Chapter Three
"Oscar," Steve said as he paced across the office the next morning, "maybe my eye can spot something Ballistics couldn't. Do you have the bullet?"
"Sure," Oscar answered, opening a locked desk drawer. "Right here...What the -?"
"Oscar?"
"It's gone."
Steve frowned. "Who else has that key?"
"Just Rudy, Russ and Callahan." Oscar picked up the phone. "Security? This is Oscar Goldman; I need you to pull a tape..."
- - - - - -
The fruits of his labor were in his hands – a stolen bullet and an erased security tape (for which he'd substituted a blank tape, in the camera) – and he smiled happily. His next bullet would soon be meeting its intended target, and before she knew it, Jaime would have no one else to turn to for support. His arms would be waiting.
He tucked his hair into his hat, cocked the gun and leaned back in the seat, staring intently at the driveway and waiting for his victim.
- - - - - -
Oscar was thinking about his friends as he drove. He did that quite often, but his thoughts were usually not so tense or worried. Chris Williams had been certain a psychotic person was out to murder either Steve or Jaime – possibly both. Oscar's nephew, Sam, was just as certain the shooting had been a random incident.
Oscar's own belief fell somewhere in between. With a missing bullet and a blank videotape, there was obviously something going on. Oscar wanted to be certain his friends would stay safe, able to enjoy the new life they were looking forward to building together, and he intended to make sure they had the opportunity to do exactly that. As he neared his driveway, he resolved to assemble a fresh investigative team, first thing the next day.
At the exact same instant, Steve was turning his own car toward his driveway and thinking only of Jaime. He'd only intended to leave her by herself for an hour or two, but the theft and video-tampering at OSI-LA had made his visit an all day brainstorming session, instead. Maybe Jaime had been right, that morning, when she'd told him that – although she loved him for it – he was far too overprotective. Trouble was, he'd already nearly lost her twice: first to death, then to amnesia. A second chance was something to be grateful for, and here they were, being given a third chance. Steve was willing to do anything – absolutely anything – to keep from losing Jaime again.
- - - - - -
Right on time, he watched the car's approach, raising the gun as the driver made the sharp turn into the driveway. A cacophony of danger and imminent death immediately followed his well-aimed shot. The windshield shattered, the driver's body hit the steering wheel with his weight causing a steady blast of the car's horn, and metal, glass and wood splintered into a single gruesome tableau as the car, its driver unaware, slammed into a tree.
He smiled victoriously, once again tossing the gun and his hat under the front seat of the car as his foot pressed down hard on the accelerator. He had to get back – now! He had a lot more work to do.
- - - - - -
Steve noted happily that Jaime, waiting for him on the front porch, was still wearing her sling, just as she'd promised. He knew how much she hated it, but she'd agreed to leave it on in deference to Steve's wish to keep her safe and help her heal.
"I missed you!" she chirped, leaning up to kiss him and pulling him close with her free, uninjured arm. Steve returned the embrace cautiously, and the kiss, eagerly. "Any news?" Jaime asked as they sat down together on the porch swing.
"Not since the last time I called you. Seems the security camera needs a security camera."
"Huh?"
Steve grinned, running his fingertips across her face, admiring the curve of her cheekbones, the feel of her skin. "Never mind. Wanna order a pizza?"
"Extra pepperoni, extra cheese," Jaime proclaimed.
"Whatever my lady wants -" he began, his sentence interrupted by the urgent, insistent ringing of the telephone.
- - - - - -
Steve's senses were on full alert to every nuance of their surroundings as he and Jaime made their way down the hospital hallway, to the private waiting room next to the ICU. He'd intended to leave her safely back at the house, but Jaime had insisted there was 'No chance in hell, Austin,' so they'd ended up coming here together. He scarcely dared to breathe, though, until he'd escorted her safely past the armed guards and into the tiny anteroom. Jaime, her face pale with fear, curled up next to him in a chair, nestling as close to him as she could get, coveting the safety and reassuring warmth of his arms.
"Where's Rudy?" she asked tremulously, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"He said he'd meet us here."
"He'll be here," Steve said, trying to soothe her with his voice, "as soon as Oscar's stable." He held Jaime a little closer as the mention of their boss/friend's name started an even harder torrent of tears. "He's gonna be ok, Sweetheart. He's in the best possible hands."
Half an hour later, at the front entrance, Russ, Sam and Chris nearly slammed into each other on their rush to get inside. Each, for various reasons, had been delayed in receiving the message about Oscar, and in their states of confusion and heightened emotion, they didn't see each other until they all hit the huge front doors at the same time.
They were met at the elevator by Michael, coming from the direction of the lab, who was out of breath from his own sudden need to hurry. "I have to find Rudy," he told them, in lieu of a greeting. "Come on; I'll take you upstairs."
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