Author's note:- Ok maybe getting this done in 3 chapters was a little ambitious, especially since I'm having so much fun with these characters. Hope you enjoy it. Please let me know- J (ps just to remind you- evil!!!)

Chapter 3: Using your attributes

It normally took the judge at least a few hours of McCormick being out of his sight without explanation before he started worrying about him. In the beginning he had worried, well, maybe not worried, maybe just had taken a concerned interest, whenever he hadn't known exactly where his charge was. Hell, sometimes because he had known where McCormick was, but over the last two years a trust had built between them that meant, unless they were working a case, some of them got a little ropey, he didn't need to worry so much. Not that that always stopped him, and not that he would ever admit it, at least not out loud.

The kid had proven time and time again that he could take care of himself, even when the odds were stacked against him, and the judge wouldn't normally even think twice about him taking off for a drive to clear his head, but these were unusual circumstances. Hardcastle had been worrying about him long before the Coyote had disappeared down the drive, and now he had the uncertainty of not knowing where he had gone, or for how long, or fully why. He pushed open the door and took one last longing look in the direction of the gate. He let out a heavy sigh. What on earth was the kid thinking? He was in no condition to drive.

He walked slowly back to the den, the cooling pile of pancakes, and half-cooked mixture congealing in the pan, already forgotten. He slumped contemplatively into the chair behind his desk, and considered his options. He glanced across at the phone. He was tempted to pick it up and call in a few favours. He had enough owing that he could get the LAPD to do a locate and report easily enough, no one would even think to question him if he said it was necessary. He shook his head; that would be an abuse of the system. He didn't really have good enough reason, and the LA police force were not his personal servants, they had a job to do and it didn't include tracking down McCormick no matter how worried about him he was. Then again, McCormick was sick and angry, and, as such, a potential hazard to himself and other road users and. . .No! it was no good; he couldn't really justify it, at least not yet. That left him with only one real option, waiting, and Hardcastle wasn't very good at that, even under the best of circumstances.

He sat for another ten minutes before he finally reached for the phone. At least he could ring Sheriff Johnson for an update. Maybe give Frank Harper a ring too, to see if he could find anything more out through official channels. When McCormick did get back, he could then give him the most up to date information on the whereabouts of Melissa Kantwell, maybe even persuade him to get another good night's sleep in before they took off after her, because there was no doubt in his mind that persuading the kid not to go after her would be an impossibility, even if she had made it down into Mexico.

He paused for a moment, the receiver in his hand, now who did he know in Mexico. . ? He was still considering that as he checked the number for the Cochise County Sheriff's Department and began dialing.

H&MCH&MC

Melissa leaned into the Coyote on the passenger side and stared again at the handsome face of her captive. She ran her fingers in a caress down the side of his cheek and was disappointed when he still did not respond.

"Well, Sugar," she said, stretching out the soft Southern drawl into her most silky smooth seductive tones. "Guess I hit you a little harder than I intended back at the house there, but don't you worry none, because I'm gonna take real good care of ya, real good." She brushed some of the hair off his forehead, frowning slightly as she got a little blood on her fingers. She wiped it off on his shirt. "Now you just sit tight there while I go get me some help to get you inside." She gave his cheek a gentle pat before turning and, with a satisfied smile and a little skip, she set off for the Motel office.

It was a completely different Melissa Kantwell who entered the small room that served as a reception for the backwater motel. Her hair was messy, the sleeve on her blouse slightly ripped, and she had very genuine looking tears brimming in her eyes. She looked every bit the helpless victim that she intended. "Please," she blurted, almost before the door was fully open. She stepped into the room, appearing to suddenly hesitate now that she was actually through the door. "Please," she said again, "You have to help me."

Her entrance had the desired effect on the bored young male receptionist. Kyle Granger would have headed straight for the distraught young woman and put his arms around her if he hadn't had the tall counter separating them. As it was he very nearly vaulted over it. Every part of her screamed vulnerable victim at him, and the urge to offer protection was almost overwhelming. "Ma'am?" he asked, glancing behind her to see if he could locate the reason for her distress. "What's wrong? How can I help?" He moved as he spoke, lifting one edge of the counter and fumbling for the bolt that held the built in door in place.

"I. . ." Melissa glanced behind her in the direction of the road, not that she could see it from behind the screen of trees, one of the reasons why she'd chosen this place. "I. . ." she allowed her voice to falter, allowed her bottom lip to quiver just a little as she fought back the tears. Kyle was by her side now, quietly urging her to one of the two tarnished chrome and simulated leather chairs that served for furniture in the small reception.

"Look, Ma'am," the young man said respectfully, "Why don't you take a seat and tell me about it. I'm sure we can sort this out."

"I'm sorry," Melissa said, sniffling back the tears as she looked up at him and shyly fluttered her lashes, "I don't mean to cry I'm just not used to. . ." She paused and gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she said.

"Why don't you tell me what's wrong?" he urged.

Melissa gave a small nod and looked down at the floor. "It's my ex husband," she stated, with obvious bitterness. "Divorce only came through last month and he always was real jealous." She paused for a moment and gave a slight shudder as though she was remembering something unpleasant. "Anyways I got myself this new boyfriend, he's called Mark." She looked back at Kyle, again allowing a smile through the faked pain. "He's real handsome, and he's a genuine racecar driver. He even won the Arizona Modifieds."

Kyle looked suitably impressed. "I guess your ex wasn't too happy," he commented.

Melissa nodded, her smile fading as her gaze dropped back to the floor. "Milton, that's my ex's name, didn't like it at all, swore he'd kill us both before he'd let us be happy together. He came after us, knocked Mark clean out, I only just managed to get us away because he went back to get his gun, and I don't think he thought I could get Mark to the car, but I did." She paused "I just need somewhere for me and Mark to hold up, let him recover, and we can decide what we're gonna do." It was time to flutter her eyelashes softly again, and she looked up, keeping her head down at a slight angle to give the right effect. "That's how come I'm here. I need somewhere where I can hide Mark's car, it's real distinctive, somewhere where there won't be too many questions."

Kyle was completely taken in by the story. "If this ex of yours tried to kill you why don't you just go to the cops?"

Melissa shook her head sadly. "That's part of the problem, my ex is a cop, he knows too many of them. They'd never believe me over him. That's how come I didn't take Mark to a hospital, there'd be too much chance of him tracking us down." She gave a sad smile. "So, do you think you can help me?"

If Kyle hadn't been quite so young, so naïve, and even then if Melissa had been slightly less convincing with her acting and her story, her request to help her carry an unconscious and obviously bleeding man into a motel room, without the police knowing, and making sure that the car was hidden well out of sight between outbuildings at the back, might have aroused even his suspicions, but he was naïve, and she was utterly convincing, so he swallowed her explanation in it's entirety. He put them in the last room, furthest from the reception in a section that rarely got used because they were never full, the part where the rooms were in the sort of shabby state that you only used when you had nowhere else to put someone. He also assured her that there would be no maid service, and they could stay there undisturbed for as long as they liked. She thanked him with a smile, a hug and a soft kiss to his cheek that made him blush. Not to mention two crisp one hundred dollar bills, which she had acquired from an equally gullible prison guard, who had been convinced that they were going to live happily together in Mexico in a nice little house with white fences and a sewing room.

"I'll tell everyone you're a honeymoon couple and that you don't want to be disturbed," Kyle said, as Melissa manoeuvred him back out of the door. He glanced over her shoulder. "I sure hope your friend's gonna be all right. He doesn't look too good."

"He'll be fine," Melissa assured, glancing back herself to where Mark was now lying on the bed. "I'll look after him," she said meaningfully, turning to give Kyle another smile. "Thanks again for your help."

"S'okay," Kyle replied, waiting until she closed the door on him before he headed back to the office, content in that feeling of real satisfaction that you only get by helping someone else.

Melissa leant back against the door as it closed and let out a long sigh, allowing herself to relax, shedding the distraught ex-wife persona like a snake sheds it skin, shaking it off as she dropped back into herself. After a few moments she looked across at the bed and gave a much more predatory smile. Alone at last, now the fun could really begin.

H&MCH&MC

Lieutenant Frank Harper didn't even get to knock before the door opened in front of him revealing a very worried looking Hardcastle.

"You hear anything?" Hardcastle asked, ushering his friend inside.

Frank looked at his watch. "We only put out the APB 20 minutes ago," he stated patiently.

"I know, I know," the Judge agreed equally impatiently, "I should have got you to do something earlier this afternoon." They were in the office now, and Hardcastle was moving behind his desk. "I don't know why I didn't."

"You didn't because you weren't sure anything was wrong." Frank stated, dropping into one of the seats. "You still aren't." He paused for a moment before expanding. "I mean it is still conceivable that he took it into his head to go after Melissa Kantwell without your help."

The Judge shook his head, he'd had time to think about it, and he was all but sure now that his concerns were justified. "He was mad, but not that mad. It's been over six hours. If he just went to cool off he'd have been back by now, and if he had decided to go after her then he would have packed some things." He pointed at the medication bottles on the desk, "At the very least he would have come back for those, the doctor was quite clear in the lecture he gave him about not caring for his wound properly. He's supposed to take the antibiotics for another week."

He gave a thoughtful pause, "And if he is headed to Arizona, he would call me to let me know what he was doing. He wouldn't just take off." Not a hundred percent true, he might well just take off, but once he calmed down and thought about it, he'd call. The Judge was sure of that, sure that McCormick would know how worried he'd be, sure that he wouldn't have wanted him to go on worrying. He shook his head again. "He would have called me by now," he stated with conviction, looking down as if focussing on a tiny grain within the wood of the desk. His eyes glistened with slightly more moisture than they should hold and he took a deep swallow, finally looking up to meet Harper's gaze. "Something's happened to him Frank. I know it."

"Well if it has we'll find him." Harper offered, knowing it wouldn't be enough.

"I've already called the local hospitals," the Judge admitted, "While you were on your way over."

The judge's first call had been within a half an hour of McCormick leaving, and even then he hadn't been able to hide the fear in his voice from an old friend like Frank Harper. He had, however, despite that fear, managed to steer the conversation mainly onto the possible whereabouts of Melissa Kantwell, rather than a discussion about McCormick.

Frank had checked back at the end of his shift, and, by then, even his gut was telling him that there was something wrong. That was when they had agreed the APB, observe and report only. If they were wrong McCormick would be mildly annoyed, but if they were right. . .

"No one matching McCormick's description has been admitted in the last few hours, but I didn't check. . ." the Judge's voice trailed off as he tried to withhold the emotion. He took a breath and tried again. "I didn't call. . ." again he couldn't quite complete the thought without allowing too much vulnerability to the surface, not something he could easily do, even with a close friend like Frank Harper. He looked at him, the appeal for rescue from his failed attempts evident in his eyes.

Frank didn't need any more. Hardcastle hadn't been able to force himself to check with the local morgues, even though he was sure that it was a possible option. What state was McCormick in? Harper knew that he was very down, but had it sunk to suicidal? Surely not within the space of a week? Then again, the near drowning the previous day, had that been the result of the unfortunate incident Hardcastle claimed, or was there more to it. Had Mark. . .? Harper shook his head dismissing the line of thought, no, not McCormick, not even in his darkest hour, and losing money certainly wouldn't get him there. He stared at Hardcastle for a moment, just how bad had this argument been? "If he's anywhere official we'll get a response to the APB soon," he stated. "That car's pretty distinctive, if it's anything bad we'll know within the hour."

The Judge nodded. It was the best response he could have hoped for.

H&MCH&MC

Melissa knelt on the side of the bed staring intently at Mark. His arms were now drawn up above his head and out to the side, handcuffed to the corners of the metal bedframe. He fascinated her for many reasons. Watching him win that race had been one of the most exciting experiences of her life, even more thrilling than helping Arvin Lee with his robberies, or having her husband kill for her. She couldn't explain why, but from the moment she'd watched him cross the finish line, she knew that he was going to be more than just another robbery victim.

She'd wanted him to like her, men always liked her because she gave them what they wanted, or at least that's what they thought. She usually took back far more than she gave, but that was the deal.

She'd wanted Mark, just because he'd won the race, but even more when she saw him; he was charming and handsome, and, more than that, he had a genuine skill. She'd tried to talk to him in the desert. She'd tried. She was even thinking of asking Arvin Lee not to kill him, but he'd rejected her. She couldn't forget that cold look he'd given her, couldn't forget it, couldn't forgive it.

Then, when she'd seen him at the motel, after her husband was killed, she'd thought again that it was destiny; that he was going to save her, because he could. All's he had to do was tell them that Arvin Lee and Sheriff Blackstone had forced her to help them.

Mark could have done that. He could have saved her, but no. He'd given her that same cold look, and let them drag her off to prison. Worse than that he was with that judge. He'd brought the law there; she knew that now. It had been his fault she'd lost her money, his fault her husband had been killed, his testimony that was going to put her in jail, and so she hated him, and now he was going to pay for what he had done. More than that he was going to replace what she had lost, her money, her husband . . .

She moved forward and slowly unbuttoned his shirt to the waist, pushing the fabric back to reveal a tanned muscular torso, she let out a sigh and softly traced her fingers down his chest, watching his face for any sort of reaction; there was none. She stopped as the material fell back a little further revealing more of the white bandage that wrapped around his shoulder. Fascinated by it, she leaned in to touch it. That was where she had shot him, she hadn't known exactly where she'd hit him at the time, just that she had. She traced her fingers gently along the padding, then, when she got to the middle, she suddenly pressed hard. That got her a reaction.

Mark winced, and expelled a soft grunt, twisting his body away from the source of the pain, his right arm pulling slightly on the cuffs. Drifting almost close enough to consciousness to really feel it before sinking back down again, his head shifting restlessly on the pillow before finally settling as the pressure was removed. Melissa's hand drifted away from the bandage and stroked across the skin of his chest, and she let out another sigh. Oh if only he'd wake up, they could have so much more fun.

TO BE CONTINUED. . . .