DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS

A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!

SPECIAL WELCOMES TO:

Twinkle the Wishful

StokesandMesserLuver

I want to dedicate this chapter to Afrozenheart412. Thanks for the suggestions! *hugs*


Family Ties

"I wish I could do better by you
'Cause that's what you deserve
You sacrifice so much of your life
In order for this to work
Whle I'm off chasing my own dreams,
Sailing around the world,
Please know that I'm yours to keep, My beautiful girl
When you cry a piece of my heart dies,
Knowing that I may have been the reason
If you were to leave,
Fulfill someone else's dreams, I think I might totally be lost
You don't ask for no diamond rings,
No delicate strings of pearls,
That's why I wrote this song to sing,
My beautiful girl."
-The Girl, City and Colour


What should have been a fifteen minute drive into the lower east side of Manhattan stretched into a thirty-five minute one thanks to the brutal condition of the roads and the snarled traffic caused by numerous accidents. Drivers were impatient and pissed off with being stuck behind slow moving city plows and their reckless weaving in and out had resulted a record number of fender benders. Road crews couldn't clear the snow fast enough, nor lay down enough salt to prevent the incredibly slippery black ice that quickly formed underneath. And the white stuff showed no signs of slowing time anytime soon. In fact, the skies overheard were grey and sullen and filled with massive snow clouds. The temperatures were well below freezing and the winds were strong and biting.

Any one with half a brain listened to the warnings from the forecasters to stay indoors. To not travel unless it was an absolute necessity. To stay inside where it was nice and warm.

Apparently, half of the city of New York either didn't listen or didn't care. Or had less than half a brain.

"You would think people would listen," Flack commented, sighing heavily as he found himself stuck in yet another back log of bumper to bumper traffic.

He reached for the extra large take out cup of black coffee that sat in the holder between the front seats and took a long sip. Thankful for the last minute trip to Starbucks he decided on. He was tired and aggravated and coffee was the only thing keeping him going at the moment.

"Most of these drivers are men," Sam said, glancing out her window. "And we all know how well men listen to anything."

Flack smirked. "Do you want to get out and walk?" he asked.

She snorted and sipped her hot chocolate. With the works. Whipped cream and chocolate and cinnamon sprinkles. With a shot of mint flavouring for some extra kick. "Walking would probably get me there quicker," she said. "I told you we should have taken the side streets."

"Side streets would have been worse. The city hasn't even gotten around to clearing those yet. Why? Are in some kind of hurry? You got a hot date or something?"

"Maybe," she sing-songed. "The guy in the car next to me keeps smiling over here in between picking his nose and eating it."

Flack grimaced. "Sam…do you mind?"

"I'm only making an observation. Don't you ever sit back when you're in a traffic jam and look around at what everyone else is doing? Or wonder what people are talking about? There's people taking naps, other people on cell phones. A lady back a little ways was plucking her eyebrows. I saw the couple in that white Pontiac Grand Am two cars back engage in a little something something."

"You did not."

"I did!" she insisted. "The girlfriend ducked down and was out of sight for about five minutes. And trust me, she wasn't looking for something under her seat by the look on her boyfriend's face and the words I could make coming out of his mouth."

Flack grinned. "Lucky guy if you ask me," he said.

"Well if we weren't on the clock and we weren't in a squad car you never know what we might be doing right now," Sam told him. "But seeing as we're not that fortunate."

"Just for that, when we're off tonight, I am going to drive all around the city looking for shitty traffic to get purposefully stuck in."

"That could be fun," she said. "It's something I've never done before."

"What's that?" Flack asked. "Make out in a car?"

Sam nodded and sipped her drink.

"You have got to be kidding me," he chuckled. "Never? Not even when you were a teenager?"

"Never," she insisted. "First off, my boyfriend in high school didn't have a driver's license. Second, I was an innocent little Catholic school girl. I didn't do things like that."

Flack arched both eyebrows and stared pointedly at her.

"Okay…so maybe I wasn't that innocent. But I have never, ever made out in a car. Apparently you made it a sport when you were a teenager. You and what's her face. The chick you told me about that night we nearly got run over by that taxi cab."

"The night you laid an ass wuppin' on Roland?"

"You actually remembered his name?"

"Hard not to remember someone that smelled that bad. And her name was Bianca. Bianca DeFazio. She was the daughter of one of my dad's cop buddies. We went to school together. Kindergarten on up to grade twelve."

"And were you always sweethearts?" Sam inquired. "Were you two holding hands at the sandbox and sneaking little kisses under the slide at recess?"

"We didn't start dating until grade eleven. And trust me, babe, it was the longest year of my life."

"Oh she couldn't have been that bad, Donnie. You lost your virginity to her."

"I never said that."

"Jesus! How many women are out there that came lay claim to being laid by you?" she cried, slapping his shoulder. "Am I suddenly going to be accosted by an angry band of ex girlfriends one day?"

"There was not that many," Flack chuckled. "Trust me. It's a shockingly low number for a guy my age in New York City."

"Hmm…let me guess…" she thought about it for a moment. "I'd say about thirty."

He snorted. "You're way off."

"More?" she asked, her nose crinkled in disgust.

He shook his head.

"Less? For real? How less?"

"Try about half of that, minus two."

"Really?" her eyes widened. "Wow…that's a little more than surprising. You're practically a virgin still! Not that that's a complaint at all. I certainly don't find anything wrong with your skills. I just thought for sure it was way more than that. You know, 'cause you got that whole cocky, arrogant, God's gift way about you and all."

"Hey, don't knock it. It hooked you, didn't it?"

She grinned. "As much as I'd like to lie and say it was your lovely personality that attracted me to you…"

"Please don't say the eyes. It's always the eyes."

"Well it was those too. But the first thing I noticed about you was that bashful little smile you give when I get one up on you."

"Yeah? Well you're damn good at getting one up on people. You definitely knocked me for six the second you opened your mouth and shot me down ten minutes after meeting me."

"Well you deserved it trying to boss me around like I was put on earth to serve you. And I have to admit, there's another part of you that I noticed right away too."

"And what would that be?"

"The rear view," she admitted, peeling the lid off of her hot chocolate to stick the tip of her tongue in the whipped cream. "I am such a sucker for pretty blue eyes and an incredible ass."

He laughed and shook his head. "You are seriously disturbed, woman," he declared, and gave a sigh of relief as traffic began flowing once more. "By the way," he said. "You've got some white stuff right here," he pointed to the left corner of his mouth.

"Oh really?" she asked, and cleaned the whipped cream off with a finger tip. "When has that ever bothered me? I like the white, sweet, sticky stuff."

He smirked.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Don!" she scolded. "That is not what I meant! Hey, did I ever tell you about the guy back in Phoenix that lived a couple of doors down and had a dog named Sex?"

"Get outta here," Flack said.

"I am dead serious! That was the dog's name. It was this tiny little tea cup poodle. Fuzzy little white thing. And for some reason known only to this guy, he named this precious, adorable dog Sex. Well the dog used to get out of the house. A lot. So can you honestly imagine what it was like to be waken up at one in the morning, to some moron standing on his front porch in his pyjamas yelling 'SEX! SEX! WHERE IS MY SEX!'."

"You honestly can not be serious," Flack said, casting a doubtful expression her way.

"I am deadly serious. Why would I make something like that up? You can even ask my brother if you want. Call him. Ask him."

"And have to listen to his rambling? No thanks. You know, you're just like him sometimes. Like at two in the morning when you're waking me up to have deep, meaningful discussions and you just go on and on and on."

"Can I help it if I have weird dreams and feel the need to discuss them with you right away?" she asked, snapping the lid back onto her cup. "By the way, did you happen to get a call from Terrence Davis today?"

Flack shook his head.

"Hmmm…that's weird. Because he got in contact with me to let me know that things had been dealt with."

"He called you?"

"Well not exactly," Sam said. "He sent me a card and I…"

"He sent you a card? To your office? You can't be serious. What the hell is he thinking putting something in print like that and sending it to the Crime Lab? Stuff like that can be traced."

"Well he made it look harmless," Sam assured her boyfriend. "See he put the card in a bouquet of flowers and…"

She had to put her hand on the dashboard in order to prevent herself from flying forwards as Flack stomped on the brakes to avoid a car that swerved into their lane.

"If the weather wasn't bad, I would swear that was intentional," she said.

"Terrence Davis sent you flowers?" Flack asked, turning to look at her as they once again found themselves at a complete stand still. "What kind of flowers?"

"Just some nice flowers," she responded. "Nothing major. Like a Pleasure Doing Business with You type of arrangement."

"Guys don't send another guy's girl flowers," Flack declared. "They just don't do it. They don't send flowers to a girl that's off limits."

"He didn't send them as a romantic gesture," Sam assured him. "He was just being nice. I guess he felt I deserved something nice after all that head ache with Zack."

"It's my job to get you something nice," he reminded her. "He's just some punk ass gangster whose lucky he isn't spending the next couple of decades in prison and being anointed the cell block bitch. He works for me. I saved his ass. And he just decides that it's a good idea to try and poach my girl?"

"You honestly can't be serious, Donnie. He didn't send me flowers because he wants to poach me from you. He sent them to deliver a message in a inconspicuous way. He wanted to let us know that he'd taken care of the Zack issue. And I guess he felt doing it through the flowers was the safest way to do it. For both of us."

Flack snorted. "Something tells me that's not why he did it."

"Why are you so paranoid?" Sam asked. "I mean, seriously. Okay, so let's say maybe there was more to his motivation. And so what if he's somewhat attractive in a bad boy sort of way and he's insanely rich. He's a goddamn criminal. Do you actually think I'd dump someone like you, for someone like him?"

"I don't know. You tell me. Seeing as you're attracted to the gangsta type."

Sam frowned and sighed heavily. "You're impossible, Donald. Do you realize that? You are reading way too much into this."

"And you're taking getting flowers from another guy way too lightly," he retorted. "Especially a guy like Terrence Davis."

"So is it that I got flowers from another guy or who the guy is? Would it bother you as much if I got them from just a regular guy?" she challenged.

"I don't give a shit who the guy is, alright? I don't like you getting flowers or anything for that matter, from someone other than me. Would you like it if some other woman was buying me things?"

"Of course not, but…"

"How is there a but in this?" Flack asked.

"Because I highly doubt Terrence Davis was showing some romantic gesture by sending me flowers. I truly believe that he did it because it was a safe way to get the news back to us about Zack."

Flack snorted. "You're so delusional. You spent way too much time Phoenix."

"And you've spent way too much time here with materialistic, stuck up bitches for girlfriends," Sam concluded. "Terrence Davis meant nothing by it. You are blowing this way out of proportion."

He sighed heavily.

"But if it makes you feel any better, I got rid of the flowers," Sam said. "I put them in the break room."

"Why did you do that?"

"I don't know," Sam huffed. "Maybe because it didn't seem right accepting flowers from another man? Do I need another reason?"

A slow smile spread across his face.

"But you didn't give me a chance to tell you that, did you? No you just went all possessive and jealous on me and…"

He silenced her mid rant by leaning sideways and covering her lips in a soft and lingering kiss.

She smiled when it was over and ran a hand along his face. "You're going to get us both fired," she declared. "How do you know there's not a hidden camera in here and that the brass doesn't review the footage after you've gone home at the end of the shift?"

"Trust me, Sammie. There's no hidden cameras in any of the squads. Because if there was, there'd be a lot of cops suspended for doing inappropriate things while on the clock."

"Dirty, dirty people," she said and went back to her hot chocolate. "Have you ever done any inappropriate things in your squad?" she asked curiously.

He looked over at her and grinned. "Not yet," he replied.

The traffic began to finally let up and they were able to move steadily through the snowy and icy streets.

"Now do you promise to behave yourself this time around?" Sam asked, her eyes sparkling playfully. "I really don't want a repeat of last time."

"What's that suppose to mean? What happened last time?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Hey girl, what's your sign?" she asked in a deep voice, mocking him. "Does that ring any bells?"

"I didn't think you heard that."

"You have got some lame ass pick up lines, Don. That was almost as bad as the one you used on me when I met you at Sullivan's."

He cleared his throat noisily. "Sorry, I don't remember that one," he lied.

"Oh I do. Very, very well. Want me to refresh your memory? You said, 'Do you have Italian in you? No? Would you like some?'."

Flack grinned sheepishly. "I must have been seriously loaded when I busted out that one."

"You were completely sober!" she cried. "Your problem is that your game is just as bad as your taste in ties."

"You're lucky I love you as much as you do. Or else I'd be seriously offended at the moment."

"Well we're working on the ties," she said, reaching out to tug playfully at the tie he wore now. "And technically., you can retire your game or any resemblance of such now. But please, please, I am begging you. Do not come onto the dolls, okay?"

"I am still holding firm to my belief that they're the perfect women. I was totally right with what I said before. They're not bad looking and a guy does save huge money on dinner."

"And like you don't get anything in return when we come home for dinner?" she asked. "Please. You get repaid and then some. Don't give me that."

"You know, if you repay me the way you do after dinner at McDonald's, makes me wonder what you'll do if I take you to Tavern on the Green."

She frowned and punched him hard in the shoulder. "You're such a goddamn pig!" she huffed.

"I'm just joking, babe," he laughed, then dropped a hand from the steering wheel to rub his shoulder. "Ow…you hit like a man. You're damn strong for a tiny, wee thing."

"You know what? I'm going to buy you one of them dolls," she declared. "A cute little brunette thing with huge boobs. So you can cuddle up to her on all those cold, lonely nights you're going to have on the couch from now on."

"Hey, at least she won't wake me up a two thirty in the morning and yap my ear off or annoy me with her Brooklyn accent when I'm trying to sleep."

"Why do I put up with you?" she asked with an exasperated sigh. "Seriously. Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you love me," he replied. "Because you'd miss me if I wasn't around."

She snorted. "Oh yeah…that's it."

Yet she knew it was entirely true.

It was another ten minutes before they finally arrived at the high end doll shop. Parking at the rear entrance, Sam un-buckled her seat belt and gathered up a case folder lying on the dashboard as Flack killed the ignition and undid his own belt and climbed out of the vehicle. He opened her door and offered his hand, helping her climb out before shutting the door behind her.

"Fucking snow," Flack grumbled, as he laid a hand on Sam's elbow, guiding her through the snow and protecting her from slipping and falling on her ass.

Sam smiled politely at the group of workers huddled along one of the building's brick walls, shivering as they took a smoke break. Then a wide smile spread from ear to ear as she seized the opportunity to get her revenge.

"I can't believe you!" she cried, shoving her boyfriend away from her.

"What?" he blinked, taking back by her sudden outburst. "What did I…"

"We've been married for five years and I find out you have a mistress all this time! The fucking nerve! And if that isn't bad enough, I find the receipts for Tiffany's and Tavern on the Green while me and your three children are eating Kraft Dinner and frozen meals and shopping at Target! You're an insensitive bastard!"

Flack stared at her, mouth agape, his brain unable to form a suitable comeback as he watched his girlfriend stomp past him and yank open the door to the doll establishment. Closing it quickly behind her, leaving him standing there in the swirling snow. A dozen eyes trained on him.

Flack looked at the employees and offered an embarrassed smile. "She's joking," he assured them as he reached for the door handle. "Seriously she is."

Some nodded, most smirked.

Sighing, he yanked the door open. "You need to stop spending so much time with Lindsay Monroe!" he called out, as he stepped inside and the door closed behind him.


Danny Messer hadn't had time to ponder his expectant father status. Or really react to the news. No sooner did he recover from his initial shock, his cell phone was ringing in regards to the case. Marty Pino had his autopsy results and had sent a DNA sample -a female pubic hair- up to the lab. Their as of yet unidentified shooter had died of a single gunshot wound to the head, but he'd also been involved in one hell of a punch up prior to death. A broken nose, two cracked ribs and a split lip. Not to mention busted knuckles and a permanent indent on his hand from his fist connecting with his assailant's teeth.

As he was returning from the morgue, hell bent on finding Lindsay and sitting her down for a long talk about their future, he'd been paged to the DNA lab. The results were ready on the swab he'd taken of the gravitational blood drops in the subway tunnel. He'd been pretty psyched at the news. A firm believer that if someone had been involved in a brazen daylight shooting, chances were that he was in the system.

His theory had been dashed right quick. The blood hadn't gotten him a hit in CODIS. It was back to the drawing board and hoping that some results would come off of the hair sample Pino had collected, and that Adam was successful in tracking down the owner of the rare gun that had been used in their crime. He was aggravated and pissed off at the lack of progress they seemed to be making with the case. The surveillance tapes had been completely useless, and all ballistics had been good for was identifying the types of bullets and weapons used. Thorough searches of all trash cans and dumpsters and gutters within a five block radius in either direction of the subway station had turned up no sign of the murder weapons.

He grabbed himself an extra large black coffee from the cafeteria before returning to the trace lab. Hoping that something, anything, would come out of the samples he'd taken early and was still waiting on. As he stood sipping his steaming beverage, he stared down at the slice of red envelope poking out from underneath his stack of files. He'd stowed the card back into his envelope and then stashed it under his work to avoid curious eyes from finding it. He didn't want anyone knowing. Not yet anyway. And the lab was notorious for gossip.

He knew he wasn't ready yet. To be a father. In his heart of hearts, he knew he was nowhere near ready. Being a father was a massive step. As was getting married. And he had wanted that honeymoon stage with his wife. To get used to being someone's husband. Someone's everything. He had wanted her all to himself, as selfish as it sounded to even his own ears. He had wanted that alone time with her. Where all her thoughts and energies were focused solely on him.

None of that was going to happen now. And not only did a baby throw those greedy thoughts to the curb, it also brought all wedding plans to a screeching halt. Despite all the money and the hard work they'd put into their planning, Danny knew that there was no possible way that the wedding could go down the way they wanted it to.

Having a baby at that time was a terrible idea. He cursed himself for being so goddamn careless. For not taking the proper precautions to make sure something like that didn't happen. He didn't wish harm on his baby, or particularly think that Lindsay should get rid of it. He was against abortion and would never even suggest it. But at the same time, he knew that he just wasn't ready to be a dad.

In fact, he was damn terrified.

So much to think about, so little fucking time, he thought, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cellphone. He began dialling Lindsay's cell number, prepared to track her down and ask her to meet him somewhere to talk. Although he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say.

He only knew that he loved her more then life itself. And hoped that together, they could face anything.

"Danny!" Adam cried, as he burst into the trace lab completely breathless. "I've got some news…about…the case…"

Danny sighed and disconnected his call and snapped his phone closed. "What kind of news, Adam? And sit down before you pass out."

The lab tech shook his head, and bending over at the waist, laid his elbows on his knees as he drew in deep breaths. "I'm good," he said. "Just give me a second here….I'm good."

Danny waited for Adam to compose himself, drumming his fingertips impatiently on top of the work station next to him.

"Okay…." Adam let out a huge breath and stood upright once again. "I've got two results for you that are just going to blow your mind. I was going to call my sister but she's indisposed at the doll warehouse at the moment. Which, I have to admit, is where I wish I was. Either that or I wish she had tons of extra cash to actually buy me one of them things for my birthday. Because in all honesty? Who has the time for an actual social life. If I had one of those dolls, I wouldn't have to go out and actually attempt to meet someone and then do the whole awkward mating dance. I could just…"

"You're disturbing, you know that?" Danny asked. "Almost as bad as your sister. What's the news regarding the case? Focus, Adam. Focus."

"Right…okay. Two pieces of major info that I have to for you. And both involve Flack."

Danny arched an eyebrow.

"Well maybe not Flack per say, but people that share the last name. First up, is the results from scouring the gun licensing data base for all of New York State. Sammie had asked me to cross reference that antique gun with all owners of such weapon within the boroughs. I came up with three names."

"There could be more. Not everyone gets licensed," Danny said.

"And I suggested that to my sister, but she's adamant that anyone who has this kind of weapon is a collector and collectors get licensed to avoid crap with the ATF. Anyhow, like I said, three hits. Two of them I already called. They're in Staten Island and Far Rockaway respectfully, and both assured me that their guns are locked away in safes at home, and have been all day. Now the third one is when I hit pay dirt. Serious pay dirt. Because when this name came up, so did a police report regarding the theft of the exact same weapon in question."

"You do not believe in making a long story short do you," Danny said. "Whose the owner?"

Adam opened up the top case folder in his hands, turned it around so it was right side up and held it out to Danny.

"It's Flack's father," Adam told him.

"What in the hell…." Danny snatched the folder from Adam's hands.

"The gun, along with several others, were stolen from his home in Flushing, Queens two months ago," Adam said. "I guess he was out for the day with his wife, and when they came home, they found the back door unlocked. The only items missing were from the family room. A DVD player, some DVDs themselves, and the weapons. The perp, or perps, had smashed into the locked gun cabinet to took them out. He called the cops, filed the appropriate police report and someone from the lab went out there and dusted for fingerprints and took some photographs. No perps were ever caught, but a week later, all but one of the guns were found in area pawn shops."

"All except the one gun that Brooklyn identified," Danny sighed. "I'm going to have to call Flack's dad and see if he'll come down, answer some more questions about that robbery. What's the second piece of info you've got for me?"

"I flagged some DNA results for you. I didn't think you'd want the wrong hands getting a hold of them."

"DNA from that pubic hair Pino found?"

Adam nodded and held the second folder out. "The DNA was a match to someone already in CODIS."

Danny took the report from the lab tech. "You sure about this?" he asked Adam.

"A hundred percent sure. Apparently when the name popped out, the tech ran it again."

He sighed heavily and stared down at the results and the mug shot in his hands.

What the hell are you getting mixed up in now, Melanie? Danny thought.


This is just plain creepy, Sam thought, as her eyes wandered over the naked dolls as they lay neatly and lovingly arranged on long, wooden tables. Workers hunched over them as they skilfully applied make up to the life life creatures. Steady hands working on lip liner and lipstick and human hair eyelashes. At other tables, employees were carefully and intently stitching in hair to the doll's scalps while others were moulding breasts into the perfecting that customers both requested and craved. To Sam, it just wasn't normal. Adult men playing with dolls. There was something so sick and twisted about it. If you lacked the social skills to meet real life women, then go out and spend half the money you'd spend on the doll, taking dating classes. There was no way someone could be that lonely and that pathetic that they would have to settle for a fake woman.

And the thought of what they may actually be doing with the dolls. Now that just made her grimace and shiver from head to toe. Granted, these dolls were exquisitely made and nothing short of beautiful. But they were just that. Dolls. You certainly couldn't feel the same things that you felt when you were with a real person. The warmth of the body and the touch of their hands and their soft breath caressing your body. The sound of their voice in your ear or the feel of their heart beating against you. Nothing in the world could replace what it felt like to physical be with another living and breathing human being.

"I guess someone has a serious thing for Pam Anderson," Flack commented, nodding in the direction of a worker putting the finishing touches on a doll with a massive pair of breasts.

"You would notice that one," Sam grumbled, sneaking a glance down at her own pair, which in relation to the doll, were seriously not up to par.

"Do you blame me? I'm a boob guy. They're my weakness. And don't worry, yours are much better. And they're real, too. Can't beat the real ones."

"Would you please just keep your mind on the task at hand? I seriously don't understand how inatimate objects can get you all hot and bothered."

"It's not that they get me all hot and bothered. It's just that they kinda get me going and then the real thing standing next to me just finishes me off."

Sam rolled her eyes, but smiled as well.

"I'm sorry," a tall and slender Asian woman with bum length black hair and a body to die, and kill for, approached them. "We don't take personal orders through the warehouse. You'll have to go back out and around the front and into the actual store."

"We're not here to place an order," Flack told her, opening his jacket to reveal the badge clipped to the waist band of his pants. "We're here to talk to someone. Is Melissa Markus around?"

"She is. I can get her for you if you'd like."

"That is what we'd like," Flack said. "Thank you."

"Who has more brains I wonder?" Sam whispered to her boyfriend as the pretty Asian girl sauntered off, her hips swinging provocatively. "The dolls or the actual humans around here?"

"I don't know about brains. They seem to be in short supply but in other departments they seem to be stocked to the rafters around here."

Sam glared up at him.

"Commenting," Flack defended himself.

"Were you checking out her ass?" Sam asked. "Were you honestly checking out her ass with me standing right here?"

"I most certainly was not. Why would I be checking her ass out when I can check out your ass both visually and physically, on a recurring basis?"

She sighed heavily and shook her head in disbelief. "You are unreal," she grumbled.

"What does it matter if I was? Do I not come home to you every night? Is it not you I share my bed with? So what if I check out someones ass. It's not like I'm going to be doing anything to it."

"Do you want to be doing something to it?" she asked.

"To what?" Flack inquired. "Her ass or yours?"

Sam's eyes narrowed as she stared pointedly at him. "What do you think?"

"I'm thinking I better shut up while I'm ahead or else you'll be cutting me off for a very, very, very long time."

She smiled and nodded.

"Can I help you, officers?"

Their attentions focused on a petite, yet willowy young woman with flaming, curly red hair that reached the middle of her back, and vibrant green eyes. She had flawless skin and a well proportioned and exquisitely beautiful face. And a body of a goddess on full display in a denim dress that fit like a second skin.

"Detectives, actually," Flack corrected politely. "I'm Detective Flack and this is Detective Ross. We're here to ask you a few questions."

"About?" Melissa asked.

Sam opened the case folder in her hand and pulled out a glossy photograph. "Do you recognize this?" she asked, holding aloft a picture of the Ipod.

"That looks like the one I lost a few days ago," Melissa commented.

"It is the one you lost," Flack confirmed. "We were able to get your name and your whereabouts off of the Ipod when we plugged it into the computer back at the crime lab."

"Since when does the NYPD act as a lost and found?" the young woman asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder and running the tip of her tongue over her top lip as she eyed the tall, dark and handsome detective from head to toe. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad they at least sent a good looking cop to find me. That's a fantasy of mine, you know. Some hot cop coming to my recuse and sweeping me off my feet."

"You want someone to come busting down your door and scooping ya up?" Flack asked. "Try an FDNY fantasy next time."

"Firemen don't carry handcuffs. Do you think maybe I could see yours?"

Flack smirked and shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "Professional use only."

"Then whatever it is you're here for, I confess."

"Tell us where you lost your Ipod," Sam snapped, shoving the photo in the younger woman's face. "We're here about the Ipod, okay?"

"Is there a reason you're so hostile?" Melissa asked, shoving the picture about of her face.

"Why don't you make this easier on yourself and answer our questions," Flack suggested. "We want to know about your Ipod here. Unless you'd rather take a ride downtown with us and talk there."

"I'm not exactly sure what happened to my Ipod," Melissa admitted.

"Well then how about you tell us what you think happened to it," Flack suggested.

"Last Wednesday I left my apartment, with my Ipod on. I was using it all the way until I got to the eighty seventh subway station."

Flack cast a glance at Sam. The eighty seventh subway station being the initial crime scene.

"And then what happened when you got there?" Sam asked, as Flack pulled out his log book and pen and began scrawling notes.

"I always stop to grab a coffee and a muffin from the little café just inside the main doors," Melissa replied. "I turned off my Ipod and took out the ear phones and shoved everything into my coat pocket."

"This is an outside pocket?" asked Flack.

The young woman nodded.

"Was it zipped up or what?" he inquired.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Melissa asked.

"What Detective Flack is trying to figure out is if it was possible someone stole the Ipod from your pocket," Sam informed her. "Was it an outside pocket or not? It's not a difficult question."

"It was an outside pocket. And no. It wasn't zipped up."

"What time was this about?" Flack asked. "What was the crowd in the station like?"

"It was about eight in the morning. I always get the quarter after eight train. Gets me here by quarter to nine. I start my shift at nine. The place was a mad house. It always is at that time of day. That and after work rush hour are the worst. Like a sea of humanity, you know?"

Flack nodded as he jotted everything down. "So you put the Ipod in your pocket when you stopped off at the café," he recapped. "When did you realize it was gone?"

"When I boarded the subway," Melissa told him. "I managed to snag a seat and I went to reach in for my Ipod once I sat down. That's when I realized it was gone. I just assumed maybe it fell out of my pocket somewhere between the front entrance and the platform. I was pretty pissed. Those things aren't cheap."

"Do you remember if anyone bumped into you?" asked Flack. "Anyone seem like they purposefully knocked into you or anything?"

"It just seemed like the regular hustle and bustle and crazy crowd," she replied.

"Anything unusual happen on the platform?" he inquired.

"You two sure are going to a lot of trouble and asking a lot of questions over an Ipod," Melissa complained. "I mean, thanks for finding it and all. I really don't care about busting whoever might have taken it. I just want it back."

"Your Ipod is evidence in a murder investigation," Sam informed her, her patience wearing thin. "We found it, in the possession of a victim."

The young woman's eyes widened. "Whoa…just because my Ipod was on someone doesn't mean I murdered them."

"Did anything happen on the platform or not?" Flack snarled. "It's all I'm asking here."

"There was tons of people down there," Melissa told him. "But I wouldn't say that anything unusual went down. I mean, this one girl kept nudging up against me and stuff like that. Complimenting me on my coat and asking me all kinds of personal questions and going on about the weather and how crappy the train service is. And then these two moron guys started arguing about a hundred feet away."

"Could you hear what they were arguing about?" inquired Sam.

"Not really. I just heard their raised voices and saw them shoving each other around. Security came down and warned them to knock it off."

"You remember what they looked like?" Flack asked.

Melissa shook her head.

Sam sighed and pulled another photograph from her folder. An autopsy photo of their unidentified track victim. "Does this look like one of the guys?" she inquired.

Melissa took the photo and studied it. "Yep…that's the one guy. I remember thinking how nasty he was. Like he hadn't bathed for a while and was dressed like a lumberjack. Gross. What happened to him?"

"He's dead," Flack told her. "And we found your Ipod on him. What did this girl look like that was talking to you?"

"She was pretty average. Nothing special about her. About my height…"

"Which is…" Flack gently pressed.

"Five foot six. Slim build. Wearing a black puffy winter jacket and black boots and a jeans. And a red scarf."

"Hair colour?" Sam asked. "Eye colour?"

"She had dark hair like your's. I think her eyes may have been blue. I really don't remember."

Flack wrote it all down. "One more question, where were you this afternoon around quarter after twelve? We're just trying to narrow down our list of suspects here."

"I was already here at work. Like I said, I start at nine every day. Monday to Friday. You can check with my boss if you like."

"I just might do that," Flack said. "Thanks for answering our questions."

"No problem. You made the experience quite a pleasant one. Do I get a card of yours? In case I run into trouble some time and need to call some big, strong man to come and rescue me?"

Sam cleared her throat and rolled her eyes.

"Need someone to come and save you if you're in trouble?" Flack asked.

Melissa nodded vigorously, once more skimming the tip of her tongue over her top lip.

"Call nine one one," he said with a polite smile and snapped his log book closed. "We're done here."

The young woman pouted at being dismissed so rudely and gave Sam a long once over before shooting her a foul look and stalking off.


"You just find new members for your Everybody Loves Don Flack Jr fan club wherever we go," Sam said with a sigh, as she and Flack turned and headed for the exit.

"Can I help if if the ladies dig the badge and gun?" he asked. "And the fact I have pretty blue eyes to go along with it."

Sam snorted.

"So it looks like our dead guy and his mystery girl and his murderer might have had quite the thing going on," Flack said, as he pushed open the back door, motioning for her to step outside ahead of him. "When I talked to the owner of the wallet today, he told me that he'd thought he'd lost his wallet at the eighty-seventh subway station the same morning. Said he had laid his wallet down to buy a Times, but that he was sure he put it back in his coat. When he got to work, that's when he realized it was gone. He also told me that he remembered a woman with dark hair in a black coat chatting him up on the platform, and watching two guys nearly go at it."

"It's obviously their M.O," Sam said, as she buttoned up her jacket and pulled a pink and white stripped chenille winter hat from her pocket and yanked it on. "But this doesn't put us any closer to finding out who the mystery woman or the shooter is. Or ID'ing our dead guy."

"Something tells me that the Three Amigos have been up to this for some time. I'm going to get some of my guys to call around to different stations and talk to security. Maybe it's an ongoing problem and they move from station to station. Hopefully someone wrote down an incident report with these morons' names."

"Maybe," she sighed. "That's a long shot."

"Right now, the long shots are the only ones we have," Flack said.

Sam's cell phone, tucked into her jacket pocket, rang noisily. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out. Checking caller ID before flipping it open. "What do you have for me, Danny?" she asked.

"I'm going to go and start the car while you take that," Flack told her, taking the case folders from her hand before heading for the car.

"How goes things?" Danny asked.

"We just finished up at the doll warehouse," she said, walking slowly towards the car. "We talked to Melissa Markus and apparently, she saw our two guys going at it on the subway platform four days ago. And said our same mystery lady was chatting her up. Distracting her almost. Don thinks these three are running some kind of pick pocketing venture or something."

"Mac wants you to come back. ASAP. He wants to talk to us."

"Us as in me, you and Don?"

"Us as in me and you. IAB wants to talk to Flack."

"IAB?" she frowned. "Why?"

"There's a personal connection between him, the mystery girl, and the owner of that antique gun."

"Wait…wait. You're losing me here, Danny. Start at the top."

"Adam managed to track down three people in all five boroughs that owned that specific gun. Two of them were able to place the whereabouts of the weapon. And they were nowhere near the eighty-seventh subway station this afternoon."

"What about the third owner?" she asked.

"The third owner came home and found guns from his collection stolen about two months ago. All of the guns were later found at pawn shops. Save for the one in question."

"And that has to do with Don how exactly?"

"The owner is Flack's father," Danny told her.

Sam paused in her tracks. "Are you sure about that?" she asked.

"Adam showed me the police report and both of us spoke to Flack's dad."

"But Don never mentioned anything about his dad owning that type of gun when I showed it to him in ballistics," Sam said. "In fact, he knew very little about it other than it was rare. Why wouldn't he tell me that his dad owned a gun like that?"

"Maybe he didn't see a reason to tell you," Danny suggested. "It had nothing really to do with the investigation. Or maybe he chose to keep that information from you to avoid casting a bad light on his dad."

"Why would that cast a bad light on his father? I wouldn't think his dad murdered someone. That's just plain stupid."

"Not if he knew that his dad gave that gun to somebody or he knew who had it."

"Now you're just talking stupid," Sam scolded her friend. "Don wouldn't lie for anyone. He's not that type of person. And what's this about him being linked to the mystery woman?"

"DNA came back, off a female pubic hair Pino found on our vic," Danny told her. "We hit on someone already in CODIS."

"Okay, and that involves Don because…."

"The DNA was a match to his sister. Melanie."

Sam closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"You still there?" Danny asked.

"I'm still here," she replied, opening her eyes. "Dark hair, medium height and slender build. Fits Mel to a tee."

"Mac's sent some uni's to pick her up and bring her in for questioning," Danny said. "And Flack Sr's agreed to come down and talk to us."

"And IAB?" Sam asked.

"Two family members involved, Brooklyn. That doesn't look good for Flack. I mean, both you and I and Mac know that he wouldn't keep info back that would fuck up our investigation. But you also know what IAB is like. They're like goddamn vultures."

"Do you know who the investigation IAB officer is?"

"You really want me to answer that?" Danny asked.

"Just please tell me it's not that same asshole over the whole Todd Flemming mess. That Lieutenant Malley or whatever the hell his name was."

Danny sighed heavily. "Mac wants you to come back," he said. "Now."

"Alright," she reluctantly agreed. "I'm on my way."

She disconnected the call and flipped her phone closed and dropped it into her pocket. Taking a deep breath and composing herself despite her pounding heart and unsettled stomach, headed for the car.

Wondering why in the search for answers, all you ever seemed to encouter was even more questions.


Thanks to everyone that is reading and reviewing! I appreciate each and every one of you! Even all the lurkers! But please, please, please review folks! Means a lot of me!

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