A/N: First, thanks to everyone who put me on their alert list and to all of you, for your wonderful reviews. I love hearing from you and having your feedbacks about this story. It really helps me to try my best to make it right.

Huge thanks to my beta Blackdragon189, which is editing this story and a new one I prepared for Christmas. She has a lot on her shoulders, I can tell. So thanks Liz!

And here it's chapter 5 a bit earlier than expected (since, again, I'm not home this weekend) and heading into more action...

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 its characters belong to CBS and Jerry Bruckeimer.

"What the..." she cursed. He hung up on me. She couldn't believe it. That jackass had hung up on her. Damn it, finding him was going to be more difficult than what she thought. Hopefully, Adam would have a hit on Mac's cell before the end of their conversation, either with the first or second one.

Firmly decided to find out where Mac was, she jogged out of her office, her high heels clacking in the hallway as she headed toward Adam's lab. If the blond lab tech, Jean, had done her job, then she might have a chance to find where that damn murderer was. A cold hand tightened around her heart as she thought about what could be happening to Mac right now. Was he really alright or dead like that damn bastard had said? The pounding in her head grew louder as she neared Adam's lab, her expectations to find him fast and safe very high.

But as soon as she entered the room, she knew it wasn't good; Adam was just too easy to read. Youngest in the team, always wearing a casual shirt with a pair of jeans, ready to help and giving his best, he was unable to keep his emotions inside although he was one of the best lab techs she had ever met. So when she saw his gaze locked to the screen, avoiding her, she knew they hadn't caught him. Yet, she added for herself, because she didn't care if she had to overturn every rock in this city; she would find her partner, she would find Mac.

"Adam?" she asked, her heart beating fast in her chest as she feared his answer.

"I..." he rambled, before his lips shut and his blue gaze met hers. "Sorry....I couldn't get a trace. I guess next time, we'll be ready."

"We might not have a next time," she stated with anger, more to herself for not being able to keep that guy talking long enough, than the poor Adam.

But Adam took it personally and clamed up right away, staring at the screen. And then, his wild brain took over a few seconds later as he started into what he thought was a very good explanation about why he had failed.

"Well, I've done the best, considering you didn't give me much information, Stella. But what's weird it's all the interferences I've picked up along the way. It's like the signal was scrambled from the origin." He looked at her, a boyish grin carving his lips, thinking it was the right time to reorient the blow. "Was that CIA calling you?" he joked, but quickly dropped his smile when Stella's face turned into a worried one.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude into..." he began, tumbling on the words as he tensed and looked back at the screen.

"It's not that Adam," she quickly cut, seeing agitation beginning to boil beneath his blue eyes. "It was Mac's cell," she dropped sternly. A deadly silence followed her words.

"Mac's? How did he..." he couldn't finish as she cut him off again.

"Mac's in trouble Adam. The man I had on his cell phone claimed he killed him, and that his b..." her voice trailed off, she couldn't say those words. No. She would not use those words to talk about him. Mac was alive she knew it, and she was going to find him. She took a deep breath locking her eyes with Adam's. "We have to find him Adam. So you drop everything you're working on and you come up with something on that call. A place, voice identification, I don't know, anything that can lead us to Mac."

"I'm on it. Don't worry, we'll find him!" he exclaimed with a serious tone, his fingers already dancing on the keyboard.

She gave him a weak smile, greeting his support. We have to. She let her eyes close a second. Wherever you are Mac, please hang on, we're coming...

xxx

"It's way past seven Tommy, let's go," Martin said as he shot a severe look at his older brother.

Tommy growled as he rubbed his hands together. "I hate snow!" He huffed again. He could already feel the sting of the cold biting into his fingers.

"I know, C'mon. As soon as we're done with this, then we can go back home."

"Gee, ya say that as if it sounds so simple," he grumbled. "It's gonna take hours to find a piece of this cop after the blast. And ya expect me to be happy about that? I never worked in a meat packin' industry and never will... too cold anyway."

Martin exited the car without a word. He knew better than to fuel his brother's hatred toward cold. Since their childhood, Tommy had always preferred staying inside when the weather was turning a bit frisky. The other kids had always teased him about that weird brother who would refuse to play in the snow like them. But Martin suspected Tommy's odd behavior had begun right after the expedition with their dad when he was ten. At the time, it had been the worst snow storm known in New Jersey's history.

Although Tommy or their dad had never talked about what happened back there, Martin could still remember the streak of fear carved on his brother's face after he had pushed the entrance door; the day they had come back. His eyes had lost the love and care he was used to shoot at him, making him feel special, as if they had a special bond. But after that weekend, Tommy had never been the same anymore; no more loving and caring older brother looking out for his younger brother. No. Just a tense, cold big brother grumbling curses against the cold weather. To add to that odd behavior, he had started to have sudden outbursts, exploding in rage every time he lost his temper and blew angry, harsh words to whoever was around at the time. And it sure wasn't good to be there then, as Tommy could easily break a leg or a table without blinking or noticing the difference.

Until now, Martin had always wondered what had made his brother change. He glanced at Tommy as he finally opened the car's door and stepped on the crunchy snow with another growl.

"I hate this damn snow." Martin could hear him cursing.

Ignoring his brother, he switched on his flashlight and lighted his way toward the building. His steps echoed in the silent, early night as his boots crunched the thin layer of ice covering the snow. As always in the winter, days were shorter, but in New York, they didn't even last that much due to the towers' shadows. He hurried the pace, scrambling the frosty snow with repeated crunches. Tommy glared at him as he came close and his right foot sank into ten inches of crispy, white powder. The light, puffy flakes stuck to the bottom of his paints as he pulled his foot out of the snow with small curses.

"C'mon Tommy," scolded Martin, as he stepped before the frail building that remained frozen in the silent darkness. "Ain't the time to play."

His brother answered him with a dark stare, fuming, before he trudged under the small arch that used to be the hallway. Only the right side of the building was still standing. The other side had totally crumbled on itself like a sand castle, forming small heaps of iron bars, broken, wooden panels merged with fragments of, what had been red bricks.

Junkyard, thought Martin, how the hell would they be able to find anything in this mess? He glanced at Tommy, his face hidden by the shadows, was now standing where there used to be the staircases; but now only a messy stack of wooden pieces were scattered on the ground, the white snow slowly covering every trace of the blast.

"Let's try to find traces of blood, or a body." He threw to his brother. "I guess Carl must be in that junk too." Damn idiot! Should've listened to me.

The best thing was to get moving and be done with that. Even he didn't like the perspective of looking for body parts. But they had to do what had to be done. He sighed, otherwise the boss would have their asses too.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and find him right away," Martin added, trying to convince Tommy to be a lot more motivated.

"Yeah right, that old, ricketyramshackle crumbled on its bases. How do ya figure we gonna see anythin' with this damn darkness and this cold wind blowin' into our necks? It's not even a full moon. I can't see a damn thing with this flashlight." His arms dropped hopelessly to his side.

"Just do it, Tommy," Martin spat with anger. "Because if you don't, and that damn cop is still alive, we ain't gonna make it to the end of this week. Stick that in your thick head!"

Still growling, Tommy turned his back to his brother and began to rummage with the tip of his boots through a pile of burned, wooden bars before him.

Martin shrugged. He didn't care what his older brother thought, they had a job to finish, no matter what the time it would take them. The Boss wasn't a guy to take too lightly. Messing with him could be signing their death certificate. He smirked; Taylor was just the good example for that.

"Just look for the damn body, alright."

"Don' need to be pissed off," sneered Tommy as he crouched and lifted pieces of shattered wood; their ugly search starting.

xxx

His shallow, rasping breath echoed in the darkness as he tried to think. It was hard to concentrate. The cold, that damn, sneaky cold was eating at his body. He brought a leg close to his chest and winced when his knee popped with a cracking sound, the joint not visibly happy to be forced to move with this low temperature.

Damn it! Inside him, he was pissed to be so helpless. He glared angrily at the dark void over him. Darkness was everywhere around him, and he couldn't see a damn thing. Taking a slow breath, the cold freezing air grazed at his sore throat and drew him a violent, burning cough. His chest heaved in pain as the cough lasted for what seemed an eternity before it finally stopped; leaving his body trembling and weak. Beads of sweat slid the long of his neck as he tried to find his breath, careful not to awake his scorched throat. Quivering, his arms desperately tightened around his chest to stop the tremors, though it didn't really work. He was losing heat fast.

The thin fabric of his undershirt was useless against this freezing cold as ice was starting to form around his wrist and at the top of his shoulders. The glacial temperature had crawled under the layer of the damp cloth, sinking to his skin, biting into his flesh with sharp teeth, stabbing his bones with millions of frozen, tiny shards. The hard pounding of his heart hammered beneath his temples. Soon, he would be dead if he didn't find a quick solution.

He had thought about taking the cop's coat and jacket, but after he had tried to pull it off, he had realized the clothes were also damp from the cop's blood and the murky sludge; both were useless then. So he had sat back to where he was now, his back against the cold side of what used to be a bathtub turned upside down. At least the freezing wind couldn't blow on his back anymore. That small victory against the weather was enough to give him a bit of hope.

With shaking hands, he decided to give it a last try and turned on the cell phone. He looked at the small battery pulsing on the screen and blinked at the light, too bright for his eyes used to the obscurity. The battery would be dead soon, mostly because of the cold, again. Cold weather and batteries had never been a good match. He swallowed the gloomy thoughts threatening to smash his will and sighed before he pressed on the only three digits he could remember.

"911, what's the nature of your emergency," stated a friendly young female voice.

He closed his tired eyes; he could picture a young girl in her twenties sitting behind a small desk and glaring at the screen before her. She was probably sitting in a warm room with twenty more other people like her, all in rows, a steaming cup of black coffee set near their keyboard. She would have a thin headset entwined in her long, curly hairs. He sipped at the warm vision.

"If you can't speak..." the girl began.

"I'm..." he croaked, his voice even more difficult to understand. "I need help," he finished painfully, trying to separate each syllables. His throat was still stinging and burning, his lips were numb and each syllable was taking a hell of energy to pronounce.

"Where are you sir?"

"Ah..." his breath let out tiredly, "...am...some kind of basement..." He took a short breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. He opened his eyes. He had to stay awake, he told himself, as he tiredly shaved the sleep weighing on his eyelids. "-building.... I think... collapsed building..."

"I'm sorry sir, you're breaking up! Where did you say you are again?"

"In...a basement," he stammered, his eyes fluttering to stay open. "...building collapsed...don't know where..."

"Are you hurt?" anxiously questioned the young girl, realizing the precarious situation her interlocutor was in.

"Head hurts...uh..." he took another long breath. The hammer in his head was giving him a hard time to gather his thoughts, and stay focused. "...hole in the side...bleeding...can't stop it..."

"Okay, I can send help right away, but I need to know where you are? Can you tell me your name, sir? Something that could help localize you?"

A long sigh escaped his lips before his trembling voice spoke again, one hand rubbed tiredly at his face to shave the sleep threatening him. "...Don't know..." he dropped tiredly.

"Sir I need to know more. I can't send an ambulance if..."

"Shouldn't... have called," he cut, his voice almost a whisper. "Sorry..." He ended the call. It was useless.

He watched as the faint glow disappeared from the cell phone's screen, darkness wrapping its glooming wings around him, tightening its strong hold around his frail body. He was born in this obscurity, and somehow that black suffocating cloud intended to keep him here forever, sealing his soul forever in this tomb.

He swallowed as his eyes closed wearily, the hard beating still hammering inside his head. The back of his head leaned against the cold metal behind him as he tried to rest.

He smirked at the irony. He, alive but with no memory of who he was, was sitting beside the dead body of a cop, who had obviously earned respect and affection from this woman, Stella, and probably many more. He sighed, he felt cold inside, and not just because of the dropping temperature. No. He felt so alone and stranded, that for a moment he wondered if he shouldn't just let go. His memory was a wreck, with obvious images of terrible pain he had endured or seen people live through, and clearly he would never get any love or warmth the same way that cop had.

A deep jealousy crept into his mind as he envied the cop's life. With only a few words exchanged with that woman, he knew he'd never get to live that. He swallowed the hard truth as the word coward exploded in his mind, wrenching his heart and tearing open more painful images from his chaotic mind. The ferocious voice of a man vomited a flow of rage as he shouted that he was just a damn coward that had watched his friend die. Burning tears stung his eyes, as his body was run by unstoppable tremors. Who the hell was he?

Far from him, faint sobs echoed in the darkness. Deep inside, he felt sorry for the poor bastard that was weeping his whole being out. But it was then that he realized, he was that poor bastard. He was the one crying all his soul away. But he didn't care, nothing had importance anymore. He had no memory and no life to hang on to; nothing dear to come back to. He was just the shadow of a poor, dying, selfish bastard. No one would ever miss him. His body slightly shook as the dreary thought sank into his mind.

Like he said before, you couldn't kill someone and get away with it. Fate had to make you pay.

xxx

Her sight wandered behind the window, gazing at the shy stars doing their best to be as bright as they could despite the flooding and overwhelming light coming from the sleepless city. A few minutes ago, the snow had stopped, replaced by a small black hole between the heavy clouds where the stars were hiding. According to the weather channel, it was a small interlude before the real snow storm started. She bit her lower lip, that same channel had announced a drop in temperature for the night; below zero. She shivered instinctively. Since the announcement, a long line hadn't stopped creasing her forehead as minutes had passed by, adding to her already tense and worried face. She prayed she was right about Mac.

Frankly, she didn't know what she would do if he was... Silence followed her thoughts, as she recalled his tense face when he had left this morning. All the tension and despair his eyes had conveyed had broken her heart, and now it was hard for her to put it back together without him; without having the possibility to say I'm sorry. She would never be able to go on without him in her life, and with the temperature dropping, she was afraid that the damn storm would take him away and at the same time, her life too. If it happened, it would be the death of the faint gleaming hope of a future she had craved for; afuture she had never spoken of, a future where, maybe, they could be together. But instead, she had buried her feelings under the thick layer of fear; fear of losing him if he rejected her. She closed her eyes. Please God, make him be okay.

Her back to Adam, who was hastily typing commands on his keyboard, she raked her brain once more, trying to find a clue that could help find Mac. She had reached almost all the team, and they were all doing their best to make it back quickly. With another lab tech, she had analyzed every call Mac had received or made from his cell phone this week, and besides professional calls from the chief or his team, she had found nothing. It was the same with his line in his office. Nothing particular had drawn her attention, except maybe a few calls from public phones, but those were all in New York, and she had no way to know if it was one of them that had drawn her partner outside.

Almost an hour had come and gone without any more news; and it seemed she was dying a little more as the seconds faded into the night in the rhythm of Adam's typing. Every once in a while, she could hear him muffling a curse, probably because she was there, otherwise she was sure he would have yelled at his screen. A weak smile grazed her lips. That was Adam; very spontaneous.

Tiredly, she opened her eyes and saw her pale reflection in the glass. The sight before her brought her back to the sad reality that her partner was still missing, probably hurt somewhere, and that she still had no clue of where to look. And to add to that, she had pushed him away the very day he would have needed her the most. Her harsh words echoed in her mind, ringing like a death sentence. Had the courage....watch friend die...use my heart.....should try it once in a while. Wherever he was, and whatever state of mind he was in, he was probably cursing her name for what she had said to him. She pinched the top of her nose, knowing him, he was probably thinking she was right. That thought made her sick. She had spoken those harsh words out of anger, she knew none of them was true, but Mac Taylor had a thing to keep things buried so deep inside that he would have taken anything she would have said like a statement of his own failure. Oh god, if only she could take those words back, and find him safe and sound. Unfortunately, she couldn't. Though, she deeply hoped that for the latter, she would be able to make it on time and help him.

Deep in her thoughts, she didn't hear the light footsteps entering the lab, and walking toward her, his brown suit lightly floating with each step. The man stopped right behind her, a big smile spread on his face as he spoke.

"Hey sleeping beauty," joked Flack as he gazed at her reflection, her dark blue V-neck T clad to her thin frame.

A wide grin spread on his face as he saw her being startled and the effect he had on her. But a few seconds later, when she turned a worried glance at him, her hand pressed on her opposite shoulder near her neck as she was deeply in pain, his expression turned to a serious one.

"Hey, you look like you could use a cup of coffee right now," he noted, trying to seem cheerful.

She locked her eyes with the blue, crystal pool of the young detective and remembered she hadn't been able to contact him to tell him about Mac. He didn't know. A dark shadow lingered in her emerald eyes as a longer crease deepened into her forehead.

"No Don, right now I need Mac," She dropped with a sigh, her arms wrapped against her chest as if this simple action could bring back her partner.

"Ah right, everything for the boss," Flack playfully answered back.

She let out her breath like she was breathing for the last time before leaning against the counter of an analysis table.

"Hey, what's going on Stell?" he asked, as he was getting worried, too. Stella was a tough woman, and to bring such distress in her eyes it had to be something pretty big.

"It's Mac, Don. He's MIA." She looked down, unable to hide the pain and not wanting Flack to witness it. "I tried to contact you, but your phone didn't answer and..." her voice trailed off as if it was too much effort to go on.

"What do you mean he's missing? How do you know?" Flack could feel anxiety creeping along his back and neck. If Mac was missing it wasn't something bad, it was hell breaking loose in the crime lab, and that simple thought just shouted big time problem in his head. "Since when? I mean, I saw him this morning when he came to the precinct, and he was fine."

"What time was that?" she questioned eagerly, hoping it would give her a clue to retrace his fateful road.

Flack seemed to think about it before his blue eyes looked at her with more intensity. "Around 10, I'd say."

Stella let out a heavy sigh, 10, she repeated in her mind. It meant Mac could have been in trouble since then, and she hadn't done a damn thing about it, only wondering about his fate seven hours later. She cursed her selfishness. What kind of partner was she? First snapping at him and now that? I just want him to be alright, is it too much to ask?

"Stella," repeated Flack, as she had clearly shelled back into her thoughts.

"Uh, yes?"

"What happened?"

She swallowed the knot in her throat before answering and leaving their argument aside.

"I tried to call him several times for a case, and when I finally reached him someone else answered his phone." She locked her eyes with Flack's. "Don, Mac would never give his phone willingly, you know that. It's his line for work, all his life turns around it."

"Yeah, I know," sighed the detective as it became now clear where Stella was going. He nodded quietly encouraging her to resume.

As he took in the pain in the depth of her emerald eyes, he swore he had never seen so much misery and helplessness mixed at the same time in her eyes, not even when she had been hurt by Frankie; her private life thrown to hell. So when she spoke again, his body had instinctively tensed waiting for the dreadful news. But he had never anticipated that the words that would come out of her mouth would be those, and not with Mac in the same sentence. Never.

"The man I spoke to said..." she took a long breath, one hand rubbing aimlessly her forehead, and hiding her sight."...He said Mac was dead...and that he killed him."

She almost choked on the last words as her eyes closed slightly, trying to push away the reality that she didn't want to believe in. She refused to believe it. Mac was going to be okay. He had to be. She couldn't think otherwise. She knew that if their role were reversed, he would be doing anything to find her, but most of all, he would never abandon hope. Not Mac Taylor.

Flack remained still before her, trying to comprehend what she had said. It was Stella; she couldn't have said those words. God damn, it was Mac, they were talking about. The man had a skin made of steel and more than several lives, nothing could happen to him; it was Mac.

"How Stella?... How are you sure?" he asked with a small voice.

She looked away. "I don't want to be sure Don. I just want to find him." She took another deep breath, gathering her thoughts as her shoulders sagged, and then she turned into CSI mode. "Adam is trying to find a way to trace his cell; for the moment, I...I have no other leads." She stated sadly. "I checked his mail, his phone calls; I tried to retrace his road, but so far I've come up with nothing." Her arms lolled to her sides.

"Did you try his GPS?" he pushed lightly.

She smirked, remembering it had been the first thing she had checked. "So far, we haven't gotten a trace. It's either not working or someone turned it off." And that thought was even more unnerving. It meant that Mac could have been ambushed. And right now, she didn't like the sound of that. An ambush was always planned; it meant someone had tracked down Mac, which dropped the possibility of finding him to a very small number.

"What about old scum bags getting their payback?"

She shook her head, raising a brow toward him. "Well, that I have. Do you have any idea how many people have sworn they would get their revenge on Mac, since he's been with the NYPD?"

He nodded, understanding her trouble now. As a cop you always ended up pissing off a lot of people, and not all of them were in jail.

"Right too many," he replied sternly.

She let out a heavy sigh. "That's an understatement. I found 52 cases so far," she dropped, hopeless. "And that's only the ones who are out of jail, and still leaving in the city; I'm not even mentioning the ones who might have connections with the outside, about to be released, or who would like to see him vanish from their political life."

A quiet understanding filled both their eyes as Flack remembered their last confrontation with Dunbrook. That one wasn't to take too lightly. The guy had enough connections to steal the flash drive from the evidence room, so make a cop disappear might not be too far from his everyday what-to-do-list.

"I see. How can I help?"

"When you saw him, did he tell you anything about where he was going and for what?"

Flack looked away. "Well, he didn't seem in a very talkative mood, so I didn't press much."

He sighed; visibly ashamed he hadn't tried to know more from his friend. If Mac was in trouble, a single bit of information could make a difference, unfortunately, he hadn't pushed. Mac had helped him so many times, covering his back, but when his friend had seemed in pain he had just let go. Damn him! What kind of friends was he? He looked into the gleaming green of Stella's eyes. She was obviously in pain too, probably cursing herself for not being there for him as well. His hands turned into fists, his knuckles whitening. Shit! He should be able to remember something, anything that could give them a lead. C'mon, Don wrack your brain!

"I think he said something about meeting a source of some kind," he finally uttered, not really sure. His blue eyes searched an invisible link on the ceiling before he set them on Adam, who was still busy on his computer. "I asked him if he wanted me to come along, but he said he would be fine. I didn't push too much, you know, he had that dark creepy look when he wants to handle things on his own. Well, I thought he'd prefer to be alone. So,..." his voice trailed off, regretting he hadn't tried to learn more. "Sorry, Stell, that's all I have."

"It's okay Don. It's typical Mac," she cursed as she headed to Mac's office, a new idea in mind, Flack on her heels.

Maybe he had left a clue there, a place or even a name written somewhere. She shook her head, scolding her stupidity as she entered his office. Why hadn't she thought of that before, damn it? Okay, she was worried about him and angry at herself for the words she had spoken earlier, but was she so thick headed that at the first emotional distress, she couldn't handle things without him around? She had to be tougher than that if she wanted to find him. C'mon Stella, wake up damn it! Mac's life is in the balance! She scolded herself.

A few minutes later, she sighed, her brows furrowing. His desk was covered with lots of files, but she hadn't found a thing, not even a small paper wrinkled in the bin. She stared silently at the picture of the team and him on the corner of his desk. There should be something she could do.

"The team knows," Flack spoke, his voice breaking the deafening silence of Mac's office.

For the last ten minutes, he had quietly watched her and was amazed how a worried and pissed off Stella could turn upside down the neatly office in a matter of minutes. The word tornado had come to his mind as she had checked everywhere; under each file, inside his drawers, under the keyboard, even under his desk just in case. But at the end, they were back to square one with no more clues about where he was.

"Yeah, Lindsay and Hawkes are doing their best to wrap up the crime scene they're on, and Danny was off for the rest of the day, but he should be back in a few. He had to drop Lucy off to her nanny."

"He'll be alright Stell."

Stella locked her tired eyes with Flack's, hoping with all her heart that he was right.

"You know him," continued Flack, "the man has seven lives. I'm sure he'll find a way to be okay."

She let out a deep, exhausted breath as she slumped back into Mac's chair. The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her and for a second she let herself drown into his lingering presence. Her harsh words came back to her mind as a cold fear crawled back into her mind. Mac had to be okay. He couldn't be gone just after what she had told him. It was too painful to imagine him never knowing what was really on her mind. She swallowed the sadness and anger that choked her throat. Only her eyes were able to speak. She didn't want to push destiny or get an angry god or whatever after Mac; she just wanted him back.

She wanted to tell him how sorry she was, to see his soft gaze smiling confidently to her and make sure he was okay. She wanted to tell him how much she cared about him like she should have in Greece, that he meant so much to her that when he wasn't alright she couldn't be too. They were linked to each other, and she needed him more than what she would have ever admitted. A tired sigh escaped her lips. She needed to feel his reassuring presence, and perhaps, this time, she would find the strength to tell him what was inside her heart. Yes. She stared sadly at the frozen and dark night outside. Maybe this time, she would be brave enough to tell him that she loved him, and would never let him go. Never again.

She felt the warmth of a firm hand slightly pressed on her shoulder. She drew strength from this small gesture reminding her of her partner; Mac always did that when she was in pain. Though, this time when she looked up, she found Flack staring anxiously at her.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked nervously.

She took a deep breath, "I will be Don. As soon as we find him, I will be. If only I "

She was cut off by a frenzy Adam rushing inside Mac's office. His breath short, he stared at Stella with a nervous sight.

"Got a hit!" he almost yelled through short rasps. He bent down, hands pressed on his knees as he took a deep breath and raised a hand meaning he needed a second.

Her heartbeat raised at the hope they'd found him. In a second she was beside Adam, near the couch, hanging anxiously to his lips, waiting, hoping Adam had finally found what she craved for hours; a lead to Mac.

"Adam..." she began not able to contain her anxiety any longer.

"I found his cell Stella." He cut her off as he stood up, his breath returning to normal. "He's in Long Island, a few blocks from Triborough Bridge."

Stepping toward a feverish Stella he handed her a small screen. Her mouth was half open, not believing it. Finally, they had a location.

"I think there's something you might want to hear, first."Adam threw as she was almost at the doorway.

"What?" her eyes locked with his, pressing him to continue, she had no time to waste, not now that she had Mac's possible location. She sighed glancing at Flack. She could swear the young detective was waiting for her silent nod to rush out with her.

Adam stepped toward her, biting his lower lip before he pressed on the screen. Seeing his tense face she wasn't going to like that.

"It's the record from the 911 call your guy made some time ago." He let his words sank in the silent room before he pressed again on the screen and a young female voice echoed in Mac's office.

Flack watched intensely as Stella's eyes widened, obviously recognizing the guy's voice from earlier. The three of them stared at the small screen as a girl and the man were taking through interferences.

"If you can't speak..." began the voice of the young girl.

"I'm... I need help," replied a weak, grating voice that Stella recognized right away. It was the same guy that had said Mac was dead. Her hands closed into fists.

Flack listened carefully. The young detective's brows furrowed, that grating voice looked like the guy had swallowed the entire smoke of a ten story building on fire. It was weird though, even through the interferences it didn't seem very natural. Throat cancer, maybe? That will rule out a number of suspects for sure.

"That's him, Adam. How did you..." broke Stella.

"Well," began Adam very proud to explain how he had found Mac, "your guy turned on Mac's cell to make that call, so I got a trace as soon as he was in the network, and since we can get a copy from every dispatch in the city I had a software running to look for specific words, or calls coming from Mac's cell, so it wasn't hard really..." his voice trailed off as he caught Stella waving him to shut up, her full attention back on the voices.

"Where are you sir?"

"hu..." she could hear his voice was clearly in pain, and in fact, she didn't care. If he had hurt Mac, this man would never pay enough.

"...am...some kind of basement... building, I think... collapsed building..." His voice started to ramble but this time it wasn't due to the interferences; pain again?

Flack glanced at Stella. She was standing still and seemed fine, but he knew better. She was stiff, anger boiling behind the green of her emerald eyes. He could swear if the man who was talking was in front of her right now, she would have jumped to his throat and killed him with her bare hands. Yeah, you can tell everybody you two are just friends, but you clearly act if there was more, Stella. He sighed. Like me and Jess. The painful image of his friend and lover lying in her blood surged into his mind before he shoved it away. Now wasn't the time to think about Jess. He had another friend in need, and this one required his full attention. So, he focused on the recording.

"I'm sorry sir, you're breaking up! Where did you say you are again?" The girl seemed a bit panicked.

What about Mac? Screamed Stella's mind. He is the one in need of help right now. Not that damn bastard.

"In...a basement," the man stammered. "...Building collapsed...don't know where..."

"Are you hurt?" the girl asked eagerly.

Well damn it, Stella thought, I wish he is. He told her so. There, she was going to know if he had lied about that too.

"Head's hurt...hu..." A long silence followed his words. "...hole in the side...bleeding...can't stop it..." A long exhalation followed his words, as if the man was trying to breathe.

Alright, she thought. But now that she was sure of that, she had to make sure Mac would be okay.

"Okay, I can send help, but I need ..." the voice of the girl continued to speak but Stella wasn't listening anymore. She had heard enough. It was time to go and find Mac.

"Let's go!" she shouted as she stared at Adam and Flack. "Good job, Adam. Don, you're with me. Alright let's move people!" Stella yelled, her back to them as she was already heading to her office. Both watched her go in silence.

Flack, a small smile creeping at the corner of his lips, rushed behind her. Finally. He met her as she exited her office; her coat in hand. As they stepped into the elevator, he heard her whispering something with a small voice; he guessed it was probably a prayer or something like that. But when she turned to him few seconds later her voice was cold and full of determination, demanding no question.

"I'm driving."

He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Now wasn't the time to argue with Stella. She was too edgy for that. At least it was better to see her like that, than when he had found her a moment ago. Now she had swallowed the small fear creeping inside his mind. He just prayed that Mac was alright, otherwise, the crime lab wouldn't only lose its boss, but its second in command too. The two were so tightthan thinking one could survive without the other was just not possible. He sighed. Mac had to be okay. The guy was too tough to vanish this way. Even the team and himself would be too shaken if...gee, c'mon Don, he scolded himself, don't go there. Mac will be alright.

The doors of the elevator opened to the parking lot. The cold bitter wind assaulted him as soon as he stepped outside, chasing after Stella as the CSI was already at her car. Damn woman, he thought proudly, she was fast when she cared.

He watched, amazed, as she slid into the driver seat, and was now waiting impatiently for him to get in, her fingers squeezing the wheel. Frowning, he got inside and had just the time to put his seatbelt on that the tires were already screeching and smoking on the road. Now Stella was really pissed off.

TBC...

A/N: I know another cliffie, what can I say? It's an angsty story!!! Sorry...:D So, now it's time for letting me know what you thought of this chapter and review. Thanks for reading anyway.