The Gazeta's new office occupied the whole of the top floor of a sixteen story building and was on the same street as the Russian embassy. In fact, from where he stood, Reese could just see the green awning over the embassy's entryway, the Russian flag above it stirring a little in the breeze.

Not being concerned with speed limits and traffic laws, he'd managed to get there well ahead of Miller's cab. As he approached the entrance of the building that housed the Gazeta, he looked over the area, but he couldn't see anyone or anything that looked like a threat. Once inside, Reese paused to look around. At first glance the lobby was unremarkable: it was spacious, with a set of elevators both to the left and right of the entrance and an information desk in the center. Reese, however, immediately noticed the two armed security guards, one each standing near the two sets of elevators; the lack of furniture or other impediments to a rapid exit from the building or that might afford cover; the strategically placed security cameras covering the elevators, the entrance and the doors at the back of the lobby that no doubt led to stairwells and the Security Office. Even the burly uniformed man at the information desk was armed – Reese saw the weapon when he stood up to get a brochure for someone.

After watching the people entering and exiting the elevators, Reese walked over to the directory, a digital display on the wall near the entrance. There were six elevators, five of them dedicated to three floors each; the sixth one was for the sixteenth floor only. He glanced at the banks of elevators and located the one he wanted. "I was hoping to check out the Gazeta's offices before Miller arrived, but it has its own elevator and it requires an access badge."

"I don't know that we have time to find you another way in, Reese. I've been tracking Miller's cab since it left her office. She's only a few minutes away."

"Well, I'll just have to get her to take me with her."

"How will you do that?"

Reese was thinking of a pithy response as he started for the doors; he'd only taken a few steps, hyper-aware as usual of all of the people around him, when he spotted someone outside pulling one of the doors open. Reese muttered a single, short, heartfelt word under his breath. Without missing a step, he pivoted and headed back to the directory.

"Reese?"

Finch's surprised tone told him that he'd spoken louder than he'd intended. "Hersh," Reese said, the man's name coming out remarkably like his previous utterance.

"What the hell is he doing there?" Finch was obviously rattled as well.

"To kill Miller?"

Finch started to say something which he cut off. A split second later he said, "She's there."

Reese turned slightly and watched his erstwhile killer approach the elevator that led to the sixteenth floor. Hersh pulled out an access card and swiped it through the reader. The doors opened and Hersh got in. "He just headed up to the Gazeta's offices." Reese stepped to the glass entrance doors. He saw Miller get out of the cab, stopping to pay the driver. "I'm guessing the Gazeta's got its own security cameras. Can you get access?"

There was a brief pause. "Yes."

"I'll meet Miller here in the lobby."

"What are you going to tell her?"

"The truth."

Miller stared at the screen on Reese's phone. Everything about her stance spoke to her incredulity as she watched the live video of Hersh as he walked around inside what appeared to be one of the executive offices.

Reese had taken advantage of her surprise at seeing him, steering her to a corner of the lobby, keeping his body language as non-threatening as he could. The last thing he needed was to have one of the security guards feel compelled to come to her rescue. He'd explained that she was in danger and that she needed to leave as soon as possible, but she seemed to be having trouble believing him. Finch's voice in his ear had said, "I've accessed the cameras in the Gazeta's office. I'll send the feed to your phone."

Now Reese stood next to her as they both watched the video feed. He said, "He had an access badge." Most of the lights in the offices were off, giving the space a quiet, sleepy appearance. Just then, Hersh turned, and the recessed lighting momentarily allowed a good view of his profile. "Do you recognize him?"

Miller, still looking at the image, shook her head. "No. Who is he?"

"His name is Hersh. He kills people for a living."

Miller looked up sharply. Her widened eyes searched his for a moment, as if looking for veracity. It took all of Reese's training to keep from just taking her bodily from the lobby, not waiting for her to make up her mind about him. He knew that the next few seconds were critical and if he was to have her trust he had to let her come to it on her own.

Whatever she was looking for, she must have found, for she handed him the phone, her posture straightening almost imperceptibly. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"That seems to be the question." Reese had been trying to figure that out as well, but his first priority was Miller's safety. "Any idea why someone would want you dead?" Reese refrained from naming Hersh's employer.

"I'm sure I've pissed off any number of people over the years." Reese saw that lift of her mouth's corner. "But, lately? No."

Reese turned away from Miller. "We have to get her out of here," Reese murmured, "and I need a way to get up there."

"Already on it. I have a limo on the way for Miller. There's a service door in back. I should have access to the electronic locks in a few moments and I can interrupt the security camera feed long enough for you to get in."

Reese turned back to Miller, who was now looking as if she was feeling trapped. Probably not a situation she found herself in very often. "You okay?" he asked.

She gave a brief nod. "It's been quite a while since I was in fear for my life. Can't say as I ever liked it."

"There's a limo coming to get you. I know," he said, forestalling her objections. "You have those 'dignitaries' coming in an hour."

Miller, distracted from her own peril for the moment, looked at him, eyebrow raised. "Still prepared, I see."

"We'll have the driver go around the block a few times. You'll be back here in time." He turned slightly to look at the security guards. "Do you think you could chat up one of the guards? At least until your ride shows up." Reese knew that none of the security personnel, armed though they were, would be any match for Hersh, but he felt Miller would be safer in the lobby than out on the street.

Miller's glance flitted around the room, pausing briefly on the guard at the desk. Turning back to Reese, she said, "Sure, but, where will you be?"

"I'm going to have a chat with Hersh."

Reese watched Miller walk over to the front desk and start talking to the guard before he headed to the front doors. Once again, he'd only taken a few steps when Finch spoke in his ear.

"Hersh is leaving, but, he's headed for the stairs, not the elevator. It looks as if he's carrying something."

Reese looked again at the phone's screen. As Hersh passed under one of the overhead lights near the door to the stairway he could see an object with wires and a small packet in his hand. "It's a bomb. He's probably going out the service door to avoid someone seeing it." Reese dropped the phone back in his pocket. "Get me in that service door, Finch. We can't let him leave before I can talk to him."

Hersh came out of the ground floor service door into the small lobby, alert but not for the type of trouble Reese represented. He must have been surprised to see him, but, like Reese, he kept it to himself. If it weren't for the slight widening of his eyes, Reese would have thought they'd had the same tutor. Reese tucked that small satisfaction away to relish later.

Hersh hesitated and Reese could almost see the mental gears working as the Government man assessed his options. Hersh would know he was at a disadvantage. Reese was blocking the back exit; his employers would be expecting him to complete his assignment quickly and without complications. Not to mention the explosive device he was carrying. He would know that Reese was aware of all of this.

And, no doubt, that was really galling.

"Look," Reese said quietly, "we can stand here waiting for the other to make the first move. But, I'm thinking you have a job to do and your …employer is waiting." When Hersh didn't answer, Reese continued. "I don't think you were here to plant that," he said, gesturing to the device in his hands. "Killing Russians would be counter to current diplomatic policy. So, that means you came to remove the bomb. Planted by someone who worked on the remodel? That's who 'gave' you the access badge?" Hersh still stood, mute. Reese tried another tack. "Just one answer and I'll let you go."

Hersh's eyes showed a flicker of interest as he looked directly at Reese. "What do you want to know?"

"Who was the target?"

Reese thought he saw a faint ghost of a memory of a smile on Hersh's face. "The Ambassador's aide."

The two men looked at each other silently for several heartbeats. Then Reese stepped aside, allowing an unimpeded path to the door. As Hersh pushed on the handle, he gave Reese a brief look, then left.

Reese knew that the only reason Hersh didn't try to kill him on sight was that he didn't have standing instructions to do so.

He figured that would change.

Reese stood at the curb, waiting for Miller's limo to return.

"You're sure she's safe now?" Finch apparently was unable to believe that Hersh wasn't the threat.

"Hersh knew where the bomb was. He had an access badge. He knew who the target was. All of which he would have gotten from the bomber."

"Who was one of the contracted workers." Finch paused. "How would the bomb have been detonated?"

"Probably remote control. The bomber or his people would have waited until they were sure their target was in the right place." Reese glanced up at the building behind him. The windows that wrapped the top floor reflected the late afternoon sun. "From the right position, they would have been able to watch him."

"So, Miller wasn't the primary target."

"No. Just another 'irrelevant'." Reese paused. "I'm sure Hersh has neutralized the threat by now." Reese let the implication of that hang between them.

"The limo should be pulling up."

Reese watched as a grey town car pulled up to the curb and stopped. The grey liveried driver got out and quickly walked around to where Reese was standing. She paused to give him a smile.

"John," Sarah said as she opened the door.

"Sarah," Reese responded as he helped Miller out of the car. "I'm surprised to see you."

Sarah shrugged. "Harold knew we were in the area and asked if we could pick up Ms. Miller."

Miller straightened her jacket and turned to Reese. "So, everything's good now? That man is gone?"

Reese was pleased that she had recovered her self-confidence. "Yes. I was able to get in and check out the office. It's safe to go in."

Miller looked at him, her eyebrow raised again. "Do I want to know how you were able to get in without an access badge?"

"No."

Miller pursed her lips, not looking any too pleased with his answer. Then, she shrugged. "Well, it won't be my problem after tomorrow." She offered her hand to Reese. "I want to thank you for your help," she said as they shook hands. "I'm thinking I won't be seeing you again."

Reese smiled. "No. But, someone will be contacting you about that remodel."

Miller appeared pleasantly surprised. Then she turned and, bending over slightly, looked in the still open door of the limo. "Thanks for letting your ride be hijacked."

"No problem, Kendis," a familiar voice responded.

Reese was stunned. He bent down next to Miller to peer in to the car as well.

"I'll keep your card, too. I may be able to steer some business your way," Zoë said. Turning her gaze to Reese she smiled. "Hi, John. Need a ride?"

Reese straightened. Miller was saying goodbye to Sarah, exchanging business cards. Then she turned and headed into the building.

Reese watched her for a moment, then turned back to Sarah.

"You okay, John?"

Reese mentally shook himself. "How long have you known…Ms. Morgan?"

"Not long. She contacted me a couple of months after that little run-in I had with Springer and Butler. All that news coverage had some benefit, after all." She peered at him for a moment. "When Harold called to say that your client needed a ride, it became apparent he and Zoë already knew each other and she agreed to come by to pick her up." She smiled. "So, can we drop you off somewhere?"

"Get in, John," Zoë's said from within the car. "I'll pick up the tab."

He hesitated for a moment, then got into the car. Sarah grinned at him as she closed the door and then quickly walked around and slid in behind the wheel. As he settled in to the seat, he became aware that Finch had been suspiciously silent since the limo had pulled up.

"So," Sarah said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

Reese was feeling a little unsettled, as if he had lost control of the situation. "Why don't we take Ms. Morgan where she was headed first."

"Well, John," Zoë said with just the slightest emphasis on his name. "I had finished my business. Sarah was taking me home."

Reese knew that the two women were enjoying his apparent discomfiture. He had the feeling the Finch was also finding it amusing. He decided to turn the tables. "Well, then, if Finch doesn't need me…"

"No new numbers at this moment, Reese."

He turned to Zoë. "How about an early dinner?"

Her smile told him what her answer was.

Reese turned to address the woman in front. "Sarah, there's a restaurant on the corner near Zoë's place. You can drop us there."

Sarah gave a quick nod and started up the car. Reese caught sight of a little smile as she turned her head to see if the way was clear.

As the limo eased into traffic, the privacy window went up.

Coda

Divergence

"I think John and Zoë make a good couple," Sarah said from the kitchen.

"I think you're right," Finch said as he put silverware at her place on the small table.

Sarah and Finch never discussed his work. In fact, she hadn't asked anything about Miller's case. But, the relationship between Reese and Morgan, which she had figured out for herself, was apparently a subject that couldn't be resisted. Finch didn't mind. He, too, found that he liked the idea of his sardonic partner building a relationship with someone. Zoë Morgan seemed a good fit.

Sarah finished putting the take out Chinese on plates and brought them to the table. Finch handed her one of the glasses of wine he'd poured earlier and raised his in salute.

"To John and Zoë."

Sarah smiled at his evident good mood and joined him in the toast.

Finch was in a good mood. The numbers were still coming – they would never stop – and the odds were that at some point both he and Reese would end up dead in the pursuit of one of their cases. He was never sure when a call from the machine would come. But, at that moment, life was good. He and Sarah worked in as much time together as they could and he had even become comfortable enough to, on occasion, let himself into her place to wait for her, as he had that evening.

Of course, he always checked to make sure he wasn't being followed. And he let her know he would be there. And he always checked her phones and computer for electronic surveillance. But, it was as close to spontaneous as he'd been in a long time.

As Sarah and Finch had their dinner, their conversation was, as usual, about Sarah's work and events in her life. Sarah's friends, Chuy and Maria, had a granddaughter who would be celebrating her Quinceañera in a couple of months. Chuy's son and daughter-in-law, Carlos and Gabrielle, had asked Sarah to drive the stretch limo they were renting for the occasion.

"I don't mind," Sarah said, in response to Finch's question. "I used to drive one for my previous company. I don't really like those monstrosities, but, as you know, Chuy and Maria are like family to me," She shrugged. "So I do what I can to help."

"Why don't you like them? The stretch limos, I mean."

Sarah shrugged. "The cars are alright, I guess. But, the things that used to go on in them…" Sarah looked at Finch, a small smile playing on her lips. "Have you ever ridden in a stretch?"

Finch paused as he poured her a little more wine. "No, can't say I have," he said, setting the bottle down.

"Well, I'll be trying one out in a couple of days, just to get the feel of it again. If you'd like, I could pick you up and we can try it out together." She smiled that little secret smile that never failed to elevate his pulse.

Feigning incomprehension, he said, "Well, I don't know. What exactly would this 'trying out' entail?"

Sarah used one finger to lightly trace the back of his hand as it rested on the table. "That depends on what kind of workout you want to put the car through." She took his hand in both of hers, massaging his wrist. "Some drivers say you need to do a series of quick starts and sudden stops." The massage moved to his palm. "Others say you don't really know how a car handles unless you put it through some rapid maneuvers. Me, I like to start the engine up slowly; get it 'purring', you might say. Then, after I have a feel for how it shifts gears I make it go faster and faster until the engine screams."

Normally, Finch found that Sarah's massages provided enough stimulation. This time, however, he had barely noticed it, he was so enraptured by her words.

Finch looked at her silently, having momentarily lost his ability to speak.

They left the dishes on the table.

Around 11pm, a phone rang, jolting them both from their post-coital doze. It took a moment for them to realize it was hers and not his and then she scrambled to disentangle herself from him and the bedding to grab it.

It was Carlos, Chuy's son.

Finch sat next to her, listening, the cold feeling of dread growing in his stomach.

After she'd hung up, she sat, unmoving, staring at the phone in her hand. She was so still, in fact, Finch wasn't sure if she was breathing.

"Sarah?"

She raised her head and the look on her face confirmed his fears.

There was a silence as the two stared at each other for several heartbeats. Then Sarah whispered, "Oh, God," sobbed once and started to crumple, slowly, as if she were folding in on herself. He held her as she cried, not speaking. After awhile she told him what happened, in pieces between bouts of sobs. He continued to hold her after she'd stopped crying and fallen into a fitful sleep.

Maria had been hit by a truck as she crossed the street near her home. The damage was extensive. She was in the hospital on life support, but the doctors said she was brain dead. The family was gathering at the hospital to decide what to do.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, Sarah's phone again rang, startling them both awake. It was Carlos, telling her that they'd made the decision to take his mother off life support.

Sarah said she should go. Finch agreed, of course.

He asked her if she wanted him to wait there for her. She said she didn't know how long she'd be gone. That she'd probably go over to Chuy's or wherever the family ended up congregating.

After she'd left, Finch cleaned up the dishes they'd left on the table and then got dressed. He'd go back to one of his houses and shower, put on some clean clothes. He'd gotten Sarah to promise to call him later when she had the chance, to let him know how she was doing.

He paused in the act of reaching for the handle of the front door. He stood quietly for a moment, trying to feel the peace and calm he'd come to associate with Sarah's apartment – his sanctuary from the sometimes brutal reality of his life. But at that moment it eluded him. The feeling came, after all, from the woman who inhabited that space. And now, life's brutality had found her.

Finch felt helpless. For all of his resources and money, he could do nothing to help. He couldn't even be with her at the hospital for fear that his presence would cause more harm to come to her and those she loved.

Well, he thought, I'll be with her as much as possible. It was all he could do.

He hoped it would be enough.

Finch opened the door, turned off the light and left.