A/N: Again sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, I can't promise it won't happen again. I've been ridiculously busy with work lately, not that I'm complaining. I love it!

As always, thank you for taking the time to review and sharing your thoughts!

DivaLola: Thank you for your kind words and your offer!

Saturnina Black: Glad to hear! Yes, he definitely will. I almost feel sorry for him. But hey, he could have avoided this entire situation. Well, not the kidnapping part, but the angst and heartbreak part. Men.

jpstar57: You'll find out in a little while… Just not in this chapter, I'm afraid.

alix33: That, it will. But it was about time Harm admitted his feelings out loud. Besides, it wasn't exactly fair on Renée to string her along. Though I understand why he did it.

achaon: As far as Bugme is concerned, Mac's… current situation should put everything into perspective.

Sunset: Thank you!

A very special thank you for my friend and beta AvaniHeath. I truly wouldn't know what to do without you.

Disclaimer: JAG is property of Donald P. Bellisario. I'm only borrowing.

16 Resurrection

Hannah closed the book and tossed it on the kitchen table, nearly knocking over the bottle of wine she'd bought today but hadn't opened yet. After that last glass of wine she didn't feel like drinking, let alone getting wasted—even though she knew by now that it hadn't been the wine that had knocked her out cold—but she also wanted to get rid of the image of Flo dead on her bed. At least for a while.

The apartment felt different without Flo here, and not just because there were no dirty dishes in the sink or clothes strewn all over the bathroom. Hannah couldn't quite describe it. It just felt… dead. Her lips twitched into a tiny smile at the morbid pun. Flo would have loved it; she'd had the weirdest sense of humour.

Sully perched on the windowsill, watching her intently like only cats could. Hannah felt sorry for him. How did you explain to a pet that its master was dead? This morning she'd found him in front of Flo's room, clawing madly at the door, trying to get in. Poor guy. Hannah, though more of a dog person herself, had decided to keep him if Flo's family didn't want him. Hannah hadn't called them yet; they were planning a funeral and she didn't want to bother them because of a cat right now. Also, she didn't want to speak to Flo's dad again anytime soon, even if he had apologised very nicely for interrogating her like a suspect yesterday morning.

Something warm brushed against her legs. Looking down, she saw Sully sitting on the floor, staring up at her. He'd never come to her voluntarily—unless he wanted her to feed him—but now he leapt into her lap, turning himself once around before curling up. Hannah sighed. She couldn't believe this had happened. You always heard about it on the news, but you never really expected it to happen to you or someone close to you. And certainly not in a place you were supposed to feel safe.

She still hadn't figured out how he'd managed to slip the roofies in her glass. The break-in she could explain—they never locked the front door. Why would they? This was a military base, for heaven's sake. But why hadn't she heard or seen him? Her analytical mind had been examining the available data for hours now, but she hadn't come any closer to solving the problem.

It unnerved her; if he'd broken in once without her noticing, he might do it again and come after her next. A shiver ran down her spine. Nick, her boyfriend, had assured her in his usual blunt manner that she had nothing to worry about because if she was next on the killer's list, then he'd already have kidnapped her. She had no reason to be afraid.

Easy for him to say, Hannah thought sourly. Nick was six foot two, built like a wall and had the self-confidence to match. He wasn't afraid of anything. It was what had attracted him to her when they first started dating, and she wished that he was here now. She would have felt safer with him here. But he was working late; he'd called her a couple of hours ago to cancel their plans for tonight.

She rubbed her hands together. It was freezing. Rain was drumming on the roof. Normally, Hannah found the steady rhythm soothing; today it simply emphasised the silence around her, made her feel even more alone. It was close to midnight, but she didn't want to go to sleep just yet.

She eyed the wine bottle with apprehension. "Oh, for crying out loud," she muttered, suddenly feeling ridiculous. She leaned across the table, reaching for the bottle. Sully protested by digging his claws into her thighs so that he wouldn't slide off her lap. She sniffed at the wine, but it smelled normal. What did flunitrazepam smell like? Did it even smell like anything? After Agent Rhys had told her what she'd been drugged with—he'd even sounded somewhat contrite as he'd explained to her that this was most likely the reason she hadn't heard the killer—she'd Googled it. Apparently, it tasted salty when taken on its own, but had no detectable taste when mixed with something else.

Hannah shook her head. She was going crazy. She hadn't let the bottle out of her sight ever since she'd opened it. There was nothing wrong with it. Still, she couldn't bring herself to even wet her lips with it. Eventually, she poured it into the sink, putting the empty bottle with the others.

Sully watched her from the chair.

"What?" she said defensively. "I think I'm entitled to some paranoia."

He just stared at her.

Hannah went into her room, avoiding looking at the yellow crime scene tape. Last night she'd crashed at Nick's place; the thought of sleeping right across the room where Flo had been murdered had creeped her out. She switched on the light and started to pull back the blue duvet, then paused and straightened, still clutching the fabric. No, she couldn't sleep here. Not alone. She'd thought she'd be able to handle it, but she couldn't.

"Damn it," she said to nobody in particular, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. She was a mess. Reaching a decision, she grabbed the sweater that hung over the back of her desk chair and pulled it over her head and headed to the door, fishing Nick's spare key—not that he ever locked his front door either, but she didn't want to take the chance—out of the ceramic bowl on her dresser.

Sully slipped out with her, disappearing swiftly into the darkness. Hannah shook her head as she sloshed through the rain in the opposite direction. Most cats hated water. Sully loved it.

Somewhat to her surprise Nick's front door was locked. She dug the key out of her pocket and let herself in, kicking off her shoes as soon as she'd closed the door behind her. She padded down the hallway knowing her way even in the darkness. She flipped the switch in the bedroom. The bed was accurately made. She went to the closet where she kept a spare pair of PJs and some lacy lingerie—depending on what the situation called for—and started to rummage through Nick's clothes. He was even more meticulous than she was, which unfortunately wasn't the same as tidy. As she shoved aside a stack of sweaters, a narrow wooden box sailed past her, clattering to the floor before she could catch it. It snapped open, its content jingling softly.

Jewellery. Decidedly female jewellery.

Hannah stared at it.

Okay, this is weird.

"He'd better not be dressing up as a woman when I'm not around," she said out loud as she started picking it up. Bracelets, necklaces, a few rings. Beautiful pieces and some of them quite expensive by the looks of it, not that Hannah was an expert. Perhaps he'd inherited them? She thought she remembered something about his mother leaving her jewellery collection to him since he didn't have any sisters. Yes, that had to be it. In any case, it was a more pleasant thought than her boyfriend leading a secret life in which he put on dresses, jewellery and makeup.

Or having a secret harem she didn't know anything about.

Just as she was about to close the box, a ring caught her attention—a thin golden band with a oval pearl that was framed by an intricate swirly pattern. Hannah stared at it. She'd seen that ring before. Holding it up into the light, she twisted it between her fingers, looking for the engraving she knew was there while hoping it wouldn't be.

But it was there and her stomach sank.

FEA.

Florence Emily Acker.

It's possible this isn't her ring, Hannah told herself. Nick's mother could have had the same initials. But she knew the chances of that were slim. Besides, she'd seen this ring so many times, both on Flo's finger and lying around somewhere in their apartment, that she was a hundred per cent sure that it was hers.

But why would Nick have it?

Logical explanation. There was always a logical explanation.

Maybe Nick had kleptomaniac tendencies and had stolen the ring. Or Flo could have been seeing him behind Hannah's back and given him the ring as a gift. Not exactly a happy notion, but still better than any alternative Hannah could come up with right now.

But Flo would never hurt her like that and, besides, if this was her ring, then she'd have never given it away because it was a family heirloom.

Which left very few other options.

You don't even know if this is her ring, the analytical part of her mind insisted.

Well, then she had to find out.

And if it is…

Hannah refused to finish that thought.