A/N: Wow, thanks to everyone for your wonderful reviews. It's been great to read you all, and see how many put my story on alert or favorite. Can't wipe that silly grin from my face now... :D

And again a great thanks to my beta Blackdragon189, which was quite helpful with the slang, and pointed out a couple of things to get the story right.

Since I'm not home this weekend, I tried my best for this chapter to be ready today, so as you've all been waiting, here it's chapter 4 as part of the mystery unveils...Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: A man finds a body. When he picks up the ID in the coat, it reads "Detective first grade Mac Taylor." Is Mac really dead? What will Stella do when she'll learn the news? Angsty Smacked...

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. CSI NY and all its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

Bouncing on the sole of his boots, the man crunched the frozen snow beneath him as he pinched the tip of his cigarette and then tossed it with his finger. He straightened his collar, a small puffy cloud escaping his lips as he quickly stuffed his gloved hands into the pocket of his black cottoncoat. Damn it! He always hated this kind of weather. Snow, ice, anything that meant cold in general shouldn't exist in his world. He grinned stupidly, thinking how the world would have turned out if he had been the one to decide to build it; lots of warm and burning sun, heat everywhere, girls, yup, lots of them; his grin widened at the mention of them. Yes, it would be great to live in this kind of world.

Then, his smile quickly faded as his gaze fell on the ice pick hanging like a predatorfrom the roof corner of the old gas station. It reminded him why he was freezing in this damn cold day; he sure wouldn't have created a world with cops. Hell no, he swore. And that brought him back to why he was standing, and waiting in this god damn freezing snow; a cop. Crap, not any cop, he reminded to himself, a very pain in-the-ass cop. Well, as for the boss asking them to take him out, it had to be.

He lumbered toward a car parked in the shadow on the other side of the street. The white snow was almost covering it entirely; if only for the windshield moving once in a while, the street looked totally asleep. Well, it was a deserted neighborhood, so nothing surprising about that. He glanced to his right, his sight going all the way to the end of the snowy street. Everywhere his eyes settled, the things were turning a deep shade of gray; the sun was almost gone, and the night would soon arrive, bringing a cold glacial death for those who would dare to remain outside. He quivered slightly; he hated snow.

As he crossed the street, he tried his best to avoid the frozen brownish-gray sludge spread over the road threatening to wet the bottom of his brown pants. He leaped clumsily when he neared the chunks of brown dirty snow that formed on the sidewalk. As he tramped down on the other side, he strode toward the frozen car. Then, he stopped before the door, glancing back at what used to be a four story building behind him. A wicked smile grazed his face as his eyes settled proudly on the missing left side of the building; a thin, white layer of snow had already started to cover the broken red bricks scattered on the ground. His brother should be proud; this time half of the building had collapsed on itself, with no fire, and only a slight rumble as the wood and floor had broken into pieces. His brother was right this neighborhood was so quiet and deserted that nobody had come after the blast, so nobody would bother to come and check for the cop in there.

He smiled before he turned back to the car and quickly opened the door. A weak remnant of heat escaped the inside of the car as he slumped heavily inside not caring about the snow still clinging to his coat. In a whoosh he shut the door bringing a gust of cold air with him, and grumbled when his gloves didn't come off fast enough. Slowly, the snow melted on his shoulders, wetting the back of the seat while he pressed his cold fingers against the heater. His companion looked at him in disgust.

"Should have left the plastic on. Or maybe next time, I'll get a partner who would be careful with my car," he shot angrily.

"Sorry Martin," he muffled, "can't ya put the heat on? I'm freezin'!"

A small, puffy cloud escaped his lips as he cuddled his hands before his mouth and blew.

The other shot him a severe look.

"Told ya before Tommy, I don't want people noticing us waitin'. Put that in your god damn brain of yours!!!"

"What people?" Tommy retorted. "There's no one here, besides us. Look at that snow fallin' again. Nobody wants to stay outside in this damn weather. Look, it's started again," he said as his eyes darted at the white puffy flakes falling in the street.

"Oh, you and your damn cold sickness!"

"Well, told ya before I didn't want to come to this place, but ya said we'd get better work and all, and look how much it did us. We're waitin' in front of a damn freakin' piece of junkyard. Building's not there anymore. The cop didn't make it. We should go."

"You're gettin' on my nerves Tommy. We go, when I say we go. We got to finish the job first, for the boss, and then he'll accept us. From there, we will be able to crawl our way up, like dad did."

"Yeah, ya say so already. But what about Carl, he doesn't care about us. Look, we're still here because he wanted to play with this cop. Might be dead as well, and we're waitin' for nothin', Martin."

"Damn it, I know, Tommy! We said we'd give him till seven, building up or not. So we do. Remember, the boss wanted him in the team, I can't get rid of him without a god damn excuse."

Tommy snarled. "Whatever."

Martin cursed, "and you ain't gonna do nothin', unless I say so, you got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I won't make a damn move."

"Good, we just have to..." Martin's voice trailed off, as his phonewent off.

He picked it up, and shot a cold warning at his brother when he pressed to answer.

"Yeah?"

"Is it done?" questioned a low grating voice.

"Yeah boss," Martin quickly answered.

"So he's dead," the cold voice on the phone replied.

"We took care of him and with that blast, there's no way he could survive..." began Martin.

"Not what I asked you, idiot!" The voice growled in anger. "Make sure he is, and don't give me what you think. I don't pay you to know what's in your head! This guy is like a damn street cat, got seven lives or something. So go check! And if he survived, you'd better take care of business, and definitely this time!"

Martin looked outside at the collapsed building, and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. "Don't worry boss, you ain't gonna hear 'bout that CSI any time soon. The next time tv will talk about him would be to announce he's missing. They'll never find his body."

"Good," the boss replied dryly. "The trial is next week I don't want any surprise before that. Hopefully, his sneaky, rat team will get the message, and drop the case."

"Right boss, I'm sure they'll get the message, and..." he answered as he realized the line was dead. Damn it! He'll never get use to that kind of scolding.

He put back the phone in his coat, pondering. He cursed. So now they had to check on the cop. He knew he had taken the best option by remaining here right after the blast. He smirked. That place was so deserted that no one had even called the cops or came to see what had happened when the bomb had exploded. That ramshackle building was scheduled to be destroyed in a couple of days anyway, so nobody would make a fuss when they found out it was almost to the ground now. Although, the second story had hung on pretty well. The bomb, in fact, had only been there to cover their tracks after they killed the cop and be sure no one would come and sneak around, especially his team.

He remembered when he had arrived in the legendary city with his brother. He had made sure he would get to know the right people; the ones who would know where the best dumping places were, the good hides out where cops would never look, just in case, and the most important, the people you didn't want to cross and get on your back. So, after three years, when the name of that CSI had rung too many times to his ears, he knew he'd better not mess with him. That crime lab boss, Mac Taylor, had a reputation as a bad ass cop and white knight at the same time; too much to be taken lightly. No, he was the kind of cop that would stick to you like glue until he was done with you. That's mostly why he had managed to stay out of his way as much as possible. He sighed lightly, but his new boss hadn't seen it that way.

Yeah, his new boss. 'The' Boss, he should say. So, how could he have said no to him? He had waited years to crawl his way up high enough to be noticed by the big Boss. So when that man asked you to do something, it meant he had seen you and had plans for you, especially when he wanted you to take out one of the major players of this city.

So yeah, he had broken his sacred rules, but hell, that was all for his future and his brother too. And with this cop dead, they would be known as the ones who wiped outNew York City from its crime lab boss. No one would come bother them after that. No. Their fame had been sealed the moment they'd dropped on him.

A wicked smile grazed his face as he recalled the trap he had set for the big time detective. Well, not his best plan, though, but the cop had run for it, swallowing the bait. First, he wanted to be sure Taylor would be alone, dealing with his team at the same time would have really been too dangerous. For that, he had stalked him for weeks, getting to know his habits, likhow he always goes for a coffee at the end of the day, his partner, Bonasera, in tail. The two of them were that tight than one couldn't show up somewhere without the other around. He snarled. He had known from the start that getting her out of the way would be the difficult part.

But sometimes luck smiles at you in ways you just don't expect. And with lots of hush money, he had managed to get his eyes inside Taylor's office. The boss would have been proud of him if he had known. He smiled. He had watched, amazed at the blow his so-called partner had given him this morning. It couldn't have come at a better timing, right after he had set the trap. His smile widened. Yeah, he'd been more than lucky. His bait, little Maria, hooker in low places and known user of every kind of drugs he had come to promote, had been very compliant to help him in exchange for free samples of his latest product. Following his directions, she had called Taylor early in the morning, just before his argument with his partner, setting a meeting right here. She had played the perfect, scared middle aged woman, who had confidential intel about the case Taylor was working on. It was perfect, as since the beginning of this case, he had watched the two partners getting further from each other, although he hadn't expected it would be Bonasera that would serve him up on a silver plate.

From his previous study, Taylor wasn't the kind of guy to justify his actions or get back-up for things he had judged harmless. No, he was the kind driven by his gut, though he always argued with his colleagues about doing things with his head. He was just hiding behind the protocol to prove to everyone that he was doing things by the book. But the truth was he could go wild at any time; he had seen that kind of guy before. Yeah, he was hot headed, one just had to know how to turn him in this mode, that's all. Though it would have been trickier without the help of his partner, but since Taylor didn't agree with Bonasera on that case, he wasn't about to share that information with her, especially after the blow she had yanked at him. Hell, if a woman had talked to him like that, she would have found herself kneeling down in her own blood in the next minute; her face bruised as her swollen lips would have begged for his forgiveness. But no, that guy, Taylor, instead of acting like a man and beat the crap out of that chick, had retreated like a damn wounded puppy.

Frankly, he had laughed at the poor guy that could terrorize any skunks in the city, but couldn't stand his partner's wrath. And now, he had no feelings at all to take him out of the game. That Taylor hadn't what it takes to get him off the street, he was sure of that. He was too soft for the game. He smirked, thinking he had thought he could ever be a threat to his plans. But now that he was out, he should be able to crawl his way up. Taylor's death would bring him the fame he deserved for so long and with that, power.

So luck had brought him Taylor on a silver plate, and without any back-up, according to Maria's request; even his NYPD street cop, Flack, hadn't been there, giving the three of them all time needed to set the bomb and trap the detective. Martin glanced at his watch and back at the frozen, milky street outside the window. New York's finest detective had been dead the moment he had gotten out of his SUV; his mind miles away from this city, probably too busy thinking about what his partner had said to him than to check for his own safety. Girls, he cursed, they could drive the tougher guy to the edge of the abyss in an instant. So yes, Taylor was too soft, and killing him was the best service he could give him before the guy started to make a fool of himself and turn his bad ass reputation into a sissy. He smirked, surely the cop would have thanked him for what he did if he had still been alive.

Though, he had to admit, Taylor had still some good rests despite his mind miles away. His hands slightly cuddled his ribs at the place the cop had kicked him, fighting for his life. He could already feel the dark spot forming over his stomach. Sure, they had gotten him down after a ten minute hand to hand fight; well mostly a three to one, but he had never been for gentleman rules. They could have shot him, but he didn't want to raise suspicions if anyone stumbled upon his body. No, getting him buried under a crumbling building was a far better version of 'accident happens' than kill him and have the whole city after them. Though he couldn't swear Carl had followed his plan to the letter. Damned Carl!

The image of Carl's grim face when he had asked Tommy to uncuff the cop and set the timer for the bomb, was still engraved in his mind forever; a dangerous look of a wild beast about to tear your throat apart. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered Carl snatching the remote from his hands, his glassy eyes looking down at him like a big piece of meat.

"I wanna play a bit first," he had said, a twisted smile on his lips. "Alone," his deep guttural voice had whispered as his dark eyes had settled on the cuffed cop on the floor.

Unconscious, Taylor had laid motionless on the old, dusty and wooden floor, as Tommy and he had walked to the door; the floor whining in pain with each of their steps. His job had been to make sure Taylor would disappear without a trace, the how and when was up to him as long as his task was completed. So if Carl wanted to have fun with Taylor he didn't mind, but he'd better be sure the sick bastard knew not to mess with his plan.

"Remember the bomb is set to explode when you press on the trigger," Martin had repeated to Carl as he had turned around on the threshold. "So don't get too cocky, press it when you're on the other side of the street."

Tommy had shot him an angry stare. "I thought I'd be the one to do the honor, Martin. It took me sometime to get all this C4 in place and ready for the big blow. Should have been my celebration not..."

"Enough, Tommy." His loud voice had cracked in the old room they had brought the cop in. The walls were falling into streaks of rotten wood, and the windows had been condemned by some old wooden panels, preventing any curious looks to observe them when they had dropped on Taylor and beat the crap out of him until he had finally given up and remained unmoving.

Tommy had sighed. "Another time." Martin had promised to his brother. "Next time you'll press on the trigger."

Tommy had muffled a curse before he had tramped down to the broken stairs, the old wooden steps had then creaked under his heavy footsteps, echoing like a lonely whimper inside the bedraggled tenement. Then, Martin had given the cop a last glance, small remorse creeping up his mind as he had seen Carl pulling out a knife. Worry and disgust had lingered in his eyes at what Carl was about to do. Martin knew that his own life hadn't been a good example, and he would never be a good guy, hell he wasn't going to change, but the view of Carl and knowing the skunk's reputation had made him sick.

If Carl hadn't been expressly chosen by the Boss to accompany them, he would have never allowed him to team up with them. Carl was the kind that enjoyed killing, and having fun was just another word for torture. He remembered thinking that maybe it had been what the Boss had in mind, getting his revenge onTaylor the hard way.

"Wait for me," had ordered Carl as if he was in charge. Then, his glacial black eyes had set upon Martin. "And make sure your dumb ass brother doesn't come to mess with me, or he might just be my next toy."

A long, scary chill had ran through Martin's back as his hazel eyes had connected with Carl's. That guy was sick. He had let out a small sigh, his hands clenching into fists as, after all, it was his mission, not Carl's. Who the hell had he thought he was to talk to him like that and threaten his brother? But slowly, his anger had subsided as he had remembered that Carl wouldn't bother him very long as soon as this job was done. His sight had wandered backto the cop. A red smear of blood had been starting to drip from the open gash over his left eye, a small, crimson puddle of fresh liquid quickly absorbed by the dry wooden floor under his head. At the time, he recalled how glad he had been not to be in Taylor's skin. Even now, he didn't want to know what Carl had done to the cop. Taylor dead was all that mattered to him.

Cuffed, and far from waking up with the blow Tommy had inflicted on him, Martin was almost sure there had been no way Taylor would have made it out of the building before the blast. No, not even Carl, none of them had been seen since the explosion. But the Boss was right, he couldn't leave right now without knowing.

'You're never so sure until you've seen it with your bare eyes', his dad's voice rang in his head. He sighed angrily, I guess you were right dad.

"So what did he say?" asked Tommy, pulling Martin from his thoughts.

"Uh... He said to make sure the cop's dead. So we have to go and check."

"What? I don't want to go back out in this damn cold. That cop is dead! I know that."

"Well, how do ya know he's really dead? Carl isn't back, and maybe the cop got outta there. The boss is right, we should be sure."

An angry grumble rose from Tommy's voice.

"What?" shot Martin, tired of his brother's perpetual rattling.

"Nothing," replied weakly Tommy, weakly, looking down at his hands. "...I mean...C'mon Martin, Carl had that cop in hand." He looked at his watch. "Like you said, he told us he'd be there at seven".

"And what if he needs help right now?" replied Martin, truly exasperated by his brother's behavior.

"The hell! You know he would watch you die just for fun. I say if he's in trouble it's his problem. Our job was to kill Taylor and hide his body, not to play with him like Carl did. If he got caught in the blast then it's his problem," he grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. "And even if the cop got the better hand of Carl, he had to be caught in the explosion, you know that. We'd have seen anyone gettin' outta there, right? So I'm not goin'!"

His brother had a point. From where they were, they would have seen if anyone had got out of the building before it collapsed. Martin sighed, poundering about his next move. The Boss was right too. How could he be so sure Taylor was dead? He shook his head.

"If Carl hasn't shown up in ten, we're goin'!"

His brother shot him a stern look, obviously not happy about the perspective of going back into the half collapsed building. But he knew when Martin had taken a decision, it was over; nothing would change his mind. So he mumbled an angry curse between his teeth as he looked at the flimsy ruin on the other side of the road. The snow was now falling in thick, white bundles, his old tracks already under two inches of white powder. He quivered lightly. This was going to be a real, cold night.

xxx

Breath...breath...repeated her mind. And so she did. Slowly, she felt the life coming back into her veins, hot, electric energy creeping back into the tips of her cold fingers. She would find him, even if he was... She closed her eyes and swallowed the feel of dread as the world spun around her. She would find him, she repeated to herself, trying to draw strength from this short statement; her lungs started to expand, and she greedily breathed as air filled them.

She had to be strong for him, she repeated, she couldn't lie in her office like some kind of wreck. One last time, she told to herself, she had to be there for him, even if it was the last time. Burning tears stung her eyes as she quickly brushed them away; she had no time for that. No, right now, every second could matter, every second could mean death or salvation, and she wasn't going to give up on him. She owed him that. She swallowed the painful knot tightened in her throat.

Bringing her knees together, she grabbed the corner of her desk with a shaking hand, and slowly rose onto her legs. As a wave of nausea assaulted her, her eyes focused on the one point which wasn't moving in her room; a black nail pinned on the salmon wall of her office. The nausea slowly subsided as the room became still, her gaze still glued to the small black dot. She used to have a painting there, a Greek painting given by Professor P, a father to her for so many years. The painting had remained there until she found out what a thief he was, and had returned the painting where it belonged, Greece. At that moment, she had realized all her childhood had been a lie.

Being a foster child she had always thought she had already lost everything in the world and no one would ever be able to take more from her; but she was wrong, as Professor P had stolen the one thing she thought to be true; her identity, and the truth about her past and her mother. The shock had been so violent, she had felt so lost, that she had wondered how she would have ended up if Mac hadn't been there.

Even though she had pushed him away, messed with the lab's rules, and hurt him with her lies, he had come for her. She nodded silently, yes he had come for her. As she clung at that nice memory, she felt her body regaining more energy, a weak smile grazing her lips; as always, he was her rock, even when he wasn't there, she could still feel his presence, a sweet angel watching over her shoulder, protecting her.

She would be strong for him. She would be there for him, and for that she had to find that guy. Crouching, she grabbed her cell phone and stood up, taking a deep breath. Unconsciously, she leaned against the corner of her desk, her legs still shaking, and pressed on the speed dial. She would find him no matter what.

xxx

He let out a weak sigh, staring at the glowing, blue screen in his hands; his pale, bluish face reflected the draining pain shooting through his side and chest. His lips tightened, muffling the silent pain, as his eyes closed for a second before he swallowed the guilt from hurting that girl, and cursed his clumsiness. He didn't know why, but even through the interferences, he could have heard the hurt and pain smoldering beneath her words, and frankly he didn't like that. That's why he had hung up; he didn't want to hurt her more. God, he wished he could remember, make that damn guilt goes away. It had to. When you killed a cop like he had, it had to be in a cold-blooded heart. If that's what he was, then, he'd better get back to his old selfish, self before the cops show up, and he hanged himself.

A couple of seconds before taking the call, he had pondered the idea of answering it. If he was really guilty of the cop's death, then he would have nothing to expect from any of his friends. As he had turned the idea over and over in his head, the phone had kept ringing and ringing, insisting to be answered. So, finally, he had agreed that he was so screwed that maybe, he should take the chance, and maybe, maybe ask for help.

His eyes stared sadly at the screen as the light vanished and was replaced by an oppressing, cold darkness. He shivered, his arms nestled against his chest to keep some warmth; he had been so wrong. He didn't even get the chance to ask for help. Now, things were at its worst. The cops would come for him, hunt him down like an animal. But giving that woman's anger boiling beneath her words, he didn't bet on his chance to survive very long; she would shoot him at first glance.

Or they would let him die in this cold, like an animal, his mind threatened. His back resting on nothing; he slightly trembled as the adrenaline was wearing off. He could feel, now, his wet, cold undershirt, sticking to his skin, sending more chills into his tired muscles. He cursed, looking up. The faint rays of light were gone; the sun was probably too low now. Night was coming, and with that, this place would turn into a giant freezer, though it was already too damn cold, he realized, sliding his cold hands under his arms. More tremors ran through his body; the wet sludge soaking his pants and undershirt was beginning to numb his limbs as well. If he wasn't moving soon, he would lose the small amount of heat his body had kept, and with that his chance to survive. Bringing his legs under him, he took support with one hand, his right arm firmly cuddled against his wound. He had to get the hell out of here.

Almost standing on shaking legs, the phone rang. He shot, to the small object, a puzzled look when he saw the name; Stella. That girl was calling him back? What does she want? Or maybe she wanted to know where he was, and had guys to track his call, then she would probably try to keep him talking. Yeah right, he wasn't going to answer, no way.

He started to stumble through the darkness. He had to find some kind of shelter or place that would be warmer than where he had found the cop's body. He winced as the phone kept ringing again and again, buzzing angrily in his hand. Crap! That woman wasn't going to drop the case that easily. He wondered if he should take the call. He didn't want to go to jail, he was sure of that. Something deep inside of him was scared like a two year old. He wouldn't go back in jail. Painful images assaulted his mind. He swallowed hardly, no, he wouldn't go back there. But he had to take the call, that too was weird, like an old habit of some kind, a silent urge to answer. He sighed, resigned, as he pressed on the answer button.

"What do you want?" he asked a bit harsher than what he wanted. It wasn't time for small talks anyway. Seeing his condition, he'd bet he wouldn't be able to make it to the morning without some kind of divine intervention. So it was better to cut the crap right now and be done with it.

"Where....r.. you?" asked Stella, on the same stern tone, through the interferences.

A small sigh escaped his lips. This woman was really annoying, he had already told her. He pouted, he should have guessed that she was too busy grieving her friend to hear him. Shit!

"I don't know," he dropped.

"You're......lying."

He smirked. Jesus, she was really stubborn. "I am not, I don't remember."

"If you killed him......I..... swear ....'ll kill you..... myself," she threatened on the phone, her harsh words cut by the interferences.

Now she's talking, he thought, as he closed his eyes, and smirked. "Sorry lady, but you're too late on that one," he retorted, staring bitterly at the wound soaking his shirt.

She remained silent for a moment, before he heard her, another question on her lips. "What do.... you.... mean?" she asked, worries evident behind her words.

"Well, someone's already taken care of that job."

"You..... wounded?" She asked. He could hear the obvious happiness in her voice, as fate was taking a piece of the cop's murderer. "Where..... are you? ......your name?" she tried again as the damn interferences were still bursting through the phone.

He sighed, recognizing the trap; she was trying to keep him on the line, her cops' friend probably tracing the call already. He looked up at the darkness. From what he had seen when he had a better light; he huffed at the use of the word, right, better light, he had to be in the basement of an old building. Then, there were so many iron bars and poles made in metal, and tossed everywhere, and so probably in the story over him that he doubted they got a quick trace on him. Nope, that explains the interferences. But whatever plan they had come up with, he wasn't going to help them locking him up for life; never.

"Told you, I don't know," he replied in a harsh tone. "And my name doesn't matter anyway. I'm not that dumb, lady. Don't want to go back in jail anyway."

"You .....went.... to jail," she questioned.

"Long time ago. Look I know what you're trying to do. You're not gonna find me like that."

On these words he hung up, he didn't want to argue with her. Somehow it made him sick just to think about it. And for the jail, no way he was going back into a cell, even though he didn't remember much of his identity, his mind was still bringing him terrifying images of the guards that held him; it was enough to keep him from going back at any price. Better die here than go back there, he thought, as he turned off the cell phone. That way she won't bother me anymore.

He crouched with a wince as the dull pain in his side reminded him he was probably right. He would never make it to jail, even if the cops could find out where he was. His life was going to end here, and no one would ever regret him at all.

TBC.............


A/N: alright, here it's the good time to let me know what you thought of this chapter, and review... and thanks for reading.