The two detectives walked toward the office building that housed the accounting firm of Rather, Muldoon and Carson. The air was cold and crisp, carrying the scent of snow on it. The sky was a gloomy gray, furthering the promise of more snow. Friday night's storm had dumped several inches on the city, and now there was more to come. They were going to have a white Christmas this year.
The man they were coming to see, a small, mousy man named Ralph Grant, was the office manager, their main suspect in the murder of their victim, one of his bosses—a man he openly hated. Light on evidence, they had not been able to finagle a search warrant, so they planned to talk to him, to see if Bobby could tease something incriminating from him. They didn't expect it to take a lot of time.
They chatted easily about their children, watching the people around them as they approached the building. Not far down the sidewalk, also approaching the building, they noticed a thin, reedy man slow his step, eying them suspiciously. He stopped and began to back away when he realized the detectives had noticed him. They recognized the man as George Walters, their victim's assistant. Bobby met his eyes—and he bolted. The partners took off in pursuit and Mike called for backup.
Walters had a good quarter-block lead on the two detectives, and the midtown sidewalks were congested with crowds of people headed for nearby lunch venues, but they didn't lose sight of him. When he darted into an alley three blocks away, they followed.
Walters decided to make a stand in that alley. Turning to face his pursuers, he awkwardly yanked a 9-mm pistol from his coat pocket, holding it out in front of him. As the two cops turned into the alley, he fumbled off the safety and engaged the slide.
Bobby and Mike slid to a halt as soon as they turned the corner and spotted the gun. Winded, Bobby needed a moment to catch his breath. Mike held a hand out, palm forward, sidestepping slightly to put his body between the gun and his partner. "George, put down the gun. You don't want to do this."
"How do you know what I want?" George answered.
"Look, we're willing to listen to what you have to say, but if you pull that trigger, there's no going back from that. Right now, you're not accused of any crime. You pull that trigger and you're going to prison for a very long time."
As he caught his breath, Bobby observed. Although George seemed to be in control as he held them at bay with his gun, Bobby caught the subtle clues that indicated he wasn't. He saw the tremor in George's hand; he heard it in George's voice. And he saw the fear in George's eyes. George had committed himself to this course, but now he seemed to be having second thoughts about his decision to draw his gun. They had a chance to talk him down.
"My partner's right, George," Bobby said, still slightly winded as he stepped out from behind his partner's protection. "You can't un-fire a bullet. Right now, we can all walk away from this unharmed, but if you fire that gun, even if you don't hit either of us, you're going to spend a very long time in a very unpleasant place."
The two cops were acutely aware of the people walking along the bustling sidewalk behind them. They knew the likelihood of someone being hit by a stray bullet was high if any shooting started. Bobby was the first to take a full step closer to George, his hands outstretched as a sign he was not going to reach for his own gun. "You didn't like Harrison Pritchard, did you?"
"Who told you that? Those gossips in the office?"
Bobby cocked his head. "Is it gossip if it's common knowledge?"
The question gave George pause, but he didn't lower his weapon.
Bobby pressed on. "You were his assistant; you did everything for him." He waved a hand in the air. "You even picked out and bought his wife's birthday present. Yet who got the credit for that? He did, not you! He was a slave driver, and he never once said thank you."
George was confused by the change of topic away from the gun he held on the two cops. He was further confused by the accuracy of Bobby's words. "How-How do you know...?"
Bobby took another step closer. "It's what we do, George. We learn about people. We find out what kind of person our victim was and what led someone to, in this case, kill him. We look into all the people who spent their days with the victim—who they are, what they do, how they think. My partner and I, we think that this was an accident, that whoever killed him didn't mean to do it."
George's hand shook more, and Mike was afraid the gun would accidentally discharge. "That's right," he said, agreeing with Bobby. "We think it was an accident."
"How...I mean, what...what makes you think that?"
Bobby slowly moved closer. "Put down the gun, George, and we'll discuss it."
"You think I killed him?" George asked, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice as he waved the gun in their direction.
"Why do you say that?" Bobby asked calmly.
"You, you chased me," he accused.
"Because you ran," Mike replied. "We're kinda like dogs. If someone runs, we chase them."
Bobby smiled. "My partner has a point," he agreed. "It doesn't mean we think anything, but we're always suspicious if someone runs when they see us."
"You were coming for me," George insisted.
"Actually," Mike said. "We weren't coming for anyone. We had some more questions to ask. But look at the situation you've put us in. What are we supposed to do now?"
"Just put the gun down, George," Bobby said quietly. "Before someone gets hurt. You don't want to hurt anyone, do you?"
"N-No," George admitted.
Slowly, he lowered the weapon, and Mike ran forward to disarm him. "It's not even my gun!" George screeched as Mike shoved the gun into his belt and cuffed George.
Bobby leaned against the wall of one of the buildings, ignoring George's continued complaints as two uniforms led him away. He tipped his head back, resting it against the brick behind him, and closed his eyes. Mike stepped up to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?"
Bobby nodded but didn't move. "You sure?" Mike asked.
The truth was Bobby didn't feel so good. He was sweaty and suddenly exhausted. Some of the color had drained from his face. He felt nauseous and light-headed. He took a step away from the building and his knees buckled. The world spun and dipped, then faded to black.
Milton Bergman met Alex as she rushed into the emergency room. "Dr. Bergman," she said. "Where's Bobby? What happened?"
"Relax, Alex," Bergman soothed. "He's okay."
"What happened?"
"He overdid it, that's all. He's sleeping right now. I'm going to admit him overnight for observation, but he seems to be okay."
Relief coursed through her, and Albright, who had accompanied her and followed right behind her, grasped her arm. She nodded at him, indicating she was okay, and he released her arm. "Can I see him?" she asked.
Bergman nodded. "Of course. Like I said, he's asleep right now, but his EKG is okay. There are no changes and that's reassuring."
She and Albright followed Bergman through a set of doors into the emergency room proper. He led them through a maze to the room where Bobby was resting. Before opening the door, he turned to her. "This does mean one thing for him, though."
"Are you taking him off the job?"
The doctor drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No, but I am going to restrict him to a desk."
Alex frowned. That would not go over well with her husband at all. Considering the alternative, though, she knew he would accept the restriction. She would convince him. She nodded, indicating agreement, and Bergman opened the door.
Seated in a chair beside the stretcher on the other side of the small room, Mike looked up when the door opened. "Alex," he said, rising as she came into the room.
"What happened, Mike?"
He hugged her and sighed. "We went to question a suspect and ended up chasing down a second suspect. He drew a gun on us. We talked him down, and after the uniforms took him away, Bobby collapsed."
"How did he look?"
"He was sweaty and a little pale."
She looked at Bobby's sleeping form, then at Bergman. "Is he sleeping on his own?" she asked.
Bergman gave her a small smile and shook his head. "He's pretty heavily sedated at the moment, but I don't plan to keep him like this."
Mike said, "He had to sedate him or Bobby would have walked out. He didn't want to be here. I called for a bus as soon as he went down, and he wasn't happy with me for that."
"He can be unhappy," Alex said. "If he needs to be here, then he'll be here."
Bergman studied the heart monitor over the bed and pulled out his stethoscope, listening to Bobby's chest. Alex watched him nervously, flanked by Mike and Albright. The cardiologist turned to her. "He's okay."
"Why did he collapse?"
"Like I said, he overdid it. His heart is okay right now, but the damaged portion of his right ventricle had trouble keeping up with the rest of it. That chamber is responsible for sending blood to the lungs to be oxygenated. When it fell behind, his brain experienced a dip in available oxygen, which is why he collapsed. As soon as he went down, everything corrected itself so he wasn't out for long."
"He woke in the rig," Mike told her. "And he was pissed."
She patted his arm. "You did the right thing."
"He was very agitated when I got here," Bergman added. "That's why I sedated him. He'll be out for a few hours, and I'll lessen the dosage to keep him calm. He can go home in the morning."
She nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Bergman."
Once the doctor left the room, she turned to Logan. "Did you call Ross?"
"Yeah. He sounded worried. I haven't updated him."
"Okay. I'll call Ross and update him. I'll stay here with Bobby and Cutter can take you to your car."
"Do you want me to pick up the kids? They can stay with us and I'll get Maggie and Harry to school in the morning."
"Are you sure it won't be too much for Denise?"
"Are you kidding? She's been practically begging for me to bring them over."
"She's doing better?"
He nodded. "A lot better. She's getting her energy back and she's feeling good."
"Okay. Thanks, Mike."
"I'll be back in the morning," he promised.
Albright said, "Call if you need anything, Alex."
"Thanks, guys."
The two men left and Alex sat by Bobby's bedside until they came to transfer him to his room. She left only to get a bite to eat, and she slept in the recliner by his bed.
Shortly after midnight, Bobby woke, feeling groggy and disoriented. He groaned and shifted in the bed, waking Alex, who got up from the chair and approached him. "Bobby?" she said softly.
He groaned again. "Alex? What-where...where are we?"
"In the hospital. Dr. Bergman wanted to observe you overnight."
"What did he do?"
"What do you mean?"
"I told him I wanted to go home."
"He said you were very agitated, so he sedated you. You needed to recover and being upset wasn't helping you." She stroked his arm lightly with her fingertips. "How do you feel now?"
"Fine. A little groggy, I guess. Can we go home?"
"In the morning. You should go back to sleep."
"Where are the kids?"
"With Mike and Denise."
He paused. "Really?"
"Really. Mike asked and I saw no reason to refuse. He said Denise has been wanting to see them and they've been asking to see Sam."
He was quiet for a moment, then he shifted in the bed. "Lay down with me?"
She hesitated, and he reached out to grasp her hand. "I'll go back to sleep if you lay down with me," he promised.
She knew that if he didn't go back to sleep, they would give him more sedative, and it would be better for him if he slept on his own. He ran his fingers along the inside of her arm and she pulled away with a little laugh. "Stop it. You have to promise to behave first."
"I promise," he said.
Not sure she believed him, she gave in anyway, crawling onto the bed to lay down in his arms. He snuggled up to her, held her close and lightly stroked the soft skin of her waist and her side. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her behind her ear. With difficulty, she forced herself to restrain from reciprocating his tender caresses and before long, he drifted back to sleep.
It took awhile for her to calm her body, but eventually, she, too, slept.