A/N: Thank you all for the reviews!

Enjoy!

Canarsie, Brooklyn

The bullet was only inches off its mark, but he saw her jump in panic, eyes go wide with fear and for a brief moment she had thought he had shot her.

Nicole stared wide-eyed at him before looking down at her body; relaxing slightly, she told him with a quiver, "You missed."

"Consider it a warning shot," he blatantly told her as he lowered the gun, placing it on the floor next to his foot.

"Someone could've heard," she told him with unease.

Without taking his eyes off her, he said, "Let's hope for your sake, someone did."

Nicole shifted in the chair, testing the binds as she told him, "I'm not going to tell you anything." She stared at him and said, "You wouldn't actually shoot me like this. You're a cop. If you do kill me, you'll have committed murder."

Giving a nod, he told her, "You're right. That's why I'm not going to shoot you. If you still refuse to answer me, I'm going to let you go. Once free, you're going to head to the exit and find that it's been locked. All the windows are either boarded up or have bars on them. The only way out of here, is to go up to the roof and climb down the ladder."

"And what? You're going to push me down? They'll know you did it."

"Payback, remember. Two can play that game. Besides, who's going to believe you that I held you here? All I have to tell them is that you're the one who brought me here. That I was the one tied to that chair, and you fell trying to make your escape. You're a wanted felon, a murderer, Nicole. No one will care when you die, especially not me." He got up from the floor, grabbed the gun, and as he opened the door he heard her voice behind him.

"Your brother knows."

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob and turned to face her.

"How'd you think I found out?"

He took that into consideration as he left the room and shut the door while Nicole yelled at him as he headed down the long hall and out the front door. Sitting down on the steps to the Canarsie Psychiatric Facility, he lit a cigarette and pulled out his cell phone. The building was sitting abandon in an empty lot, surrounded by a boarded up strip mall and empty houses. The whole neighborhood was going to be under reconstruction along with the old mental clinic that he was holding Nicole prisoner in. He knew no one was around, and those that were could care less.

He looked through the contacts on the phone, found the name and number he was looking for, and made a call. As he waited, he wondered if he'd be asleep or awake. Looking at the time on his watch, he realized it was after one in the morning.

After a couple of rings, the man answered. "Goren?"

Rubbing at his forehead, cigarette in hand, he said, "I've got Nicole Wallace."

There was silence on the line before he asked, "Where?"

"I'm not ready to let you know that," he said as he glanced around the street, taking in the light poles, row of houses and dead lawns, broken up concrete sidewalks and shoes hanging from the power lines. "I can't let her kill any more people because of me…I just, I can't."

"Anything you do to her, it's not going to look good for you. You could be brought up on charges."

"If she files charges."

Again, a long moment of silence followed and he knew exactly what the cop was thinking. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late, detective," he told Logan before flipping the phone shut, ending the call.

Taking another look around the street, and at not hearing any sirens shrilling in the distance, he finished his cigarette and headed back inside. This time when he shut the main entrance door, he chained it from the inside and placed the lock back on it.

East Flatbush, Brooklyn

Logan pocketed his cell as he turned to everyone in the SUV; Eames was in the backseat and the mention of Bobby's name, she had sat up and leaned into the gap between the two front seats. "He has Wallace."

"What'd you mean he has her?"

"Just like I said. He has her; says he can't let her kill anyone else because of him," he told her as he pulled the keys from the ignition.

"You think he's going to kill her?" Barek asked as she once again took out her cell phone.

He glanced over at the detective and said, "I don't have a single clue what he's going to do, and neither do you. As far as I'm concerned, that phone conversation never happened. Who're you texting at this hour?"

"The Captain," Barek said as her cell chimed in her hand; indicating that she received an incoming text message. "Don't worry," she said as she looked over at him, "I won't tell Deakins what Goren said. Not yet anyway." She turned back to her phone and read the message. "We have clearance. The Captain will draw up the warrant, but we've been given the go-ahead."

They all got out of the SUV and started down the sidewalk toward the house. There weren't many houses left in Brooklyn, but East Flatbush and Canarsie still held quite a few. This house had been on the market for years and Logan had no idea why. It was big, with three floors, and beautiful; the only thing falling apart of it was the doors. The hinges were rusted and if he had to break it down to get it, it would've been a piece of cake.

Eames had her gun out anyway and Barek followed as she pulled hers while he checked the doorknob. It was locked but he expected it to be.

"How did Wallace get in?" Barek asked as she looked around the windows.

He'd been thinking the same and figured she had a key, picked the lock, or found some other way into the house. "Backdoor?"

"I'll check," Eames said as she started off the porch.

"I'll go with you," Barek told her and he watched as they headed around the building.

Logan studied the door and realized that there was no other lock on the door. Usually when a house was between owners, and property of a realty company, they had their own locks put on the door. That could mean that Nicole knew someone within the company who could've taken the lock off for her. Stepping back from the door, he took in the 'For Sale' sign out front and got the name of the realtor: Benjamin Lubik.

Pulling out his cell phone, he called Captain Deakins. "Evening, Cap. Sorry to bother—"

"Cut to it, Logan," Deakins interrupted. "What'd you got?"

"I think Wallace got to the realtor. His name's Benjamin Lubik."

"I'll see what I can find out about him. Have you gotten in yet?"

Logan heard a noise behind the door before it was unlocked and swung open. Barek smiled at him as she left the door open. "We're in now. I'll call you back once we've searched place."

"Okay. I've got CSU headed your way now, along with a couple of uniforms. Officer Adams has the warrant for you."

"That was quick," he said as he took out a flashlight from his pocket and followed Barek through the living room.

"Let's just say I collected on a few favors. Keep me posted."

"You got it, Cap," he said before he hung up.

The house was dusty and there were white sheets covering all the furniture that was left in the house, a chandler hung from the ceiling—also covered with a white sheet—and looked to be dangling from one wire. The thing could fall at any moment. Eames joined them from the kitchen and shook her head. All clear so far.

"We'll split up," he told them as he headed for the stairs. "I'll take up here and you two can take the basement."

"Why don't we all stick together," Barek said as she also headed for the steps. "It's procedure."

"But we don't' have too much time before we're joined by uniforms and a team of CSI's," he argued as he hurried up the steps. "This place is empty."

"For all we know," Barek called back.

Logan looked over his shoulder and saw that she was heading off with Eames toward the back of the house. Getting to the top of the stairs, he pulled his gun and started to check the rooms one at a time. The first door on his right was open so he peered in and saw that it was empty. Going further down the hall, he has to push open the door to get a look. In the middle of the room was a table by a closed open window and a very old bed. On the bed was new bedding and on the table there was a lamp and a big, thick, packaged envelope.

There was a closet just to the left of the window; Logan went over to it to check inside. Reaching down, he slowly opened the door and shined the light in. It was empty. He turned to the window and looked out. There was a small gap between the houses. If he wanted he could open the window and reach out and touch the other brick wall.

A creak in the floorboard startled him and he turned around to see someone in the dark, over him. The light from his flashlight caught the glint of something metallic in the man's hand and he immediately blocked the arm coming down. He felt a jab in his side as he dropped the flashlight and shoved his gun into his attacker's gut as he shoved him into the wall.

"Police," he gritted out as he held the man against the wall.

A sudden head against his made him nearly blackout as he stumbled back. A pair of hands grabbed him around the neck and jerked his body down into a knee that jabbed up into his stomach. He could barely breathe as it knocked the air of him. Pointing his gun, he fired a round and knew that he hit this attacker because he heard a soft groan of pain that wasn't his own right before he was rammed into and taken to the floor. Logan never lost his grip on the gun, even when he was kicked in the face as the man got up and headed out the door.

Rolling over onto his side he yelled out through the open door, "Suspect on the move! Eames! Barek," he struggled to get out as he gargled through the blood that was filling his mouth.

Spitting the blood out, he grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself up before collapsing back down to his knees. He heard gunshots erupt deep in the house and then silence. He knew that the man who attacked him wasn't armed with a gun or else he would've been shot. But he had seen a weapon of some kind, a knife, maybe, in his hand.

Once he caught his breath and he felt good to stand, he pushed himself up.

"Logan?!" Eames yelled out.

He could hear her charging up the steps as he picked up his flashlight. "I'm all right!" he called out in a whisper.

It was a struggle to keep breathing as he started to cough around the tightness in his chest. Straightening up, and regretting doing so, he stumbled over to the table and caught himself on the edge of it. Shining his light on the envelope, Logan noticed that the address printed on it was for the New York Ledger. There was no name or return address, but he recognized the name of the reporter it was meant for.

He heard her outside the door and saw the light from her flashlight shine in on him. Looking over his shoulder, he asked, "Is Barek-"

"She's with the suspect. He's down."

Nodding, he told her with a strangled breath, "Check the rest of the floor, there could be others. Be careful."

Eames didn't say anything else as she headed down the hall. He had seen another room at the end and they still needed to check the attic. Groaning in pain, he bent down and took in a sharp breath. It felt like his heart was about to beat right out of his chest as he struggled to take in deep breaths. He wondered if he had a broken rib. Fighting through the pain, he returned his focus to the envelope. He flipped it over and didn't hesitate to tear it open. What he dumped out of it stilled his shaking sweaty hand. Picking up a picture, he stared at it with a sinking feeling in his gut. He then grabbed the other pictures, Polaroid's, and spread them over the table as he took them in. All were of the same man in the same room…

"Clear!"

He heard her coming back down the hall and he immediately gathered all the pictures and shoved them into his inside jacket pocket. There was no way in hell he was going to let CSU find those, or Alex; not yet anyway.

"What'd you got?" she asked as she walked up next to him.

Logan shook his head as he told her, "Envelope addressed to a reporter with the Ledger." He didn't debate his actions or his conscious too long before saying, "It's empty."

"Looks like someone tore it open to get at the contents," Eames spoke as she picked it up. She shined her light over it and then looked at his hands. "Logan, you're bleeding."

He looked down at her, confused, before looking at his right hand. He had that hand pressed over his left side because that was where his attacker had hit him. Looking at his left side, he pulled open his coat and jacket; blood was soaking through his shirt and spreading down to his leg.

Two knives? The tightness in his chest was getting worse as he doubled over and felt a trickle of blood out of the corner of his mouth.

"Logan…Mike!"

He felt his legs give out as he hit the floor. Staring up into Alex's panicked face, he whispered, "Don't let'm take…my jacket…"

"What? Mike, hang on. Help is on the way," Alex told him as she put her phone to her ear. "This is…Eames, badge...officer down…" her voice skidded in and out as his vision faded in and out.

Logan fought off the darkness surrounding him long enough to reach into his inside jacket pocket. Alex's scared eyes were the last thing he saw before everything went black.

Canarsie, Brooklyn

"What do you remember of your dear ol' daddy?"

He hadn't spoken to her for nearly half an hour as he sat on the floor and waited her out. This was the first she'd spoken since greeting him back into the room. Reaching up to rub at his eyes, he sighed in annoyance but at the same time a few things were coming back to him. When she asked that, he had a renewed understanding of some aspects of his childhood. There was nothing precise. No real memory, just a broad knowledge of what his life had been like. He remembered well enough now how much of a disappointment he was to his dad, to William.

Since he now knew his biological father wasn't the same man, he finally understood why. To his surprise, it didn't make anything worse. In fact, he felt enlightened and with that feeling he thought he could make peace with it.

Shifting on the floor, he dropped his hand from his eyes and leaned his head back. "We didn't get along. I wasn't interested in the things he wanted me to be interested in; even when I tried to be."

"Like whoring around and drinking? Huh," Nicole said with a huff of laughter. "Funny, because you are interested in those things."

Smirking, he shook his head at her antics. Then that small smirk faded as he felt the truth in those words hit him; and did they hit him hard. A conversation he had with Alex not too long ago, on Christmas Eve if he remembered correctly, entered his tired mind. He sure wasn't a saint when it came to women, or to drinking. He used to over-indulge in both.

Clearing his throat, and shaking that memory away so he could stay focused, he told her, "He wanted me to be…a basketball star, or baseball…any sport really. I only played to get his attention. I was more interested in reading…Even though he liked reading himself, even poetry, he told me that it wasn't a way for a man to be a man. He said that reading was an outlet, but that I needed a…manlier, form of expression."

"Manlier form of expression. It's no wonder you took to proving yourself by becoming a bon vivant just like him. Like fathers like son. Pleaser-seeking degenerates, the whole lot of you. Your daddy was a drunkard, gambler, womanizer; he was a roué. And your real father, he was much more, and much worse. You're more like him than you know."

Staring over at the woman, he felt his jaw twitch as he listened to her. Swallowing around the tightness in his throat, he asked again, "Who is he?"

"I already told you, he's a sinner," she whispered over to him. "His sins are your sins. Look at yourself, holding me here at gunpoint," she mocked him with a sarcastic teasing voice. "Robert, I may not know who you are anymore, but neither do you."

Shaking his head at her, he told her, "I don't need to know everything to know who I am."

"You got yourself all figured out then? You'll really shoot me…Bobby?"

"I told you that I'll kill you…I never told you how."

With those words, Nicole went suddenly still. She eyed him for a long moment and he couldn't help but smile. She wasn't expecting that answer.

"You just said that I'm exactly like them. That I'm," he waved his hand around as he searched for the right word to use, "a degenerate sinner. Am I right, Nicole? You did say that, just now, those were your words about who I am." His hard stare never left her eyes as he got up off the floor. "So what makes you question my intentions of killing you?"

She had to look up as he approached her. There was a faint hint of a smile on her lips as she whispered up at him, "Your daddy wasn't a killer."

His daddy? Not his father…So, that meant what? That she was hinting that his real father was a killer? He gave a nod to her statement as he leaned down closer to her, and said, "No, but my real father was."

That faint of a smile dropped and he got his answer. He was right. Straightening up, he turned around and left the room again. Out in the hall, he pulled out his cell and dialed the same number as last time. Only this time it went straight to voicemail.

Sighing heavily, he flipped the phone shut and rubbed at his head. The pieces were starting to fall into place. He didn't have the whole picture yet, but he was getting closer. He knew that in order to get her to confess, it would have to be extreme. He would have to do something extreme, because he knew she wasn't going to trip up. Not while talking. She could give as much as she could take; and right now she was holding it together.

For all he knew, she was getting off on this whole thing. He wouldn't be surprised. He had thought that if he stopped playing her game that she would be rattled. That he could get to her if he turned the tables on her; if she was suddenly the helpless one. That turned out to not be the case. Nicole would rather die. She would let him shoot her before she talked.

That wasn't his intention anyway. He never intended to shoot her. He didn't even want her dead; he wouldn't care if she was, but he wasn't going to be the one to put her down. Not when he knew that it would be the easy way out for her. She needed to face her own past, her own demons, and she needed to accept responsibility for her crimes.

She needed to suffer for them. He would gladly watch her suffer.

Taking a cigarette out, he lit it as he thought how messed up that was. He figured it had everything to do with the woman in that room and all the people she murdered, all the pain she'd caused.

Flipping his cell open again, he called Logan once more. When it again went to voicemail, he hung up and called another number.

"Eames," she said loudly into the phone. He could hear a siren piercing his ear. It sounded like she was standing right next to it.

"What's going on?" he asked as a surge of panic hit him.

She was quiet for a second before saying, "Bobby?!"

For the first time since he'd woken up in that motel room, he could care less if he was called that. Walking further down the hall, he said, "Yeah. What happened?"

"It's Logan, he's been stabbed. We're on our way to the hospital," she told him. "I'm with him in the ambulance."

He felt his chest hurt at the thought of Logan being stabbed. The feeling snuck up on him because he wasn't expecting it. He felt sickened and angry. He was so angry he wanted to hit something. Logan was a friend.

When that thought entered his mind, he felt the urgency rush through him. He wanted nothing more than to leave and rush to the hospital. He felt he needed to be there; not just with Mike but with Alex. There wasn't too much he remembered yet about his time spent with the detective, but he knew they were close. He knew that Mike meant more to him than just being another cop.

"How is he?" he asked and he heard the way his voice shook. "Is he going to be okay?"

Alex was quiet for a moment and all he could hear was that damn siren. "He's lost a lot of blood. They're saying it pierced his lung, something called hemothorax."

He closed his eyes and covered his mouth. That wasn't a good sign.

"I don't know-"

"He's bleeding internally…and blood is collecting in his chest, uh…between his chest wall and lung. They need to drain it…Are they draining it?" He heard her say something but the siren blaring too loudly for him to understand. "Alex?!"

"Yes, they are, but it's not that simple. He was starting to couch it up when he collapsed."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled as he turned and hit the wall. Leaning against it, he took a breath as he thought the worse. Turning around, he slid down to the floor as he shook his head. Mike Logan could die.

"Bobby? Bobby?"

He had to clear his throat and swallow the lump in it before he spoke, "I'm here."

"We're at the hospital…St. Francis Mercy in Brooklyn…He's…Mike!"

Covering his face, he listened to her frantic voice and then the trembling of her voice. It was killing him that he wasn't there. Mike had saved his life, and he couldn't even be there. The memory of that night; of collapsing on a dark cold road in the middle of nowhere Staten Island, of a car pulling up next to him and Mike getting out and putting him in the backseat. He remembered him reaching out, taking his bloody hand in his own, and telling him to hold on.

"Alex?" he softly spoke into the phone. "Alex, what-"

"He flat-lined," she said, her voice soft and trembling. "They're trying to revive him now. I can't…I can't see. They have him in surgery. I can't, I don't know if…Hey!" she suddenly yelled into the phone. "No, I'm not leaving-…" she angrily yelled at someone. "Barek! Barek, call the Capt-"

He waited a second and then said, "Hello? Hell-…Alex?" There was nothing but silence and then the dial tone sounded in his ear. Pulling the phone away, he saw he had no signal.

He'd lost the call. Gripping the cell, he threw it against the wall and watched at it broke and fell to the floor; the battery slid to a stop next to his foot. Getting up off the floor, he kicked the battery away as he stalked down the hall and pushed the door open.

Nicole lifted her head up and flinched back as he charged at her as he took out his knife. "Robert-"

"Shut up," he quietly told her as he pulled the chair around and cut the binds. "Get up."

"I-" she went to say when he cut her off.

"I said get up!" he yelled as he grabbed her under the arm and lifted her out of the chair. Turning her toward the door, he pushed her towards it. "Go."

Nicole didn't question him again as she left the room. She had gone right for the front doors and at finding them locked, headed up the stairs.

"To the roof, Nicole. It's the only way out," he reminded her as he charged up the stairs after her. There were only four floors to the clinic and within seconds he was pushing the door open and stepping out behind her onto the roof.

He was over this. His memory was gradually returning, he was getting more clarity of what was going on between himself and Nicole. He knew now how to find out who his real father was, and most importantly, he no longer needed Nicole's help. Yes, he wanted her to admit to everything she did, but right now, while Logan was dying in a hospital room somewhere, he just wanted this to end.

She stood there, in front of him, and for the first time he saw pure fear in her eyes. Looking around the roof and out at the rooftops of the neighborhood, he shook his head. "This is it. This is where it has to happen. Where you and I end."

Nicole stared over at him and she smiled slightly. "We'll never end."

"You're wrong," he told her as he turned to look at her. "I'm done with you, Nicole. I'm done thinking about you. I'm done wondering about all the 'what if's'. It doesn't matter. You are who you are. And, you're not worth it. I know that now."

"You're not quitting on me, Bobby. Not ever," she strongly, angrily, stressed. "You still don't know who your father-"

"I don't care," he yelled as he approached her. "This was your way of getting back at me, Nicole. This was your sick demented way of keeping yourself implanted in my life. You can't let go," he said as he pointed his knife at her. He hadn't put it away. Maybe that was why she was so afraid. "You had to come back. You just always have to come back." He stepped right in front of her and she stepped back, trying to get away from him. "You'll never tell me," he said as he shook his head. "That's what all this is about. The game. Tit for tat; and with that game, there is never a conclusion. I could go at you all night and you'll never tell me. I have to find out for myself, right?" he said as he stepped closer still, backing her up until she had nowhere else to go. She was only a few steps away from the edge of the roof. "That's why you told me that my brother knew. You want me to go to him. You know we'll fight…You're using us, Nicole. And I'm tired of being used by you."

She stepped back again as he stepped closer. Nicole's eyes-widen slightly as she hit the short wall that prevented her from falling to her death. Looking over her shoulder, she turned back to him and said, "This was how you were going to kill me? I thought you were going to let me get to the ladder first."

"I'll let you in on a secret, Nicole," he said as he leaned down close, right to her ear. Whispering, he told her, "There is no ladder." He straightened, turned around, and headed for the door.

"Bobby, you can't leave me up here."

"I'm sure you'll find a way down. It's only four stories," he said as he grabbed a chain and lock he had placed earlier, when he arrived, by the door. "And, if I'm not mistaken…you do have nine lives, right? Too bad this time, you don't have a body of water to break your fall." Looking over at her, he smirked when he saw the look on her face. "By the way, if you do end up screaming loud enough to attract help, remember that with the fire department there're also cops. You'll be arrested onsite."

Nicole looked over her shoulder again before backing up to the edge of the roof. He watched her for a moment and wondered what she was doing. "I told you you'll never be rid of me."

He wrinkled his head in confusion as she stepped up onto the ledge. "You're not going to jump."

She shook her head. "If I die, you're the one held responsible."

"I'm not responsible for you committing suicide, Nicole. Get down," he told her as he dropped the chain and lock and started for her.

Nicole smiled wider and tilted her head; he knew that look. She was up to something. Then, she stepped back and dropped. His heart leaped into his chest as he saw her catch onto the ledge with her arms. He rushed over and grabbed one of her arms before she lost her grip. Her sudden drop and weight nearly caused him to fall over the side with her.

"Nicole!" he gritted through his teeth as he tried to pull her up. "Give me your other hand."

She refused as she dangled from his grip; looking down, she kicked at the air and her heels dropped from her feet and fell to the ground. Below her was a pile of rubble from the construction of the next building over. If she fell into that, he knew she'd die. There were pipes and metal rods sticking up out of the rubble. She'd be penetrated.

"Don't be stupid," he told her as he tried to grab her other arm with his right. "Reach up!"

He was losing his grip with his left hand and she wasn't helping with all the kicking she was doing. The scariest part, and the reason why he knew that she wasn't going to save herself, was that she wasn't saying a word.

She wasn't even screaming.

He remembered only hearing one scream the night Nicole went into the East River with her lover; one scream, and it had been from the dead girl.

"How would you feel?" she asked calmly as she turned her face up toward his. "How, Bobby?"

Gritting his teeth, he struggled to keep his grip as she used her feet to push off the side of the building. He couldn't answer that question; he refused to answer her. "You're not going to make me feel guilty if you fall," he told her instead.

She smiled. The bitch actually smiled. He was trying to save her life and she smiles at him. Nicole reached up with her other hand and instead of letting him grab it, she grabbed his left hand, and dug her nails into it. "You told me, you'll be satisfied if I die. Remember? That if you had found me in that warehouse, you would have shot me dead, and you would have been satisfied."

He closed his eyes and fought back the tears of pain from her digging into his hand, but he still refused to ease his grip from around her wrist. He was probably breaking her bones, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to drop her. Logan was dying, and he wasn't going to let Nicole die too. Not from suicide, not if he had anything to say about it.

"Why don't you just let me fall?!" she angrily yelled as she scrapped her nails down his hand, drawing blood.

Unclenching his jaw, he glared at her as he told her, "Because, when you die…it'll be from a needle in your arm. One that I put there after sending you to death row, and after the world knows what a psychotic bitch you are."

He looked along the wall and a few yards down he spotted a dumpster. The lids were closed and he could tell that it was packed full with trash and debris. Leaning further down, he grabbed her arm with his other hand and started to drag them along the ledge. He was glad he was tall, barely able to touch the rooftop with his feet, as he walked slowly along. Nicole was fighting him the whole way; trying to get him to loosen his grip. He even felt her trying to plant her feet on the side of the building and pull his arm as hard as she could.

Once he was in position, he let out a breath and let go. She looked startled, but she still didn't scream as she fell straight down and hit the top of the dumpster. She wasn't dead, but he bet both of her legs were broke.

He heard a soft moan of pain coming from her motionless body before he turned around and left the roof. Picking up the chain and lock on the way, he headed out of the building. Tossing the chain and lock into his car that had been parked out front since earlier that night, he started around to the side of the building as he pulled out his busted cell and put the battery back in it. He clipped on the back and turned it around; at seeing it turn on, he was relieved. He could call for the police.

Nicole was still where he dropped her but now there was no noises coming from her. Checking her pulse, he felt the heartbeat and sighed. She was out cold.

TBC...