Disclaimer: Don't own the characters of CSI:NY- they belong to CBS and Anthony Zuiker.

Author's Note: Reviews last chapter were FANTASTIC. This chapter's a bit shorter, but its important!

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CHAPTER FIVE

Lindsay Monroe lives in one of the larger high rises in New York City, and one of the newer ones. She wasn't kiddin' when she told me she had the money- the door's got one of them tails-wearin' guys that stands outside and opens it for you. The guy holdin' the door for me is older, with white hair and glasses. He tips his hat my direction. "Good evenin' to you, sir," he says.

"Can you tell me where I could find Lindsay Monroe?" I ask him.

He nods. "Penthouse, 25th floor." He looks me over. Obviously I don't look like I belong in his building. "Might I inquire as to your business?"

"Absolutely, sir. I'm here to talk with her about her gangster boyfriend." With a tip of my hat and a nod, I brush by him and head for the penthouse, chuckling the whole way at the look on the fellow's face.

When I get there I knock on the door. This is definitely the swankiest place I've ever been in before. I knock on the painted white wood door and wait.

"Who is it?" Monroe's voice answers a few seconds later.

"Don Flack, ma'am."

There's a few clicks as she slides back the bolt and steps aside to let me in. She's changed clothes, now wearing a dress that falls to the floor. She's not wearing any shoes, just her stockings. "Flack. Please, come in," she says as she steps back so I can enter the foyer. I remove my hat and nod to her. Her place is decked in white and gold accents. She's got white carpet and white furniture with gold drapes. I laugh inwardly-this doesn't seem like the home of Danny Messer's 'country girl.' "Your doorman's a nice fella."

"Mr. Gerrard is like my grandfather. Now that my father is gone, he still checks up on me."

"Does he know about your mob boyfriend?" I can't resist.

She chuckles. "Let's just say Danny never came to visit me here." Her voice turns serious. "Have you found Danny yet?" she asks me with a hopeful expression.

I shake my head. "No, ma'am."

The hopeful look on her face falls sharply, and she sinks to the armchair, which is stuffed so well she damn near drowns in it. "Then why are you here?" she asks me.

I don't take offense to her tone. I think, if I was a woman in her position, I'd be pissed at me, too. "I went by Danny's apartment today. The place has been tossed. Sassone's boys were there looking for him."

She looks up again. "A-and Danny?"

"Not there, and no blood to be found. Which means he's still alive, for now," I explain. "What I did find was Danny's journal. He kept a record of everything he saw while working for Sassone."

"I can only imagine the things written in there," Lindsay says darkly.

I open the notebook to his last two entries. "You might want to read the second to last one, ma'am," I tell her. I hand the notebook over to her. She takes it and her eyes follow Danny's careful handwriting. I can tell when she gets to the part about movin' West, because her eyes start to tear up. She closes the book and sets it on her lap. She reaches for her handkerchief and dabs at her eyes. I sit awkwardly across the coffee table. I tell you, I'm just no good at this comfort thing. "I, ah, anyway...I'm still lookin'. I'll find him." With that, I rise and head for the door. I've got my hand on the knob when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Lindsay Monroe is standing behind me. "Thank you, so much." She is clutching Danny's notebook. "For this." Before I can say anything, she throws her arms around me in a tight hug. I awkwardly return the hug. She hands me the notebook. Then, I put my hat on and close the door behind me

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When I get back to my office, instantly the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Somethin' is most definitely not right. I pull my gun from my pocket and cock the hammer. I open the outer door, easin' it open and letting my gun play around the room. The lights are on, and I see Stella's coat draped over her chair. She must have been workin' late. The coffee pot is even bubblin'. However- there is no sign of Stella.

If Sassone is trying to make a point, I hate to say it but he's got my undivided attention. I don't see any signs of a struggle and I don't see blood. Both of these are good signs. If that son of a bitch has hurt my Stella...

Then I hear it. From inside my office. It's a small cry, just a small noise. But I know it's my Stella. So now the question becomes- Who else is in there with her?

"Stella?" I call out. I carefully ease my door open, taking care not to stand in front of the glass. The stuff ain't bulletproof. "Honey, you in there?"

There's a thud, and another gasp, and now I forget my manners and fling open the door. Whoever's in there is hurtin' my girl, and I ain't gonna stand idly by. "Stella?"

It's pitch black in my office. My blinds are closed and it's damn hard to see. But there's just enough light spillin' into the room from the open door. I can just make out her form against the wall. "Flack."

"Stella, doll, you all right?"

"Do me a favor and put a bullet in this jackass and I'll be just fine," Stella replies. That's my girl. I train my gun in that direction. She's got her arms at her sides, but I can see the glint of a gun barrel in her ribs.

"Don't move, detective. Last thing I wanna do is put a bullet in the lovely lady, but don't think for a second I won't do it anyway." The voice has a strong Bronx accent.

"Hey, no problem, pal. You're in charge." I stop moving and stand in the middle of the room.

"Drop your piece. Put it on the floor."

"Okay, okay. You got it." I slowly drop to a crouch, putting my pistol on the floor. I stand back up, nice and slow.

"Flack you're such a damn gentleman," Stella barks at me.

I look over at her with a shrug. "Sorry, doll, but your body's too damn perfect to put some holes in it. I like you the way you are." I still can't see the guy holdin' her, it's too damn dark. "How about you come on outta there and we talk like men, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah. All right." He steps forward, into the pool of light created by my open door. He's wearin' a pair of brown slacks and a white undershirt with brown suspenders and one o' them newsboys hats. He's a little grimy, and he looks like death warmed over twice, but I can't help but smile.

"Danny Messer. Nice to meet you."