There were far too many people in the squad room for a Saturday morning, Bill noticed. Not just his immediate team - their presence didn't surprise him, though they shouldn't be working on the weekend either - but most of the Criminal Conspiracy Unit. He made a mental note to both thank them and insist they take their weekends off. His people were dedicated. Sometimes too dedicated.

"We found the fireman," Pete said, following him into his office.

Bill surveyed his desk and sighed. The Calabrese expense reports were right where he left them and no more complete. "Yeah?" He scanned the top report. Jesus, how much could one surveillance team eat?

"He left Tennessee a couple of years ago and moved in with his ailing mother. You'll never guess where."

Bill looked up. "Where?"

"Long Beach," Pepper said. She handed him a cup of coffee and slid onto the corner of his desk.

"You're kidding."

Her eyes sparkled. "Just a short twenty minute ride to the answers to all of your questions."

Bill grunted and sipped at the coffee. Two sugars and half a creamer, just like he liked it early in the morning. Later in the day he switched to black, but the last time his belt had gotten too tight, he'd gotten in the habit of substituting sweetened coffee for the sweetened pastries that were too often passed around the office. "Any more info on the boy who died?"

Joe handed him a folder. "Freddie Kowalski. Son of Paul and Lucy Kowalski. Lived in La Grande, Oregon."

"Talked to the parents?"

"Conveniently unreachable," Pete said. "We managed to track down another relative who said they were out of town."

"And how long have they been 'out of town'?" Bill asked in a voice that managed to simultaneously express annoyance and disbelief.

"Couple weeks at least."

Bill regarded the folders on his desk wistfully. The expense reports had to wait at least another day. He hoped Pepper remembered this next month when her reimbursement check for that damn designer dress was late. "All right," he said finally, "keep digging on the kid's parents. Somebody has to know where they are. Be creative and see if you can't get someone to spill something." He pushed away from the desk and stood up. Damn, he hadn't even had a chance to take off his jacket. "You want to take a ride out to Long Beach?" he asked his blond partner.

"Thought you'd never ask."

She fell in step beside him and pressed something into his hand. He looked at the two tablets and then back at her quizzically. "What's this?"

"For your headache." Any implied jibe was tempered by the gentle humor and compassion in her eyes. She flashed a smile and then strode ahead, her hips sashaying in a most beguiling manner. Bill shook his head, tossed the Aspirin back, and followed her to their car.

Long Beach was an ocean town, and about ten degrees cooler than Los Angeles. Still, the property where Jeb Tucker, the fireman who had supposedly gifted Hinton with the power to heal resided overflowed with the desert plants that thrived inland. Brightly-colored bougainvillea and flowering cacti shared the lot with an aging, but well kept, bungalow and two large, black Labrador retrievers.

A man Bill judged to be around forty met them at the door before they could knock. "Can I help you?" he asked.

Bill held up his badge. "I'm Sgt. Crowley, and this is Sgt. Anderson. We're here to ask you some questions about…"

"Albert Hinton?" Bill hesitated, wondering if Hinton had called ahead to warn Tucker of their visit. Tucker scowled and shook his head. "What? You think you're the first cop to track me down? I've had half a dozen of you show up at my door over the past few years, and twice that many call. Let me guess, you want to know if he's a fraud."

"Is he?"

Tucker sighed and motioned them inside, holding the door so the dogs could come in too. The front door opened into a cozy living room with light blue walls and decidedly feminine furniture. Stacked boxes filled the space behind a wingback chair, and two half-packed boxes threatened to overload the small coffee table.

"Are you moving?" Pepper asked.

He shook his head. "My mom passed away about a month ago. I'm packing up her knick-knacks and stuff. House is paid for, so I figure I might as well live in it. Got some work to do on it though."

Bill grinned. "Not exactly a bachelor pad?"

Tucker pulled a porcelain cardinal out of a box, cringed, then tucked it away again. "Not exactly. Good woman, but she went a little crazy with the frilly stuff after my dad passed on. I guess it was tough on her living with a sports-lovin', meat-and-potatoes kind of guy for all those years."

The dogs led them through the kitchen to a small den. Wood paneling, deep green accents, and a duck hunting print on the mantle established this as the male domain in the house. Only one packing box had found its way in here. It was tossed haphazardly among pillows on a sofa. Bare spots on the wall above it hinted at its contents.

Pepper walked over and pulled out a framed box. "Your medals?" she asked, holding it up.

Tucker nodded. "I couldn't stand to look at the things, but Mom insisted on displaying them."

Bill pulled other frames from the box. Newspaper articles describing his valor. Headlines counting his miraculous rescues. Photos of a grim-faced Tucker receiving awards from smiling politicians. "It looks like you're quite a hero."

"Was," Tucker corrected. "It was a long time ago."

"You must be very proud," Pepper said.

Tucker took the framed box from her and regarded it for a long moment an unreadable expression on his face. "Most miserable time of my life," he said finally.

Bill and Pepper exchanged a glance. "Why?" she asked.

He shook his head and tossed the medals back in the cardboard box. "You have any idea what it's like to be burned alive, to feel your skin blister and then crisp to black? I'll never get that out of my head."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize…"

"Haven't you talked to Hinton? Didn't he tell you how it works?" His voice grew hard. "All those people. Horrific injuries. I saved them and nearly died every time."

"Why didn't you stop?"

He shook his head and turned away. "I couldn't." He ran a hand through his hair. "I had a… an obligation.

"To who?" Bill asked.

"Hinton thinks it's God," Tucker said.

"You don't?" Pepper asked.

"Angel or demon or something else, I don't guess it matters." He went into the kitchen and picked up the dogs' bowls. "I had to try to save 'em no matter what the cost." He filled the bowls with kibble and then set them down again. "And make no mistake," he said, standing up again. "There was a cost. Higher than any other I've ever paid. They didn't tell me that when I signed up. Or…" He shrugged and shook his head again. "Maybe they did, and I just didn't want to hear it. I know I warned Hinton, and he didn't listen either."

"How'd you get it?" Bill asked. "The, uh, Gift."

"Nurse in Chicago. I was up there for some specialized training, and I bumped my head. Must have been a slow night in Emergency, because she sat with me all night. Long story short, she offered me the Gift, and I was arrogant enough to take it. Now, if that's all, I really need to get back to packing." He walked them back to the front door.

Pepper hesitated on the front step. "May I ask you one more question? A personal one?" Annoyance flitted across his face, but he nodded. "Your mother… she was sick for a long time?"

"You want to know why I didn't take her to Hinton so he could heal her." The corners of his mouth turned up, but there was little humor in his smile. "The Gift gave me a powerful appreciation of life, Sgt. Anderson," he said. "It also gave me a powerful appreciation of the natural order."

"Including death?"

"Especially death."

.

Neither spoke on the drive back to the station, both lost in their own thoughts. Pete and Joe listened solemnly as they recounted the interview.

"It seems to confirm what we found," Pete said. "Newspapers in and around Memphis wrote pretty regularly about his miraculous rescues for probably five years. Then the stories just seem to stop. It's not too long after that we get the first story about Hinton."

"Hinton said something about that yesterday, didn't he?" She searched her memory, trying to remember his words.

Joe came to her rescue. "Yep. He said Tucker hadn't been able to save someone, and after that he got depressed."

"Sounds like Hinton himself," Bill said. "Why don't you two see if you can track down that nurse Tucker mentioned?"

"Already done," Pete said. "Tucker mentioned her name in an interview he gave a long time ago, and I figured I'd check her out." He dug out a notepad and skimmed his notes. "Joanne Maitland. Nurse at Methodist Hospital in Chicago for 20 years. Retired nearly ten years ago, but I managed to find someone who knew her. Said she was considered the best nurse the hospital ever had. Supposedly her personal file was so full of letters from patients that credited her with saving them that they had to give it its own box. Then something happened and it all changed."

"Let me guess - a patient died," Bill said.

"A patient died," Pete confirmed. "She retired soon after and relocated to Michigan."

"After giving the Gift to Tucker," Pepper filled in.

Bill leaned back in his chair, thinking. "Three people. All credited with a string of miraculous healings. All experience a turn of fortune after failing to save someone. Why?"

Pepper frowned. "What do you mean 'why'?"

"They don't lose the Gift. We saw Hinton heal two people yesterday." It was the first time he had admitted believing in Hinton's abilities, but the others didn't seem to notice. "Didn't he say in the interrogation room that God doesn't always choose to save everybody? Sounds to me like it's happened more than once."

"Maybe not," Pete said. "Maybe he was just referring to the one kid."

"Maybe." Bill wasn't convinced. "I want to ask him." He looked at Pepper. "You up for a ride to south LA?"

She hesitated. "I would, but it's Saturday…."

Saturday. Cheryl. Bill nodded. "I'll go talk to Hinton myself then." He stood and pulled on his bomber jacket. He'd finally figured out how to slip it on without jostling his injured shoulder. "Have you two found that kid's parents yet? The ones who accused Hinton of murder?"

"Getting close I think," Joe said. "A couple of leads anyway."

"Keep at it, and let me know what you find."

"Meet you back here middle of the afternoon?" Pepper asked.

"Don't you have anything better to do than hang around the station on a Saturday afternoon?"

She laughed, her dark eyes sparkling. "Like what? Think I'd rather be doing something like getting ready for a date or spending an afternoon on the beach?"

Bill grunted and tried not to feel guilty. Too dedicated for her own damn good. He pushed thoughts of Pepper out of his mind on his drive through LA and concentrated instead on Hinton. There was something he wasn't telling them, something about the death of the boy from LaGrande.

"Tell me about Freddie Kowalski," he said a while later, standing in the living room of the parsonage where Hinton and his wife were staying.

Rev. Hinton regarded him for a long moment then shook his head. "Freddie Kowalski is dead."

"I know that. I want to hear what happened."

The minister turned to his wife who watched them from the doorway to the hall. "Honey, why don't you put on some coffee for the sergeant." The woman hesitated and shot a look at Crowley - suspicion? resentment? - and disappeared into the back of the house. Hinton waited until he was sure she was gone and then turned back to Bill. "The boy was severely ill, dying. God chose not to save him."

Something about the ease with which he said the words didn't feel right. It didn't read exactly as a lie, but Bill felt a familiar niggling in the back of his skull that meant he was on to something. "Has that ever happened before?" he asked.

Hinton nodded. "A few times. I've never been able to figure out why. Sometimes it just… doesn't work. Maybe He has other plans for those people."

"That must have been rough on them to get their hopes up like that."

He managed a small smile. "You'd be surprised actually. I think they knew it wasn't going to work. There's a certain acceptance in their eyes. Not bitterness or anger, just acceptance. Peace even."

"Was their peace in Freddie Kowalski's eyes?"

A tremor, almost too subtle to notice, passed through the reverend. A distant look came into his eyes as he remembered. "In the end, yes."

"But not at first," Bill pressed.

"No, not at first. Why are pushing about this, Sergeant?"

Bill met his eyes steadily. "Because I think Freddie Kowalski was different. I don't think it was just another case of God choosing not to heal him. I think you killed him."

Hinton's eyes opened wide. "Are you accusing me of murder?"

"I doubt any court could convict you. I'm just trying to get to the truth." The minister turned away but Bill followed. "I think you tried to save him. I think you wanted to save him. But when you couldn't for whatever reason, I think you chose to end his pain. And I think you used your Gift to do it."

Bill's words ravaged Hinton as surely as fists. The man visibly flinched, and his shoulders sagged. "Gift. That Gift was from God. It's for saving lives, not taking them! What I did… it's unforgivable." He slumped onto a chair and buried his face in his hands.

The animosity Bill had felt toward Hinton had changed. He wasn't sure when he stopped doubting Hinton's Gift and began believing his story, but he had. And he believed that the anguish he saw before him was real… and it made him angry. "I think that's arrogant," he said.

Hinton slowly raised his head, eyes wide with shock.

"God gave you a Gift…"

"A Gift I perverted!"

"…but He didn't ask you to be Him." The minister sat frozen, Bill's words settling over him. "He didn't ask you to be perfect."

"I took a life." The sorrow in his voice very nearly broke Bill's heart.

"You ended a little boy's pain. If God had wanted to save that child, He could have, couldn't He? Do you believe that you're so powerful that He couldn't have saved him anyway?"

Hinton shook his head throughout the argument. "Of course not. But that doesn't change what I chose to do. I committed murder."

"Maybe. Or maybe God knew what choice you would make and let you serve a higher purpose. Or maybe you did make a mistake. A horrible one. But that's why God forgives. Because we're human, and we're not perfect. No matter how great the blessing or Gift." Bill let the words sink in for a moment, then tugged his wallet from his pocket and took out the saint medal. He handed it to Hinton. "St. Jude, but I think you know that."

The minister ran his thumb over the medal and nodded.

"Did Freddie Kowalski's parents carry a medal like this?"

Hinton pushed it back at him. "Does it matter?" He stood and walked to a window.

"Yes, it matters." Frustration made his voice sharp. "The person who's trying to kill you dropped this. If we can trace it, we can stop him."

Hinton shut his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass. "If he kills me, the pain ends, and this all goes away."

"And so will the Gift," Bill said urgently, something akin to panic tightening his stomach.

"Gift?" Hinton tasted the word, appreciating its irony. When he turned to face Bill, his eyes had a preternatural gleam. "Do you want it, Sgt. Crowley?"

Excitement made his heart beat faster. Did he want it? An image of Pepper lying on the floor of her apartment, bleeding from Beth Lord's bullet flashed into his mind. To have been able to save her even a little of that pain….

Hinton raised his hand and interrupted his train of thought. The light in his eyes seemed to flicker, the perpetual sadness that lurked there shining through more strongly. "Think carefully before you answer. Do you really want that constant pressure to save everyone you meet? Do you want the publicity, the loss of privacy? You'll be giving up your chance for a normal life. For family. Vacations." He reached out, and Bill thought he was going to take back the St. Jude medal. Instead Hinton reached for what lay beneath it - Bill's wallet. He flipped through it until he found the picture he was looking for. He looked at it, smiled, and then showed it to him, as if to remind him of who it was. "You'll be giving up her."

Something seemed to change then. The odd light in his eyes faded, and he shook his head and clasped Bill's shoulder reassuringly. "No," he said firmly, cutting off whatever decision Bill may have made. "I won't give it to you. I won't give it to anyone." He gave Bill back his wallet and walked him to the door, hand still on his shoulder. "Blessing or curse, this ends with me."

.

Bill walked to the car, his mind so full that he was hardly aware of his surroundings. He sat in the front seat for a long time, staring at the picture of Pepper. How could he give up something he didn't even have? She was his partner, not his lover. Still, the thought of losing her made his stomach cold with fear.

How had Hinton known he carried a picture of her? No one knew that. Not even Pepper. Well, she knew he had the picture, but she didn't know he carried it in his wallet. They had been on a stakeout on the pier, and as the hours dragged by, they'd gotten bored. Pepper gathered up all of her quarters and dragged him into one of those instant photo booths, the kind where you sit in the curtained booth and it takes four pictures several seconds apart. The first several quarters had been wasted with silly pictures. He'd been annoyed at first and just made faces to irritate her, but they'd begun giggling and had way more fun than they should have had on the city's time.

When they got to the last quarter, Pepper had insisted that he be serious because she wanted at least one good picture of them. She sat between his legs, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, and they smiled for the camera. He impulsively kissed her cheek just as the camera flashed the second time. The third shot captured her surprise, her head turned somewhat toward him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. The final shot was Pepper settled back against his chest, both of them relaxed and happy. Bill had trouble choosing between the pictures, but he'd finally chosen the third one. To someone who didn't know what had happened just before, her smile looked mysterious. His head was tilted toward her, his gaze seeking hers. A secret moment, an intimate moment, captured.

He sighed and tucked the photo back into the recesses of his wallet. It was still early; she would still be visiting Cheryl. Middle of the afternoon suddenly seemed a long time away. He debated going back to the office and working on the expense reports, then decided to try to catch up with Pepper at Cheryl's school. It wasn't until he backed his car down the driveway that he realized his shoulder didn't hurt anymore.