The following characters are not mine. They belong to CSI NY creators.

Thank you so much for the previous reviews. They were awesome! Thanks for supporting this story. I didn't think I'd ever get this chapter written! My muse apparently went on vacation (actually, I think she was having a fight with the muse Cleo, the muse of history--as that's where all my focus has been). Anyway, it's finally here. Note: A 10-9 stands for Repeat last message. Only one more to go.

Repeat Last Message

Chapter 9:

"Montana, what is it?" Glancing over at Mac, Danny stepped out of the apartment and the crime scene and tried to hear over the noise.

"He said … your mother. Kaley —"

"What?"

"He has my locket, Danny."

The words washed over him. He didn't need an explanation. The last description …

"The last girl, it's Kaley. Brown hair, brown eyes. Blue hat. I forgot. He said blue hat. He had my locket in his hand. He knows about her."

Baseball cap, on backwards, big brown eyes like her mother's. Danny could see the image as if he held the locket. He had his own picture in his wallet.

"Where are you?" he turned and found that Flack had stepped out, was standing behind him. He urged Flack to follow him with a jerk of his head, and took the stairs down two at a time.

"On the train, nearly home. Danny, I can't reach your mother."

"It's alright," even though it wasn't—not until he had Kaley in his arms. He hit the door on the ground floor at a run, stopping only when he reached the passenger's side of the Flack's car. "You know ma's not all that handy with her cell. Just go home, get Kayle and Ma, and go somewhere safe. Just go. Flack and I are on our way."

"Danny—"

"Hold tight Montana," it wasn't just Kaley he thought of, but Lindsay. He pictured her they way she'd looked that first night he'd brought her home, when she'd turned away from her family, looking so lost and alone. Vulnerable. Lying there on their bed in one of his t-shirts.

The way she'd looked when they'd found her, hands bound, pale.

Looking empty.

"It's going to be all right. We're on our way."

Lindsay nearly stumbled out the door of the station and into the dying light of the day. Someone pushed passed her, making her side step. She slipped between an incoming couple and then stopped, refocusing on where she'd left her car.

She'd headed in early that morning, but it hadn't been that early. The parking spaces near the front had been taken. She weaved through the cars, then stopped and stared as she cleared the row. Beyond, she saw her car, and the tires.

Slashed.

"No…" the word trembled from her lips.

She dashed forward, barely fazed by the squeal of tires.

"Lady!" came the angry reply. The burly man in the rocking red convertible scowled at her.

"I'm not a lady," Lindsay whipped her badge off her belt and flashed it as she went around to the side if his car. "I'm a mother and a cop and I need to get home."

"You're asking me to drive you?"

"No, I'm telling you," Lindsay opened the car door and slipped in. "Please."

Flack closed his cell phone as he wove through traffic, his lights blaring. "Local police dispatched a car over to your house and one to your mother … if he's already made a move…"

Danny felt his jaw tighten as he looked out the window, scowled at the car that refused to obey basic emergency procedure and move over. His fingers closed over his phone. He felt it vibrate even as it rang.

"Lindsay."

"Danny the … left …"

Her voice was scattered, broken by static.

But he heard the grate of panic. "I can't hear you."

"We …" more static and he lost the call completely.

"Lindsay?"

As he pulled up in front of her house, Lindsay already had her door open and was ready to run. "Thanks, thank you."

"Yeah, next time you want to take a hostage, you find yourself some other…"

Lindsay ignored him as she ran to the side door. As she reached it, she stopped, put her hand to the knob. Her fingers trembled as she turned it.

At the site of Danny's mother pushing up from the floor, Lindsay rushed in. Her frightened eyes looked up and met Lindsay's. "Lindsay, there's a …"

"Get outside. Now …"

Lindsay stepped around her and went first into their office. In the closet, she pulled down Danny's lock box. She worked the numbers, then set it on the floor, taking out a small pistol.

And then she headed up.

"Danny?"

"Ma?" The static was heavy, but he could hear the panic. "What—Ma, I couldn't here you.

Except Lindsay. He'd heard her say Lindsay.

"A man, in the house. Lindsay's went after him."

Danny glanced over at Flack.

"Stay outside," he moved with the car as Flack careened around a curve.

A mile. He had less than a mile.

"We're almost there."

Gun in hand, Lindsay swung around the corner, and found the room clear. She turned up the stairs. She would be taking them alone.

But there was no question. She was going up.

She went up carefully, despite her instincts. Near the top, she saw the shadow. He leaned outside Kaley's door, looking in.

She stopped.

"NYPD. Stay right there."

He turned around, the man of her nightmares. The dark eyes and long face. She saw him now, standing in the shadows, swinging the locket, back and forth.

"Well, looks like you finally snapped out of your little stupor." He laughed, wickedly. The sound echoed down the stairs. He wore a long, dark coat. Held a knife in one hand, a long pistol in the other. "I really thought you had potential. That you could save me."

"Don't move," she narrowed her gaze. "Put down the gun."

He turned it over, holding it level so he could still shoot. "Now, why would I do that?"

She flashed again as she remembered him talking, going through his list as his silhouette form was replaced by images he described. Children. Death.

"You wanted me to stop you."

"Someone needs to, but I can't do it. I've tried. I just can't … stop. Don't you see it? There's beauty in life, in death. Nothing more powerful than a child. It shouldn't be that way, should it? But there's such beauty. Picture it with me."

"You're sick."

"That's what they say," he took a step toward her. "I looked you up, Mrs. Messer. From Montana. You suffered a horrible crime yourself, they say. Do you not feel the power of death?"

Her hand trembled as she was unable to stop his words from wrapping around her psyche. She couldn't fight it. She couldn't fight him. He'd somehow wound his way into part of her and she couldn't flesh him out.

Help me.

"I should take you too. Mother, daughter. There's magic in that. I saw it in your eyes when I told you what I would do to your daughter."

Her breath stilled, caught in her throat. No, no. Not again.

Sirens sounded in the distance. The flood of hope. She wasn't alone.

"Such a treasure, really. She'll be my finest work."

And there he made his mistake. He looked in, on his prey, drawn by his utter, sickened obsession. And his gun lowered.

"Not my daughter," Lindsay steadied her weapon.

The shot rang out, with absolute purpose.

Lindsay turned, as the shot hadn't been fired by her.

And found Danny's mother there, slowly lowering her own small hand piece. There was a determined glint in her eyes that Lindsay had seen before in Danny. There was something dark … as if she'd known darkness. And something sure and confident, in a way that was beyond even Lindsay.

She stepped forward and wrapped and arm around Lindsay, drawing her into the safety of her hold. "It's over, sweetheart."

"How…"

"It's over. It's over, Lindsay," she whispered, pressing a kiss to Lindsay's brow. "Go to Kaley. Go to Kaley, now."