Chapter 11

The light changed from yellow to red and Eames slammed on the brakes. 'Damn Sunday drivers. Get a move on, you idiots!'

'Eames, dial it back a little. You've been snarling ever since Powell kicked us out of the squad room. You're starting to get on my nerves."

"I'm starting to get on your nerves?" She turned to glare at her partner. "You do not want to go down that road tonight, detective." she snapped.

"You're the one driving, we can go down whatever road you want to go. As long as you realize that what's going on here now, has nothing to do with why you're still pissed at me." He shook his head and turned to stare at his reflection in the window."

"And I'm the one with the attitude?" Traffic started to move. "Finally," Eames spat out, punching down on the gas pedal, staying right on the bumper of the car in front of them.

"Why not drive right over the guy? Back off the guy, Eames. Back off or pull over and I'll drive."

"Bobby, get off my case!" She yelled. She glanced sideways fast enough to see Goren draw in a breath and hold it, staring straight ahead. "Oh, crap. I didn't mean that. It's just…"

"It's just Ross. I know that. You know that."

Eames pulled abruptly to the curb. "What are we doing going home? We didn't find a damn thing, not a trace. No witnesses, no suspicious activity. It's like he fell off the face of the earth. We should still be out there. Looking for him."

The seconds ticked away in silence. "What do you want to do, Alex? If you want to hit the street again, I'm there."

Alex lowered her head until it rested on the steering wheel. "I don't need a mirror to know how bad we look. We could fall over critical evidence and not even notice it."

She finally turned her head enough to look at her partner. "Okay, no more ranting. We go home, get some sleep. It just makes me feel like shit, like I'm betraying him."

"We're not giving up, Alex. We're regrouping."

"I want to believe that." Eames drove the rest of the route in silence. As they rode the elevator to the third floor, Goren felt fatigue nearly overwhelm him. The door to his apartment seemed miles away. Goren's apartment was closer to 1PP than Eames's house, so they'd agreed she would crash in his spare room rather than drive all the way out to her place for only a couple of hours.

"You want the first shower?" Goren asked, hanging his coat on the hooks and tossing his keys into the basket.

"I'd have to be awake." Eames continued her slow shuffle toward the extra bedroom room. "Forget food. Forget hygiene. I'm sleeping."

Goren followed her progress with sound; the soft crush of linens on the bed, one shoe hitting the floor, then the second, finally a solid thwap as Eames hit the pillow.

Goren sighed. He couldn't stand to hit the bed with the smell of his day – correction – days still on him, no matter how tired he was. He pulled out clean boxers and a t-shirt. Back in the bathroom, he turned the shower to hot and stood motionless, the spray pounding down on the top of his head. He rubbed a little shampoo into his hair, gave it a quick scrub and called it good.

He toweled off quickly and pulled on his boxers. As he walked down the hall, he could see that Eames was asleep, but restless. At least she'd dropped off quickly. Neither one of them would be worth much without some rest to clear their thoughts. He briefly considered taking the time for a beer, before dismissing it.

He stretched out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He willed himself not to dwell on the frustration of the search, or his fears for Ross. Rest, he told himself. He needed rest to continue the search.

Chief of D's Moran leaned his arms on his desk. The inner office was empty except for the two of them. "We don't have anything, do we, Powell?"

"No, sir. Goren's convinced Ross wasn't in the car. Someone's trying to throw us off, but we don't know why."

"You still getting the manpower you need?" Moran asked.

"Everyone from forensics to patrol is busting their butts. I'm running out of ideas on how to use them. I finally sent Eames, Goren, Wheeler and Logan home to get a couple of hours sleep."

"I'll bet that wasn't pretty."

"I thought all four of them were going to take turns taking a swing at me. I can't say I blame them."

"They needed to come in. They know it, even though they don't want to admit it. You did the right thing. Everyone needs a break. Even you Steve."

"I snagged a couple of hours of sleep upstairs. I'm good. I'm… I'm not out there."

Moran shrugged. "I have to admit, it didn't look promising from the beginning. It's unfair, but I was hoping Goren and Eames would pull out a miracle. You've talked to the family, I assume."

Powell nodded. "His ex, his parents. Jeremy was here most of the day."

"Jeremy Ross." Moran shook his head. "I can remember the day Jeremy was born, Danny handing out cigars, grinning from ear to ear. How old is he now?"

"Fifteen, a sophomore in high school. He's taking it hard, but holding it together. It may have been the wrong decision, but he wanted to go home. I sent him in a patrol car. I took him at his word that he'd stay put."

"Tough call. Tell dispatch to send a car by in a few hours and check on him."

"I already have that set up. Do you have any suggestions, sir? An angle that I'm missing, that we missed?" He gestured helplessly. "It's Danny – we just can't…"

The outer office suddenly burst into an uproar. "Dammit, now what?" Moran exclaimed, heading for the door. Powell following right behind him. In the outer office, the two men joined the crowd clustered around the television kept for watching tape, now tuned to CNN.

"…this breaking story. The city of Philadelphia has been ripped by a series of explosions …"