Thank you again for all the great reviews, it always makes me happy to read your thoughts on what's happening.

In response to your comment, Rachel, about the length of the chapters - while I want to give you long chapters as often as possible, sometimes it just doesn't work out that way. I try to post a new chapter once a week, usually close to the weekend, but it also depends on the demands of real life!

Now on this chapter, hope you enjoy it. Not much interaction between MerDer, but things will be heating up soon, trust me!

Chapter Four
In Too Deep

After dealing with the details at the funeral home, Derek knew he had to go by his brother's apartment. Not only to find something for Gareth's burial, but he needed to look around to see if he could find some clue as to what Gareth had been involved in. He might've brushed it off with Meredith, but obviously Gareth hadn't been imagining things. Someone had followed him, and obviously killed him to get his hands on the painting.

He opened the door, breathing deeply. It was apparent that Hunt and his crew had been through here already, leaving the place in more of a shambles than usual. Stepping inside, Derek wasn't sure what had been Gareth's doing, and what was the result of the police search. Gareth wasn't the neatest to begin with, with clothes scattered over the floor, dishes in the sink, empty beer bottles on the coffee table, and papers and magazines on every surface. He headed for the bedroom, intent on keeping focused. He hadn't been here in months, not since the last time that he'd bailed Gareth out of jam. The bed was unmade, of course, and more clothes were piled everywhere. Even though Derek knew that a maid service came in here once a week, it didn't seem to have had any effect.

"What the hell did you get yourself into, Gareth?" he muttered to himself, poking around in the closet. There was the usual assortment of jeans, shirts, and shoes. Several shoeboxes were stacked on a shelf, and he looked through them quickly. Just odds and ends, photos from their childhood, mementos of school events. There wasn't anything to indicate what kind of deal he'd gotten into and why it would have caused his death. Derek sat on the bed, and tried to recall the conversation they'd had outside of Ravish the day before Gareth was killed.

"Derek, just listen to me! I know you've moved on from our old life, but you'll never believe what I found out!"

"You're right, I'm not interested, Gareth. And you need to find a legal way to make a living; you don't want to end up in jail!" Derek had just come back from a run on his new Harley, and he didn't feel like listening to Gareth's latest scam. It had been a damp Seattle afternoon, and he felt chilled despite the black leather jacket and gloves he'd worn. He was craving a glass of his best Macallan Scotch, inside where it was warm.

"This is the big one, Derek! Once I have this, I can pay off all my debts and live off the rest of the cash, preferably somewhere that it doesn't rain all the time."

"Where did you hear about this?"

"Around, you know how it is, Derek."

"If it's such a great score, then it's not going to be easy to fence. Someone will pick up on the fact it's stolen."

"Not the guy I'm dealin' with. He knows exactly what it is, and he wants to pay me a lot of money to get it for him." Gareth glanced over his shoulder before speaking again. "It's a Monet."

"What? Are you out of your damn mind?" Derek whispered back, just as fiercely as he could. "Do NOT get involved in this. That's a major felony, Gareth."

"One last time, Derek, like I said," Gareth reminded him. "Are you sure you don't want part of the action? Just like old times?"

Derek raked his damp hair away from his eyes, and glared at his brother again. "Just leave me out of this! I have a reputation to uphold here, and I'm not about to jeopardize that. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Derek shook his head again. That was the last time he'd seen Gareth, walking away from him, whistling happily. Clearly, something had gone wrong, and Gareth had paid the price for it.

Meredith returned to the office, and sat in front of her computer, staring at the blank screen for a moment. She knew she had a deadline to submit something for publication, but she really wasn't sure what to write. So far she had nothing to go on, besides speculation and gossip, which was really their usual stock in trade. The housekeeper at Derek's house had been unwilling to speak with her, and she'd had no better luck at Ravish. All of his employees seemed to be intensely loyal to him. Some of the other local reporters were also on the trail, and Meredith had no choice but to give up for the day.

She was about to get up and get a cup of coffee when Mark stopped by her desk, holding an envelope in his hands, along with what looked like her expense report. "Can you please explain this expense you have listed here?" he asked, waving the report in front of her. "I don't recall authorizing you to have dinner at Ravish, Grey."

"It wasn't dinner," she countered. "That would have been way more expensive. I only had the crab and brie appetizers, and a drink..."

Mark raised one eyebrow at her. "Seriously? For that price you should have had the whole damn crab, claws and all. What did you have to drink?"

Meredith wrinkled her nose. "Um, just a glass of champagne. Cristal... it seemed appropriate."

"Good god, I hope it was worth it," he grumbled, before thrusting the brown envelope at her. "Here, some pictures for your story."

"What's this?"

Mark crossed his arms over his chest, as he perched on the corner of her desk. "Some anonymous source dropped them off at reception for you. Take a look."

Meredith undid the envelope flap and pulled out a few photos. "What am I looking at?"

"That is Derek Shepherd and his brother, obviously having an argument. The date on the photos is the day before his brother died."

"What? This is incredible," Meredith murmured, sifting through the pictures. All of them showed Derek and his brother, outside of a restaurant, their faces telling a tale of anger. "This is outside of Ravish, why didn't anyone else have these?"

Mark shrugged. "Who knows? All I can say is that it's going on the front page of our paper tomorrow. You can write a piece to go along with it. You have time yet tonight."

"But…how do we know this is real? It could be some sort of photoshop thing."

"Since when has that been your priority? Just run with it, Grey. You seemed to be lost for words anyway," he said, noting her blank document open on the screen. "Get to it."

"Fine. Just be prepared to deal with Shepherd's lawyer," she said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"We have a good legal department here too. Just write the piece."

"Whatever you say, boss," Meredith agreed, her fingers poised over the keyboard. "But what if he's just having an argument over what to have for lunch?"

"Does that look like an argument over pasta to you?"

"Well…"

"Are you getting soft on me, Grey?"

"No, but…"

"Derek Shepherd could be guilty, don't let his good looks cloud your judgment."

"You said to get close to him," Meredith protested. "Not that I have yet."

"Only to get the story, not to get all sentimental on me," Mark reminded her.

"No, of course not. He just seems like a nice enough guy, and I don't want to accuse him of something he didn't do."

Mark gave her a sharp look. "Just be sure that's all it is."

"Don't worry about me, Mark. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." Meredith looked through the pictures again, trying to figure out what Derek could've been angry with his brother about. It could be anything, from a minor disagreement to an argument about money. Gareth had obviously been a troubled man, based on the public record of his arrests; it would stand to reason that he had money problems.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, Mark leaned in closer to look through the photos as well. "Whatever they're fighting about, it looks serious. Derek has a look on his face that can only be classed as murderous."

Meredith had to agree. Based on the photo, it had been a typical rainy Seattle afternoon, and Derek was wearing a dark leather jacket, and his hair looked damp and out of control. She could tell from the set of his jaw and the look on his face that he was angry. Even though the picture was black and white, she could just imagine the ice blue of his stare, having been at the receiving end of such a look. But she had to admit, he looked hot as hell when he was mad.

"Quit drooling on the picture," Mark teased her.

"I was not!"

"Get to work. We can hold the print for you, but don't be too long past deadline if you can. I'll just take a few of these and figure out what we're putting on the front page," he said, plucking a few of the photos out of her fingers. "I'll even bring you a cup of coffee, Grey. I know you can use the caffeine."

"You gonna approve that expense report too?"

"Yeah, yeah...might as well. Just give me a little warning next time?"

"You're all heart, Mark," she smirked.

Mark chuckled as he walked away, leaving her to her blank document screen. Once again, she studied the photos spread on the desk. Gareth was a younger version of Derek, with the same thick hair, even though his was somewhat longer and more unruly. Like Derek, he was wearing a leather jacket, a little more worse for wear, and what looked like faded jeans. He certainly didn't appear as polished as his older brother, but he had his own appeal. She compared that to the picture George had emailed her of Gareth on the autopsy table, and she shivered at the sad comparison. Had Derek really been that angry that he strangled his own brother?

Derek walked away from Gareth's apartment, carrying a duffel bag with some clothes to take to the funeral home, along with some family mementos he'd found in the bedroom. Everything else had been worthless to him, and he'd have it packed up to give to charity. And of course, there hadn't been a single clue about the mysterious painting, or who hired Gareth to steal it. If anything, Gareth had been compulsive about hiding his tracks, which made it even more puzzling that someone could have followed him. Someone else was obviously just as compulsive about getting close to Gareth, maybe someone Gareth trusted. For all Derek knew, the killer already had the painting and could be far away by now.

By the time he'd reached his home, he was feeling at loose ends. It was too early to head to the restaurant, despite a few text messages he'd received from the chef about some squabbles in the kitchen. Nor did he feel any desire to see Anya, even though she was likely waiting for him to call. Maybe it was time to end that particular relationship anyway.

As he walked into the house, he set aside the duffel bag and grabbed the mail Lucinda had left for him. There was the usual assortment of flyers, promotional offers, bills, invitations to various charity events and one plain envelope with no return address. For a moment, he turned it over, wondering if he should toss it away unopened. His curiosity got the best of him, however, and he ripped it open. Inside he found a small key, and a scrap of lined paper with an address scribbled on it. He recognized Gareth's scrawl, and he frowned. "Damnit, Gareth, could you be any more cryptic?"

He headed for his home office and opened up his laptop to search for the address on the note. It came up as a small branch Bank of America in a part of Seattle he wasn't familiar with. He assumed the key opened a safety deposit box there, and he decided he had enough time to find the place before heading to the restaurant.

Meredith pulled up a few of the archived articles about Derek that had been printed over the past year. Most of them related to the opening of his restaurant, where he posed for pictures with various local politicians and celebrities. Then there were the pieces from the gossip pages, of Derek with different women at night clubs, charity dinners, or the theatre. None of the women were the same, though they seemed to share the same aloof expression and designer wardrobe.

"My my, don't you look good in that Armani tux," she observed, reading the article listing the clothing designer. "You certainly have expensive tastes, Mr Shepherd."

There were also articles about parties held at that gorgeous home of his, with rumors of excesses of alcohol and women. She wrinkled her nose at that, wondering how much was true. Another article hinted at drug scandals, and yet another one praised him for donating an impressive work of art to the local museum. He seemed to invite all kinds of attention from one end of the spectrum to the other. He was wealthy, handsome and charming, all the attributes society adored. If there was a dark side to him, it was well hidden.

"He should be accustomed to the media spotlight, damnit. I don't get that he didn't understand why we're interested in him. News is news," she said firmly, opening her document screen again. This time her fingers moved over the keyboard, as she wrote the article to go with the pictures.

Mark came up beside her again, and set the coffee cup down on the desk, looking over her shoulder at the computer screen. "Good work, Grey. Glad to see you've found your usual eloquence."

"He's just a story, like everyone else," she muttered.

"Good, just business as usual, Grey," he grinned, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "Keep that in mind."

After taking the detour to the bank, Derek hurried into the restaurant with the package under his arm. Once he was locked in his office, he spread it open carefully on his desk. Just as Gareth had said, the rolled up canvas was a small Monet; Derek could tell immediately that it was real. He took a moment to appreciate the subtle colors, the delicate beauty of the painting. He could understand exactly why someone would want to own this, and why someone would kill for it. Obviously the theft hadn't been reported yet, or it would've been all over the news. Unless, of course, the owner was someone that shouldn't own it in the first place.

Derek closed his eyes, and leaned back in the chair, letting his agile mind think of all the angles in this situation. He rubbed his temples tiredly; despite telling Gareth he didn't want to get involved, he had just been pushed into the deep end. It would take all of his skill to come out of this unscathed.

Meredith finished typing the article and sent it off to the copy editor for final review. It was just under the wire for the deadline, and she stretched a little tiredly after shutting down her computer, happy to be finished. She needed a hot bath and a shot of tequila, not necessarily in that order. As she stood up, she saw the light was still on in Mark's office, and she headed over to say good night.

"All done, boss," she said, pausing in the doorway. "I'm outta here."

"Good job, Grey. How about a drink?"

"Um...well maybe just one."

"I knew I could twist your arm," Mark grinned, shutting off the desk lamp and grabbing his jacket. "C'mon, we'll go to Joe's, and I'm buying. Maybe your friend Cristina will be there."

"Is this just a ploy to get to talk to her?"

"Suspicious much?" Mark put his arm around her shoulders as they waited for the elevator.

Meredith laughed softly. "She's a hotshot surgeon, Mark, I think that turns you on."

"Are you calling me a womanizer?"

"Oh, no, of course not!"

Once inside the elevator, she leaned against the wall, glancing at him. She knew how much Mark loved to flirt with every woman he saw, it was just part of his nature. It was part of the reason why they broke up, even though it hadn't been serious for either of them. She liked her independence, and he liked his variety. They had some fun together; if anything, Mark liked to have a good time, and was very easy going. Derek, on the other hand, looked like he would be intense and passionate about any kind of relationship; just the way those eyes of his burned into hers. She had a sudden vision of him in bed, with that black hair in disarray and his mouth doing deliciously sinful things...

"Why are you staring at me? Have I got a coffee stain on my shirt or something?" Mark glanced down at his shirt, before looking at her again.

Meredith was startled out of her dirty thoughts at Mark's question. "Sorry, just thinking about stuff."

"Thinking about Shepherd again?"

"Ahh...what makes you say that?" she countered.

"You had that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That sexy, 'oh baby' look," he teased her. "I used to see that face, but now I'm just the ex-lover. Used and abused and tossed aside..."

"You really are an ass, Mark," she groaned, as the elevator hissed to a stop and they stepped out into the lobby. "If Cristina's there, I'm going to tell her to ignore you!"

"You're kind of cranky, Grey, maybe you DO need to get laid."

Meredith resisted the urge to punch him in the arm, and they walked the short distance to Joe's bar without further conversation. The small place was busy as usual, but they managed to find a couple spots at the bar.

"Evenin' folks. The usual?" Joe greeted them, grinning amiably as he set down the glassware in front of them.

"Please."

"One tequila for the lady, and one scotch for the gentleman." Joe poured with a flourish. "Hey, I read that article about that guy that died, Meredith. You think the brother did it?"

"Who knows, Joe. Anything's possible these days. You ever bump into Shepherd? Being fellow business men and all?" she asked, toying with the shot glass.

"Hmm, not that I know of. There's usually a couple different community functions for business owners, but I don't remember seeing him. He seems to do well, from what I've heard, runs a good kitchen. We're not exactly in the same category though!"

"Okay, well if you hear any gossip…" Meredith sighed, holding up her glass for a refill.

"You got it. Oh hey, Dr. Yang." Joe added another shot glass to the bar, filling it as well.

"Thank you, Joe, you're a life saver."

"Cristina, you made it," Meredith grinned at the other woman, a slim Asian with a mass of long black hair, wearing indigo blue scrubs from the hospital under her coat.

"Barely. It was a crappy day. I didn't even feel like changing, as you can tell from my lovely outfit. I need a drink, or a massage, or a man…or a drunken massage by a man."

Mark held up his glass. "Nice to see you again. I can offer my services to give you a massage, I've been told I have very talented fingers. I believe I meet all of your requirements." His eyes twinkled at her. "I'll even bring tequila."

Cristina winked at him. "As appealing as that sounds, I really think I'll head home alone tonight. I'm exhausted."

"Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?" Meredith asked.

"You bet. You can tell me all about your new assignment, he looks hot. Can't wait to read what you write about him next!" She downed her tequila shot, and grinned at Meredith.

"Oh, just wait till the next edition. I may need to go into hiding."

"Sounds dangerous." Cristina grabbed her purse. "See you tomorrow night, Mer. See ya around Sloan."

Mark watched her leave, swirling the scotch in his glass thoughtfully. "What am I doing wrong? My best lines usually work."

"Aw, don't worry, Mark. There's always next time." Meredith couldn't help but laugh at his expression, but then she sobered. "D'you think Cris is right? Am I asking for trouble by writing that piece?"

Setting down his glass, Mark leaned his elbow on the bar. "I'll protect you, Grey. You can always stay with me, you know."

"Thanks for the offer, Mark. You just got shot down by my best friend, and now you're hitting on me again?"

"Not hitting on you, just being a friend, Meredith. I mean that." This time his voice was serious, just as the use of her first name indicated he wasn't teasing her.

"Okay, thanks. I'm sure I'm just being silly." She finished her drink and stood up. "Thanks for the drinks, I'm heading home too. See you in the morning, I think I'll be safe for the night!"

"Just watch your back, just in case."