No matter what she did, she couldn't seem to escape his wrath. Even from the safety of her home, she could see his face, sneering at her, a gloating expression written into the smug lines around his mouth and eyes. He thought he had won. Well she would be damned if she let the son-of-a-bitch get away with murder. His victims had been the most innocent of human beings to pick from; sweet, faultless little girls with their whole lives ahead of them. Until his hands found their way around their little necks and strangled the life out of them. Olivia didn't know if she had ever felt hatred this strong. At the very least, it had been awhile.

From her spot at her kitchen table, her stomach growled loudly. A glance at the clock informed her that it was just past midnight. She had left work hours ago yet work had not left her. Cragen had removed her from the case but she had taken all her paperwork and notes home with her. Just because she had let her temper get the best of her for a split second, didn't mean she was going to let him get away with murder. After slaughtering three little girls, the very least the hump deserved was a solid pop in the mouth. He was milking the concussion; she hadn't hit him that hard.

Grotesque images were still swimming in her head, cancelling out her hunger, so she rose from her chair and opted for a tea instead. It was nights like these that made her miss Elliot the most. Elliot. Even just thinking his name was still painful. It had been nearly six months since she had seen him last and yet the pain of it still stung as if his betrayal had just happened. She didn't understand what she had done to deserve his silence. It was one thing to quit the force, what he went through had been traumatic; but to cut her out of his life completely? Tears stung at her eyes and she angrily brushed them away. If Elliot didn't want to be a part of her life anymore, then fine. She would get over it; eventually.

Standing impatiently in her kitchen while she waited for the kettle to boil, Olivia felt tension and anxiety building rapidly inside her. Her desire to catch Aaron Miller was slowly becoming all-consuming the further he got from being prosecuted. When at last the light on the kettle clicked off, she poured her tea into a travel mug and decided to take a walk to clear her head.

The air outside was crisp and refreshing, a cool late-winter night with clear skies and dazzling lights. One hand clutched her warm mug, the other tucked safely into her jacket pocket. Street after street she roamed, seeking solace around every corner she turned but finding nothing but mostly deserted streets that just increased her feeling of isolation. As she turned another corner just a few blocks from her apartment, another feeling arose in her that hadn't been present during the rest of her walk: unease. Senses flaring as they searched for something that didn't belong, ears picked up on the faint sound of slow footsteps behind her. She kept her pace, chalking her wariness up to stress from the case. But being a cop had taught her not to throw off her instincts when they told her something wasn't right.

To test her theory, she turned down a side street to see if her follower would pursue. Footsteps still sounded from a distance behind. Adrenaline was now pumping full force through her system. Olivia contemplated her options as she turned back onto the more main road and held her cell phone tight in her pocket. She was almost at her street now, but she wouldn't stop at her building until she was sure that no one was following her. Silence now greeted her ears. From the sound of it, whoever had been following her earlier wasn't anymore. She stopped and spun backwards, there was no one. The street and sidewalk were empty, not a soul to be seen. Heart hammering against her ribs, she gingerly walked back a few paces to where she had just left, carefully scanning the basement stairs of the brownstones on the block for any signs of life. She stepped closer to one in particular, thinking she saw a shiver of movement amongst the shadows and peered down into their depths. As her eyes scanned the trash bins at the foot, a swift movement escaped from the dark threw her body to the concrete. Before a scream or murmur could escape her lips, a taser found the tender skin of her neck and Olivia was released into nothingness.

Three Days Later

The station was alive with activity when Nick Amaro entered early Wednesday morning. His first stop was the coffee pot where he poured himself an extra large cup before sitting down at his desk; it had been a long night. Feeling a little more awake with his intake of caffeine, Amaro was slowly arranging his DD5's when Cragen approached his desk.

"Captain," he greeted with a smile.

The returned smile was brief. "How's your partner Amaro? I may have been a little tough on her a few days ago."

Nick swallowed and turned fully to his boss. "To be honest, I don't really know. I texted her once on the day she left and asked how she was, she said she needed some time. I haven't talked to her since."

Cragen's forehead wrinkled in concern. He turned to the facing desks behind him. "Munch, Fin." Their eyes turned up to meet his. "You heard from Benson?"

"Not since Sunday," Munch replied.

"So let me get this straight, no one has heard from Olivia in three days? Well that's just odd. Even when I've suspended her she's always kept in contact to keep informed on the case."

The three detectives and their captain all exchanged a worried glance, most of their anxiety passing unsaid between them.

"Amaro," Cragen said, "Your paperwork can wait. I want you over to Benson's to go check on her."

Nick nodded and immediately rose from his chair, threw his jacket onto his shoulders, and addressed the worried faces looking back at him. "I'll call right after I talk to her," he reassured.

The drive was not a long one and Amaro soon found himself outside Olivia's apartment.

"And who are you here to see?" The doorman asked politely.

"Detective Olivia Benson, I'm her partner, Nick Amaro."

A confused knot stitched itself in between the doorman's eyes. "Detective Benson hasn't been home in a few days."

Nick felt a ball of worry settle itself into his gut. "Did you see her leave? Pack a bag? Get picked up with anyone?"

The doorman shook his head. "She came home from work unusually early on Sunday afternoon, then went out quite late Sunday night, said she was going for a walk, all bundled up and with a tea thermos, you know? My shift ends at one a.m., I just assumed she came home after that, but I haven't seen her since then."

"Do you mind if I go up and check?"

"Be my guest."

Nick knocked for almost ten minutes before he was satisfied that she wasn't home, then proceeded to call her cell phone, which inconveniently went straight to voicemail. He was now beyond worried. Deciding to wait until he had something a little more solid before he informed Cragen, Amaro place a call to TARU. They said they would need a few minutes to track her cell phone and would call him right back. He decided to wander the streets surrounding her building until they did. A few blocks from Benson's, something caught Amaro's eye. A little ways down the road, nestled into the curb, was something shiny that caught his attention. He increased his pace until he crouched over it and the full reality of what it was sunk it. There, cracked as if it had been run over by a car, was a silver thermos travel mug.

As he bent to examine it, his cell phone rang. "Amaro," he answered, heart hammering.

"Nick, this is Morales. We've got a location on Detective Benson's cell phone. I'll send the location on a map to your cell phone."

"Thanks Morales," he said and hung up. A short beep a second later sounded from his phone and he flipped it open to the interactive map. A small red blinking light was flashing from a spot on the map just thirty feet from where he was standing above the discarded travel mug. Terrified, he followed down the road, closer and closer to the blinking dot on the map. The dot belonged to a flower bed outside a well groomed brownstone, and nestled inside a dying garden, was a dark, dirty cell.

Amaro extracted it from the bed and pressed the on button. It was dying, not enough battery for radio use, but enough for him to read the text sprawled out onto the screen.

It read: "Want to know where I am? Ask my partner."

Nick had a nagging feeling that this last cryptic message was not from Olivia.