A Little Disclaimer: I have tried to keep the case related references as vague as possible so not as to offend. The mental health terms have been referenced from an online source and I do not pretend to be a psychologist and I mean no offence to anyone.

Chapter Nine

Grace tried to roll over and stretch her body as she did every morning. Her foot caught something solid and she cursed. Opening her eyes, she caught sight of the couch and the events of the previous night came flooding back. With a heavy sigh, she moved until she was sitting upright, her feet firmly on the floor. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows cast from the blinds she saw him.

Boyd was stretched out in her visitor's chair, as much as anyone could stretch out, head on one side, looking anything but comfortable.

Rubbing her eyes, Grace stole another look in his direction, smiling to herself at his dishevelled state, beginning to get used to his presence every morning.

A light rapping on her door disturbed her reverie and quietly she moved to open it. "Hi."

"Have you seen . . .?" Spencer trailed off at the sight of his boss asleep, his jacket and shoes discarded.

"Ahh," Stella cooed.

"We need to wake him."

"We could put his hand in warm water," Stella suggested, hovering in the doorway, not really sure of the protocol of the situation.

"I don't think that's a recipe for waking him up," Grace commented dryly, wondering whether they should just let him sleep while he could.

Spence smirked, his voice taking on a teasing tone "How do you usually get him up?"

Grace shot him a fierce look in warning. "Spence!"

"I meant . . ." he began, his smirk turning into a wide grin as his taunt hit the mark.

"I know what you meant."

"I know how I like to be woken up." Spence stole another glance at his boss. "I'm sure the boss has a preference too."

"Well, Spence. If you want to try it, Stella and I can leave you to it," Grace commented glibly, catching the slightest grimace cross Peter's face.

"I'm sure he'd prefer it to be you," Stella said before she caught herself, looking at Spence for help.

He pretended not to notice.

Grace turned her head, hoping they wouldn't see the blush creeping across her cheeks. "You can open your eyes now, Boyd."

One eye opened slowly as she struggled to sit upright. "You know a good morning kiss would have sufficed."

"Well the kids had other ideas." It was, however, a piece of information she would store away for another time on the off chance the occasion would arise.

"Well maybe the kids could go and play while we have a civilised coffee," Boyd grumbled.

Stella began to backtrack through the door, suddenly feeling like an interloper, her mind replaying the kiss comment and going into overdrive.

Spence lingered a little longer. "I have an ID for you."

Boyd opened his other eye. "Ok. We'll have a team meeting in fifteen."

Spence followed Stella, closing the door firmly behind him. "So did you leave any pizza?"

Boyd stretched, feeling the creaking as his body tried to realign itself. "I'm getting too old to sleep anywhere but my bed."

"You and me both." Grace slipped on her shoes. "Coffee?"

"Hot and black, please."

"Just how Stella likes her men," she commented, her expression blank.

Boyd groaned audibly. "Way too much information for this time of the morning." He shuddered as the first intimation of an image sprang to mind. "Grace!"

She gave him a wide smile, her eyes sparkling for the first time in days before disappearing out the door.

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Boyd stood before the evidence board thirty minutes later, wearing his jacket and tie and holding his second cup of coffee of the day. "Right, before we get to last night's bodies let's recap where we are."

"My house was broken into and all that's missing are some files."

"All of patients that you had in therapy in your previous employment."

Grace sipped her tea and nodded.

"An envelope arrived containing a file and an address," Stella interjected. "Which led us to the body of Neil Buchanan."

"What can you tell us about Buchanan, Grace?" Boyd asked, grabbing the remaining slice of cold pizza from the box.

"He was nineteen when he entered the unit for getting in a fight with his landlord. He stabbed him and then suffocated him in plastic. The police psychologist admitted him with dissociated behaviour."

"Which for us mere mortals. . .?" Boyd asked around a mouthful of food.

"You admit to being mortal. We're progressing," Grace teased. "Disassociation can be sudden, gradual or chronic. And the patient can't comprehend consciousness, identity and his environment. He can only focus on one at a time. Neil's was transient and depended largely on his surroundings."

"And occurred at least twice." Eve opened the file in front of her. "The second body has yet to be identified but has been dead at least fifteen years. Remains of plastic in the grave and a distinctive nick in the top of the spinal cord. And no I can't tell you whether Buchanan did it or someone else," she finished as Boyd opened his mouth.

He held his hands up in surrender. "Ok, second pair of bodies."

Spence rose to his feet. "Everett for sure. Buried in a mountain of sand, ten broken fingers so there was no way he was getting out. The second body has been identified as his cousin Laura."

"Drowned in probably bath water. But the tests are pending. She has been moved and reburied in the sand," Eve added.

"Grace?"

"Fits with his profile. He systematically killed family members who he thought had let him down on the day. One angry young man. He was one of our successes."

"Don't write yourself off, Grace. She'd been dead a long time," Eve said softly.

Boyd turned towards Grace and waited.

"You want me to profile the guy who's doing this."

"Yes."

"Well seeing as you like concrete evidence. I can tell you he's male, he's between twenty-eight and forty and has spent time in a mental health facility."

"See, I can work with that," he offered. "Based on what?"

She sighed audibly. "Buchanan and Everett were patients of mine twelve years ago. The majority of those in therapy were between eighteen and twenty five."

"Spence and I are trying to track down records from the facility."

Grace didn't want to dampen Stella's enthusiasm but the chances of her getting the records she wanted were slim to nothing. And even if she did get to read the files patients tended to disappear into the woodwork upon release.

"So why?"

"Transference. He's trying to please me because he couldn't please a significant person in his life."

"He's in love with you?" Boyd asked, his voice rising in anger.

"More likely he sees me as a maternal figure," she replied quietly.

"Does it ring a bell?" Spence asked, looking for some hint of resolution.

"No. I wish I could say it reminds me of Joe Bloggs, but . . ." she trailed off, wringing her hands in frustration. She could barely remember some of her patients, others were more firmly implanted in her brain, but even those she had tried to forget. Her files had been her therapy, her life's work in many ways. Whoever was doing this could be one of hundreds, just because he remembered her, didn't mean she knew him. The thought was a disconcerting one. "I'm going to make some more calls, see if I can get you a patient list." Rising to her feet she headed back to her office, ignoring Boyd's questioning gaze or the conversation continuing without her.

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Grace knocked lightly on Boyd's door and entered without waiting, stopping in her tracks when she caught sight of Stella perched on his desk. "Should I come back?"

They turned, conversation coming to premature conclusion, a guilty expression fleetingly crossing their faces. "No it's fine."

Stella rose to her feet, giving Grace a small smile as she headed out of the room, hoping the older woman hadn't overheard her final comment.

"What can I do for you, Grace?" Boyd asked, as she hovered in the middle of his office.

"I need to go back to my house."

He sat up straighter. "What?"

"He's sending me my files. He's clearing cold cases. We need to know what files he has."

"Ok. I thought we knew which ones were missing."

Grace shook her head. "Thought we knew. I was there twenty minutes, Boyd. I might have missed something. He might have left me a clue without knowing. What if his file is one of those I missed?"

"This isn't your fault. You have a log or something?"

"No."

"A list somewhere?"

"No."

"Grace."

"I know exactly which files I had out. I need to make sure that I haven't missed any. We assume he's got six. If he's got more, if he raided the spare room, that might tell us something new."

Boyd continued to stare at her, debating whether to push her.

"Stella can come with me." In truth she wasn't sure she was ready to go back there alone, but she needed the space to look, to take in her house without him looking over her shoulder.

"Sit down a minute, please, Grace."

He was going to say no, she was convinced, as she settled herself on the couch, somewhat bemused as he awkwardly perched himself beside her.

"Boyd!"

"Have you considered the possibility he might solve Bill's case?" There he had said it. He glanced at Grace, his chest tightening slightly as he saw the pain flicker in her eyes, her swallow and her downcast gaze. He waited.

"No."

"Really?" he asked surprised. "He took the file. He might know who did it."

"I think it was his connection to me. Transferring his emotions to me means he needs to know all that there is to make me tick."

"You're sure he's a former patient."

"Yes." She refused to meet his eyes. "The files will tell me something about who it is."

"I took a look at the official file," Boyd said, his eyes downcast.

She turned to stare at him.

"Now's not the time to discuss it but when you're ready . . ."

"So can I go home?"

"Want me to come with you?"

Grace shook her head. "There really is such a thing as too much Boyd."

"Really? Don't believe it. Who told you that?" he asked, her tone having the desired effect and his amusement reaching his eyes

In truth she needed a break. They were beginning to resemble an old married couple and she was starting to enjoy it. The sooner she could move home and put distance between them the better. There was also something else at the back of her mind. Whoever was doing this wanted a connection with her, needed to know everything there was to know about her. The one thing he couldn't know because no-one knew, was that she had a deep emotional connection, because she wasn't really to label it as anything more, to the man sitting beside her. To connect with her fully, the killer would need to remove Boyd from the picture.

He didn't like the idea of her going back there without him, more than anything it wasn't something he wanted her to go through alone. "Take Stella. Call me if there's a problem."

Lightly she patted his hand. "Thanks, Boyd." She waited a beat. "For everything."