Reynolds and Harris nearly jumped out of their skins as the sliding door of the unmarked van slid open, followed by a blast of frigid air rushing in to replace the marginally warmer air inside. The figure that slipped inside was a shadowy silhouette cast by the street lights, but they immediately recognized his imposing stature. Ghostwalker.

The hair on the back of Harris' neck bristled in apprehension. In the months since he had been assigned to this unit, never once had he known Ghostwalker to appear in the field. His presence here, now, couldn't signify anything good.

"Evenin' boys," the mysterious supervisor rumbled. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything." Harris' uneasiness ratcheted up a notch with the casually spoken words. He wasn't sure if the man was really as laid back as he appeared, or if he was baiting them in some way. This was the kind of encounter he never hoped to have with the head of operations, at least not until he had figured the man out. Unfortunately, the clock just ran out on that opportunity. Wisely, Harris kept his mouth shut, deferring to Reynolds as the senior partner.

Apparently Reynolds didn't share his reservations about the man. Either that or he didn't have a lick of sense, which seemed at odds with his normal way of going about business. "Nope, nothing yet," he answered offhandedly. "To be honest, sir, I'm a bit surprised. I would have thought Detective Chandler's near brush with death would have brought the monster running, but things have been quiet."

"I see." Silence stretched on for what seemed eons to Harris, but in fact was barely a minute. Maneuvering himself forward to crouch between the two front bucket seats that were occupied by the agents, Ghostwalker peered through the windshield, his eyes lifting to the hospital looming across the way. "So then, which room is Ms. Chandler's?" he asked, again with the nonchalant attitude that seemed to Harris to be rife with undercurrents. Ghostwalker was not one for wasting time, or mindless chatter. There was definitely something on his mind. Ben suspected it was something big they were missing. He could almost feel the noose tightening around his neck. He struggled to breathe as Agent Reynolds pointed out which window belonged to the lady cop.

"Huh." The soft grunt that emanated from Ghostwalker was like another tug on the rope. Agent Harris closed his eyes, just waiting for the trap door beneath his feet to fall away, leaving him twisting in the wind, while Reynolds appeared blissfully ignorant to the whole thing. Again, maddening silence.

"So," Ghostwalker finally continued, "how do you even know if Ms. Chandler is in that room, given that the blinds are closed?" Oh, shit. Here it comes.

Totally unaffected by the question, Reynolds simply stated they had been watching her all day long, and that an employee had come into her room an hour earlier and closed the blinds, probably so the rising sun wouldn't blind her in the morning.

"You think so?" The question seemed innocent enough, as if Ghostwalker was merely pondering the thought, weighing its merits.

"Sure. I mean, what else could it be? She's unconscious with a guard outside her door. There's been no sign of Keller anywhere in the vicinity, and even if he got in there, how would he get past the guard?"

Ghostwalker nodded. "Of course, you're right. I mean, it isn't like he could say… dress as a doctor and have his ex-fiancée, who just happens to be Ms. Chandler's doctor, get him admitted to her room for the overnight shift, at which point he entered and shut the curtains, right? Maybe even moved her to another room? Totally preposterous."

Reynolds' face fell slack-jawed, and Harris was pretty sure he heard the click of the latch holding the floor beneath their feet release. Damn and double damn. They were well and royally screwed. He'd be lucky if he still had a job in the morning.

Without taking his gaze from the hospital, Ghostwalker continued. "I have no idea how the two of you ever ended up on this team. You are two of the biggest f**k-ups I've ever met. "

"At least we're still alive," Reynolds snapped back at him. Harris wanted to dive under the seat. He had no idea what the hell his partner was on, but clearly his judgment was clouded with something.

Ghostwalker inclined his head in a "point taken" gesture, and then without an ounce of emotion stated, "True. And looks like you'll remain that way, because after we leave here tonight, your asses are fired."

Well, that resolved any lingering questions about their future employment status with The Company.

"Gotcha, you dumb bastards," Evan crowed to himself when the DNA analysis was completed. "What kind of Mickey Mouse operation do you think I run here, anyway?"

"Now that sounds promising." Evan nearly had to peel himself off the ceiling as Lt. Bishop's voice startled him out of his private celebration. "So what've we got?"

Hell. Evan hadn't had any time to even consider how he'd wrap this package up and present it to his boss. Good thing he was a master bull-editedter. He'd never wanted to use that particular talent at work, but desperate times… "Hey Joe. Well, something about this whole thing seemed a little… off to me, you know? Like something just wasn't right. I mean, at first glance I was all 'yeah this is our vigilante again', but the more I looked at the body, the more things felt wrong. So I did a little extra digging, and I have to tell you, this is not the work of our homicidal judge and jury."

"Marks, what the hell are you babbling about?! Of course this is our guy. Most notably, there are the lacerations, just like all the other victims. Are you telling me the DNA doesn't match?"

Evan suddenly had a new appreciation for what Catherine had been faced with for the last several months. To lie, or not to lie… that was a BIG question. Ultimately, he knew he had to tell his boss the truth. All it would take was for Joe to hire someone to double check the findings and he could kiss his career goodbye. But how could he explain about the mutating DNA? Well, he wouldn't have to say exactly what it was mutating to, right?

"Marks?"

"Hu- oh yeah. Well, yes, the DNA is from the same being-"

"Well then what the hell is your problem? You just told me it wasn't our vigilante."

"Just let me finish and I'll explain." Joe nodded for him to continue. "Over the last couple months I've noticed that the DNA of our perp has been… well there's just no easy way to say this. It's been… mutating. Now, do you remember when I got that surprise inspection from the ME Association?"

Joe's brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to jump tracks and follow Evan's train of thought. "Yeah – but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Good news, bad news on that one. Good news is, I passed with flying colors according to the inspector as he was leaving. Bad news? The inspector turned up dead the next day. And let's just say, after seeing his photo I was certain he was NOT the guy that came here to white glove my lab."

"edited. So we have a possible security breach. But I'm still not following what any of this has to do with the DNA."

Evan's head tilted as if to say, "I hate to tell you this…" but what he said was, "Oh, we have a security breach alright. You see, part of what was taken was some of the vigilante's DNA. I'm not sure why - perhaps for this very purpose - but that's inconsequential. What matters here is that the perp's DNA continued to mutate after those samples were stolen. However, the DNA I recovered yesterday at the crime scene was obviously planted from the stolen samples. The mutation was nowhere near as progressed as the more recent evidence we've collected."

Joe dropped onto a nearby stool, leaning his head back against the wall. He had a doozy of a headache coming on and it was only 6 am. "So now we have a copycat?"

Evan wished he could tell his boss the whole truth, but the repercussions weren't worth it. He certainly could, however, steer him in the right direction. "Maybe. Or maybe we just have someone who is trying to frame our vigilante for their own nefarious purposes. Either way, bodies are going to keep piling up. And now I have to go back over all the cases we've had since that DNA was stolen to determine just how many of these crimes were actually the work of an impostor."

"Guess that'll keep you out of trouble for a while anyway," Joe taunted good-naturedly, trying to lighten the mood. He sure as hell didn't want to think about the implications of having two psychopaths roaming the streets of New York murdering people.

"Hey now, you don't give me nearly enough credit. I could do this with one hand tied behind my back."

"Well just make sure it doesn't interfere with the other open investigations we need answers on. And good luck writing your report with only one hand." Joe clapped Evan on the back in a gesture of approval before exiting the morgue.

Vincent woke with a start. Everything was still, but something had jarred him awake. Holding his breath, he focused his enhanced hearing on the hallway outside the door. There. The sounds would have been undetectable to the human ear, but Vincent wasn't human any longer. And something was happening right outside the hospital door; a little shuffle, a higher pitch woofing sound, and then a gentle thud. Whatever was going on in the hallway was not going to be good news for them.

Quickly, and yet with the stealth of a cheetah, he got out of the bed, scooping Catherine into his arms after removing her IV. When she stirred and started to ask what was going on, he covered her lips with his in an attempt to silence her. The distraction would have worked, except in her fuzzy half-sleep state Catherine responded to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing in to deepen the kiss. She was confused, however, when he pulled back, just as he shuffled her into the bathroom. At the door he could hear someone trying to turn the handle – he was so glad he'd had the presence of mind to lock it before they went to sleep. Pressing his mouth to Catherine's ear he whispered, "We have trouble. You need to stay here so I can take care of it. It's only one person, so it should be over in a few seconds." Catherine nodded, knowing in her state she would be more of a hindrance than a help to him this time. "Lock the door behind me," he instructed as he exited the bathroom.

Just as he positioned himself behind the door, he heard a soft snick of the lock giving way. Whoever was out there had some serious lock-picking skills. Slowly, the door began to open, shielding Vincent from view of the intruder. As he watched, a gun with a silencer on it came into view first, followed by an arm. Holding his breath, Vincent continued to wait until the intruder was completely in the room. The first thing he did was reach for the man's arm and break it before he could even fire a shot. The gun clattered to the floor, and Vincent kicked the door shut as the man yelled out in pain. His scream was cut short by Vincent's arm around his neck, cutting off his oxygen supply.

When the man went limp, Vincent let him drop, making sure his head didn't crack on the floor. Normally he wouldn't have been so considerate, but this time the beast wasn't running the show, and he had a plan. It was about time someone from Muirfield was exposed. Maybe an investigation would ensue, and this whole nightmare could finally be over.

In the absence of duct tape, Vincent started looking for something to tie the man up with when a thought occurred to him. Opening the door, he peered out at the officer on guard duty. The man looked for all the world like he was just taking a little cat nap. No one would even be suspicious. Vincent felt bad for the man, wondering if he had a wife and kids who would be left alone all because he drew the short straw at work and ended up on guard duty tonight.

Shaking the morose thoughts from his head, he scanned down until his eyes landed on the handcuffs. Bingo. Grabbing them, he disappeared back into the room and made short work of cuffing the unconscious Muirfield agent to the bed before retrieving Catherine from the bathroom. Her eyes went wide as saucers when she saw the man restrained, and obviously still alive. She looked at Vincent with questions in her eyes. "We'll talk about it later," he told her as he laid her on the bed, "after I get you someplace safe." Catherine nodded, understanding that she needed to trust Vincent and not be the headstrong cop for once. She realized suddenly that her comprehension came as an instinctual response to the emotions she felt vibrating off of him. He felt strong, confident, and in control. And no beast in sight. As he pulled out his cell phone, it became obvious he had a plan. She relaxed onto the pillow, knowing she could trust him to take care of her.