do you still have that key?"

"Yes, your key is in my office. Have you given copies to other people?" he asks.

"Yes I have, but those keys are accounted for," Sharon says.

Picking up on the building tension between the two, Buzz asks, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes," says Sharon and the manager at the same time.

Buzz touches the computer in front of him; the screen fills with the image of the man in coveralls, wearing a baseball cap and backpack, walking with his head down towards the camera; he stops at the door to Sharon's condo, and inserts a key in the lock; he opens the door and enters her condo.

"Do you have any idea who this man is?" asks Sharon.

"I can't see his face, but he's dressed like one of the exterminators we use. Foster's Pest Control sprayed the entire building a couple of weeks ago. You should've received notice in your mailbox before your unit was exterminated."

"Yes, I did, but I'm curious. How long have you used that particular company?"

"I've used them for at least five years."

"How do they enter each condo when they spray the building?" asks Sharon.

"If the homeowner isn't present to let the exterminator in then my assistant unlocks each door with the keys we retain in our office, and she locks each door as the exterminator finishes spraying each unit."

"So, you're saying the exterminator never touches the keys."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Are you sure about that?"

"That's our established procedure, but I wasn't physically present on the day your unit was sprayed," he answers. "Come to think of it, I wasn't aware that an exterminator was scheduled to be in the building yesterday."

"So, if this man is an exterminator you know of no reason he should be returning to my condo, and you think he's not using a key supplied to him by you or your assistant?" asks Sharon.

"That's correct."

"I'd like to confirm with your assistant that she followed procedure when my condo was sprayed two weeks ago, and please, Mr. Fisher, get me the contact information for Foster's Pest Control as soon as possible." Turning to Buzz, Sharon says, "Now, show us the large, blonde man with the limp as he gets off the elevator and walks down the hall towards the security camera."

Buzz rewinds the video to the correct spot, and they watch the blonde man with thick glasses walking with a slight limp in his right leg towards the camera. "Please stop right there," Sharon tells Buzz. Pointing at the man on the monitor, she asks, "Do you know this man?"

The building manager studies the image for a few seconds before shaking his head no. Glancing at his watch, he sighs heavily and says, "I told you I wouldn't be any help." Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit, he pulls out a business card and a pen; he writes a name and phone number on the back of the card and hands it to Sharon. "This is my card. I wrote the name and number for my assistant on the back. She can give you the contact information for Foster's, and feel free to ask her any questions you have about our procedures. Unless you have any more questions for me, I really need to run."

"That's all for now," Sharon says before pointing to the computer monitor again, "but if you see that man in the building or a man wearing tan coveralls, please contact me immediately. Follow me, and I'll give you my card."

They leave the room; he follows her to her office. She gives him her business card and reminds him, one more time, how important it is to call her if he sees the men in question or any suspicious activity. As soon as he leaves, she sits down behind her desk and notices the sandwich and cold cup of coffee she shoved aside earlier in the day. Her stomach rumbles, and she realizes she's hungry. Just as she takes a bite of the slightly stale sandwich, Detective Nelson enters her office.

"How did it go with your building manager?"

Sharon finishes chewing and swallows before telling the detective about her meeting with the manager. "I suppose it's plausible that the intruder is an exterminator, but I still don't know how he has a key to my home, or why he would stalk me and steal from me. Why would he attempt to run over Lt. Flynn and take his gun? Why would he send me lavish, expensive gifts?"

"He's obviously obsessed with you, but this goes way beyond ordinary stalker behavior," says the detective, "and I highly doubt he's an exterminator. Whoever he is, he has connections that the average guy doesn't have. The surveillance equipment recovered from your condo is only available to certain government and law enforcement officials. That makes me think this man could be a member of the LAPD. Have you thought about that, Captain?"

Taking another bite, Sharon nods her head yes as she chews; picking up the rolled-up scroll on her desk, she swallows before saying, "I've also thought about this note. In this man's twisted mind, he has caressed my face, and stared into my soul."

"I'm sorry to have to ask you uncomfortable questions, but I need to know if it's true," says the detective.

Sharon stares with a confused look on her face at the woman sitting across from her. "Are you asking about my love life?"

"Yes, it's a pertinent question. I know you were married, but separated for many years, so, besides your ex-husband and your current relationship with Lt. Flynn, has there been anyone special in your life? And, don't answer right away; think about it. The note says it has been so long since I've caressed your face, and stared into your soul. Maybe this is a man from a long time ago."

The instant the detective says those words, Sharon's mind is back in San Francisco. It was seven years ago; she and a co-worker, Evan Maddox, attended a conference on behalf of the LAPD. They had worked side-by-side for two years before attending the conference. There had always been a subtle attraction between the two, never acted upon. Married but separated, she was content with her life; although, her empty nest left her lonely at times. He was divorced, and had no children. His job was his life, and it was the same with her.

They travelled to San Francisco together. Sexual tension filled the air from the moment she got in the car with him. She had never seen him wear anything but a tailored suit, so she was caught off guard to see him dressed casually in jeans, and an untucked collared shirt with the top two buttons undone. She tried hard not to stare at his chest hair, and he tried hard not to stare at the hint of cleavage he could see when she turned slightly in the passenger seat to talk to him. The ironic thing about their situation was the fact they were travelling to the conference to participate in a panel discussion about diversity and sexual harassment in the workplace.

Arriving in the city in the early afternoon, they checked into the Omni, picked up the material they would need for the conference scheduled to start early the next day, and then decided to do a little sightseeing. They took a cable car ride and visited Fisherman's Wharf before having dinner at a restaurant with a beautiful view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Conversation flowed easily over a shared bottle of wine while dining; after dinner they returned to the hotel not wanting the day to end. She was about to change out of her clothes when she heard him knocking on the door that separated their adjoining rooms. When she opened the door, he was standing there holding the identification badge she would need to enter the conference.

"I think I got your badge, and you got mine," he said.

"Oh, come on in and let me look," she replied before walking to the table by the window. She located his badge and turned to hand it to him; he was standing closer to her than she realized, and when she turned, she was practically in his arms. Staring into her eyes, he slid his index finger back and forth across her cheekbone. Two years of repressed sexual energy ignited when their mouths joined in a molten hot kiss that seemed to last an hour. Eventually, they broke apart and just stared at each other.

"I'm sorry; I can't do this; I'm married," she said.

"No, I'm sorry. It's my fault; I've wanted to kiss you for so long, but it won't happen again. Please don't let this ruin our professional relationship."

It was weird and awkward, but they managed to get through the conference and the trip back to LA. Slowly their friendship returned to normal, and she was able to comfortably work with him. Six months after the conference, he moved to Boston and she never saw him again.

"Yes, detective, to answer your question there was someone special in my life for a brief time, but it was a long time ago, and I can assure you he is not stalking me now or trying to kill Lt. Flynn."

"I hope you understand why I had to ask. I'm just doing my job, Captain. I also need to ask if you can spare a couple of people to help us track down the case Lt. Flynn remembers from the mid-90s?"

"Yes, I'll assign detectives Sanchez and Sykes to assist your team."