a/n Thank you, again, for the reviews. I've been pondering the series finale the last two weeks and it has taken my muse away from this story. Know what I'm thinking? Next summer...Loci the movie...Well, it was worth a shot:) Anyway, thank you for waiting. I hope this is good. This chapter contains spoilers for season three...

Law and Order: Criminal Intent

High Maintenance

Chapter Three

Storm Clouds

Eames sat quietly at the picnic table, eyes closed. She let the warmth of the sun, a good companion to the cool breeze that wisped around her, soak through her navy blue trench coat. Folding her arms on the table, Eames cradled her head in the crook of her elbow. Goren would be a few minutes before he arrived with their food, and she hoped to spend those minutes regaining some control of her tired muscles. As she dressed earlier that morning, she could tell that her movements were not quite in sync. She could feel herself slipping a bit mentally, as well.

"Are you sure this is all you want to eat?" Goren asked taking a seat across from her. Eames opened her eyes and peeked over her arm as he set a small salad and a large coffee in front of her.

"Yeah. I haven't been very hungry lately. This is plenty." Eames lifted her head and raised an amused eyebrow as Goren removed the wrapper from the first of two large burgers.

"What? I'm a growing boy," he said smiling.

"I guess." Eames poked at her salad. She wasn't in the mood to eat. What she really wanted was the coffee – a little more caffeine to get her moving. However, too much coffee on an empty stomach was never a good thing and she resigned to putting a chunk of lettuce in her mouth.

"So you haven't been sleeping." Goren took a drink of his soda as Eames' eyes drifted from her salad to him.

"What?" Goren motioned to her as he swallowed.

"You're not…you're not sleeping."

"Uh, why would you say that?" Goren tipped his head to one side, eyebrow raised, hands now clasped on the table. Eames frowned as he studied her.

"I'm not one of your suspects, Bobby."

"Of course you're not," he agreed, head tilting in the opposite direction.

"You don't need to analyze me."

"I do not need to analyze you."

"Or my sleeping habits."

"Or problems."

"Or prob-" Eames pointed her fork at Goren. "Don't try to trick me."

"I'm not," he said, innocently holding up his hands.

"I'm fine," she said quietly.

"But you're not sleeping." Eames gave an annoyed sigh and thrust her fork into her salad.

"It's a minor bout of insomnia, Bobby. A few days of this and I'll be back to normal."

"All right," Goren nodded, believing what she was saying. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"My shoulder?" Eames crinkled her brow as she subconsciously raised her hand to her right shoulder.

"You've been rubbing your shoulder all day."

"Oh." Eames fingers gently ran over the fabric of her coat and drifted to her collar bone, remembering the mark she discovered after waking. "Um, nothing. I don't know why I've been doing that." She laughed nervously and waved a dismissive hand. Goren watched as Eames returned to picking through her salad. Her hair now hung in front of her face in, what Goren believed, a blatant attempt to hide from him.

"Eames? You have same vaca—" He was interrupted by the ring of Eames' cell phone. She removed it from its holder, glancing at the caller ID.

"It's Ross. Eames," she said holding the phone to her ear. She met Goren's eyes as she listened to the captain. "Okay. We're about half an hour out." She closed the phone and stood. "We have a case. Double homicide in Hoboken."

0-0-0-0

Eames stepped out of the SUV, pulling her coat tightly around her. She was surprised how quickly the wind picked up in the last half an hour. She caught a few wild strands of hair and tucked them behind her ear as she met Goren on the passenger side of the vehicle.

"Looks like rain," he commented. Eames nodded, noting the ominous, green tinge taken on by their surroundings. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah." As the two started up the sidewalk Eames looked over the farm house. The house's white color looked too vibrant in front of the approaching storm clouds. The flashing red and blue lights of two local police vehicles, along with the tint of the sky, gave everything a surreal disguise. The grass looked too green, and the small section of white picket fence that sat in the yard for decoration popped out of its environment. The two windows on the second story, separated by a tall brick chimney, gave the appearance of large black eyes staring down at them.

"I feel like we're in an Amityville movie," Goren laughed. Eames nodded in response to hearing Goren's voice, but she was not listening to the words he spoke. She was completely transfixed by the dwelling. Goren stepped in front of her blocking her view. She blinked and looked up at him. "You stopped walking."

"I've been here…" she whispered.

"I'm sorry? I couldn't hear you." Goren reached out, gently wrapping his fingers around her wrist, and removed her hand from her shoulder. She looked down as he moved her arm to her side.

"I've been…" Eames' voice was still too quiet for Goren to hear. He released her wrist with a brush of his fingers. Tilting his head, he leaned slightly to one side and hooked a finger under her chin, forcing her eyes back to his.

"Are you all right?" He waited as her eyes focused and realization of his closeness to her dawned. She took a deep breath and shook the cobwebs from her head.

"I'm fine."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Let's go." Goren stepped to the side and followed Eames to the rickety front porch. A heavier-set gentleman leaning on the front door stood to attention and met the detectives at the top of the porch steps.

"I'm Sargent Millward," he said extending his hand. "You must be the detectives from New York."

"Eames," she answered taking his hand. "This is Detective Goren." Millward reached for Goren's hand.

"Sargent." Goren opened his binder. "Why did you call Major Case? This is…a little out of our jurisdiction." Millward sighed, sadness creeping across his features.

"When the reverend and his family moved here seven years ago, he asked me to contact you, Detective Goren, if anything were to happen to him or his wife. He didn't offer any details, just said that you would understand." Goren closed his binder and nodded.

"What can you tell us about the case?" Eames asked.

"Not much. I haven't sent my guys in yet." Goren and Eames exchanged a confused look. "I thought it best to keep everyone out until you arrived." He looked between the detectives. "Whatever you need from us, you have it."

"Thank you, Sargent." Millward moved towards the door, stopping when his hand reached the door pull.

"I'll be out here when you're ready." The screen door opened with an eerie squeal. Goren entered first, assaulted by the stench of stale blood. His eyes settled on two bodies lying on their backs in a large pool of blood that covered most of the living room floor. He heard Eames draw a sharp breath.

"Oh my…" She turned to the door, needing a minute to collect herself. Goren lightly touched her back and Eames nodded in response to his silent question.

"There's too much blood to be solely from our victims." Goren sniffed the air. "I'd say cow's blood. Pig's maybe."

"I don't want to know how you know that." Eames turned back to Goren, following as he walked the blood's perimeter. "We're going to need a CSI team here before we go too far. Who knows what kind of prints are in this." She stepped around Goren, kneeling to look at the victims' faces.

"I agree." The two bodies, one male, one female, were posed hands folded across their stomachs, as they would be during their funerals. "They were staged." He looked over their blood soaked clothing. "This display…This was all done after they were murdered."

"Throats were slit. Wounds look pretty shallow," Eames said rising. "Maybe they were drugged or knocked unconscious before they were killed." She turned to Goren and frowned noticing something over his shoulder. She touched his arm and pointed. "Look." He twisted, following her motion. Above the doorway several dozen knives, plunged into the drywall, spelled out Goren's name. Eames felt his muscles stiffen under her hand. "Who are the victims, Bobby?"

"Reverend Hale and his wife," Goren said quietly. "Bishop and I worked a case, uh, about eight years ago involving their nephew." Goren looked at the bodies. "He had a pretty off the wall philosophy on life and… enlightenment. He used that to convince three young girls to kill three boys from their school."

"Connie Smith," Eames nodded. "I remember." Goren raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What? Just because I was pregnant and on desk duty doesn't mean I didn't pay attention." Goren smiled.

"This…message," he said, pointing to the knives above the doorway. "Connie told me there were more…more girls like the ones that murdered the boys." He smirked as he faced Eames again. "He said they would crawl out of the pit and come at me with knives because that's what I deserved."

0-0-0-0

The sky had darkened considerably since the detectives arrived at the farmhouse. With the dropping temperature, Eames could now feel the rain in the air. She stood patiently by Goren's side as he questioned the older woman who lived next door to the Hales. Eames guessed the woman to be in her late seventies, but the dim light from the sconces on the front porch accentuated every wrinkle on the woman's face, aging her significantly.

"Yes, I was the one that called Sargent Millward." The older woman wrung her hands nervously as she talked to the detectives. "Mrs. Hale didn't show up for our knitting club yesterday morning. I called the house several times, came over once. When I got no answer here, I immediately went home and called the police."

"Mrs. Letner, do you know of anyone who may have had issues with the Hales?"

"Oh, goodness, no. When the reverend came to our parish, well, it was like a breath of fresh air. He was so animated during service. He brought us all back to a better relationship with God. And Mrs. Hale, she was involved in so many charity groups. She baked and cooked for the less fortunate families…Even spent time with us old people, knitting." Mrs. Letner looked to the ground.

"Did you ever meet their nephew, Connie?" Goren asked lightly.

"Oh, Connie." Mrs. Letner's eyes brightened at the mention of the young man's name. "Connie was certainly a blessing from Heaven." Goren looked at Eames.

"How so, Mrs. Letner?" she asked.

"Connie is such a nice man. He stopped by every week on Tuesday and helped me clean the house. My back isn't quite what it used to be," she joked. "He would write up a grocery list and go shopping for me, too. I told him there was no need to waste his time on me when he had people his own age to hang around, but he insisted. Never asked for anything in return."

"Did the Hales have as good of a relationship with Connie?"

"No, unfortunately. They never hurt him or anything like that. Connie said they didn't really pay too much attention to him. I suppose it's not all that easy to take care of someone else's child, nephew or not."

"I suppose you're right," Goren nodded. "Do you know where Connie is?"

"He's in Colorado, in school. He calls once a month to tell me how his studies are going."

"Have you contacted him about his aunt and uncle's deaths?" Eames asked.

"Not yet. I was hoping to have something solid to tell him about how it happened." Mrs. Letner looked hopefully to Goren.

"I'm sorry we don't have details to share. If you could call Connie…It would be best for him to come home as soon as possible."

"Of course." Mrs. Letner wrapped her housecoat tightly around her body and started towards her house.

"Colorado, huh? That's quite a distance to orchestrate a murder," Eames remarked.

"Yeah. But if Connie made…"

"Friends like he did eight years ago," Eames finished.

"Exactly."