Devitt, last out of the office, closed the door and joined the huddle. Ryan glanced around the group, briefly making eye contact. "Norm, Steve, you guys have the furthest to go so we'll give you a couple of minutes. You might get lost in this building so I suggest you go down to the front door with John and just then go out and around to the back. Dan, you head down that way," he nodded to his left. "The stairwell is the last door on the right. Robbery's on the third so you might want to position yourself on the third floor landing… We'll give you guys a bit of a head start."

With confirming nods, the three San Francisco detectives and the Colville sheriff turned silently and walked away. Ryan looked at Devitt. "Let's give them a minute, then we'll head up to Robbery."

Devitt nodded, frowning. "What do you think Robertson'll do when he's confronted? Does he strike you as a bolter?"

Looking sad and disappointed, Ryan looked down and shook his head. "I really have no idea. He's never been involved in a shooting situation as far as I can remember… hell, I don't even think he's drawn his gun more than a half dozen times in his entire career. But you can never tell when a desperate man gets cornered, can you?"

"No, you sure can't…"

Exhaling loudly, the chief looked at the lieutenant. "Okay, let's get this over with…" He started to lead them down the corridor towards the elevator. "I know it's only two floors, but I always take the elevator. If someone sees me taking the stairs, they'll know something's up and I don't want anybody getting antsy over something so… trivial."

Devitt smiled gently with a low dry chuckle. "I know exactly what you mean."

They waited in silence for the single elevator car to arrive. They were joined by two uniformed officers and a civilian woman, all of whom Ryan acknowledged with broad smiles and small talk as the car arrived and they stepped in.

# # # # #

Steve and Haseejian were walking across the grassy lawn towards the end of the building. The sergeant glanced over with a slight smirk. "So, do you think Mike's gonna do as he was told and stay in Ryan's office?"

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Steve chuckled. "Under other circumstances I would say no, but I don't know… I really don't. I guess we'll have to wait and see."

They turned the second corner of the stately old building; the large parking lot was spread out before them, about three-quarters filled with cars, only two of which were black-and-white EPD cruisers.

"Listen, ah," Steve said quietly, his eyes raking the lot, "why don't you stay at the door? You know what he looks like. And I'll wait at his car."

Haseejian opened his mouth to protest but something about the young man's demeanor made him hesitate. There was a noticeable difference in him the past few days, a deepening maturity that was suddenly hard to miss to those who knew him well. "Sure, why not?" He started to move away then stopped suddenly. "Hey, you got a cigarette on you?"

Steve's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Come on, kid, I know you smoke when Mike's not around." He chuckled. "He knows you do. You know that, right?"

With an irritated sigh, Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros.

"Oh ho, hardcore," Haseejian chortled, looking from the pack to the green eyes with a twinkle in his own. "I don't need the whole pack, just one."

Still frowning, Steve popped a cigarette out of the pack and handed it over.

"Thanks," the Armenian sergeant said with a grin. "Oh, ah, I'll need your lighter too."

With another withering sigh, Steve fished out the plastic lighter and handed it over.

"Thanks, kid." With a self-satisfied smirk, Haseejian walked towards the stone four-step staircase that led from the single back door to the parking lot.

Through a narrowed-eyed stare, Steve watched the retreating back then scanned the lot, looking for Robertson's dark blue Monte Carlo. He hoped there wasn't more than one.

# # # # #

Ryan and Devitt stepped off the elevator with the woman and one of the uniformed officers and turned to the right. It was only several yards to the wooden door with 'Robbery-Homicide' stenciled on the opaque glass pane. Ryan opened the door and led them into the large, bustling room.

The clatter of typewriter keys and the babble of voices was loud but livable as they paused just inside the door. Both sets of eyes scanned the room, although Devitt had no idea what Robertson looked like. The room was wood-paneled, and there was a good-sized windowed office at the back; the bullpen, as was the norm, was populated with a bunch of metal desks, some back to back, others tucked into corners. The walls were lined with file cabinets.

Ryan's eyes immediately went to an unoccupied desk near the inner office. He frowned, turning quickly to a young plainclothes detective just hanging up his phone at a desk nearby. "Ian, do you know where Dick is?"

The rookie detective looked quickly from Chief Ryan to the empty desk and back again and shrugged. "I dunno, Chief, he was here a second ago. I saw him."

A large florid-faced older man had gotten up from the desk in the inner office and was now crossing towards them. "Scott, what the hell are you doing up here?" he chuckled amiably. "What do you need?"

Breaking into a grin, Ryan shook his head. "Nothing, Ernie, just looking for Dick. Do you know where he went?"

The captain, who had glanced at Devitt with interest, looked behind himself at Robertson's desk and shook his head. "He was here a minute ago –"

"That's okay," Ryan interrupted, trying to sound casual. "Nothing important. Thanks." He turned on his heel and took the few steps back to the door, Devitt right behind him, leaving the robbery-homicide captain frowning and shaking his head.

"Do you think he knows? Robertson, I mean," Devitt asked quietly when they were back in the corridor, the door closing behind them.

Ryan glanced at him with a worried frown. "I don't know… but he's not an idiot. And he could be getting desperate."

# # # # #

Haseejian was leaning casually against the metal stair railing. He had unsnapped his holster but left the .38 inside. His eyes scanned the parking lot once more. He couldn't see Steve, but he knew the younger man was in position.

Through the glass and metal door he heard footsteps coming down the inside stairwell; they didn't sound like they were in a hurry.

The San Francisco sergeant put the cigarette in his mouth and thumbed the lighter. Just as the cigarette lit, the door opened and Eureka Detective Dick Robertson, a leather briefcase in one hand, stepped out onto the landing. Startled, the local cop took a half step backward, for a split second his face betraying his surprise. Then, almost instantly, he smiled. "Oh, sorry…"

"Not a problem," Haseejian smiled, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it up. He knew Robertson would recognize him from Ryan's office. "Just came out here for a smoke. I didn't think your Chief would like me smoking in his office. I didn't see any ashtrays in there."

Robertson chuckled. "No, you're right. He hates it."

Haseejian could see that Robertson was trying to find a polite way to break free. The Eureka cop grinned broadly. "Well, ah, enjoy your smoke," he chuckled as he headed down the steps and started across the parking lot.

Haseejian watched him go, letting him get to the first row of cars before he pushed himself away from the railing, dropping the cigarette to the landing and stepping on it.

Moving quickly but trying not to run, Robertson attempted to glance back over his shoulder surreptitiously. He thought he saw the man on the landing coming down the stairs but he couldn't be sure.

He wove his way through the rows of parked cars; his was in the last row and he cursed himself for parking so far away today. He stuffed his free right hand into his jacket pocket for the keys; they weren't there. Cursing, he shifted the briefcase awkwardly from his left hand to his right, finding the keys in his other pocket, then switched hands again.

He could see the Monte Carlo. His heart was pounding so fast he thought he was going to pass out. Almost running the last few feet to the driver's side door, he fumbled for the car key on the ring, his hands shaking as he tried to slide the key into the slot.

He was just about to turn the key when he felt a presence to his left. His head spun quickly; he was nose to nose with a handsome young man with striking green eyes and an ironic smile.

"Remember me?" Steve said softly.

For a split second there was no reaction, then Robertson's face lost all colour. His fingers left the keys as if they were on fire and he turned, his right hand snapping his jacket front back and going for his service revolver.

In less than an instant, he felt the cold smooth barrel of a .38 behind his left ear, and he froze.

Steve's smile grew slightly wider under deadly serious eyes. "I wouldn't move if I were you. You see, Sergeant Haseejian here has a hair-trigger finger… and a hair-trigger temper. And I don't really think you want to piss him off. Do you?"

Nobody moved for several long seconds, then very slowly Robertson's right hand, which had been disturbingly close to the grip of his revolver, dropped down to his side.

"Smart move," Steve hissed quietly, not even trying to mask the disgust in his voice. He reached forward, unsnapped Robertson's holster and pulled the .38 out. Only then did Haseejian lower his own gun.

With Steve staring at Robertson's downturned head, Haseejian holstered his revolver and snapped the cuffs from the back of his belt. With a smile at his young colleague, he reached around and grabbed Robertson's left wrist, pulling his arm behind his back. The briefcase dropped to the gravel.

The cuffs on, Haseejian roughly turned the Eureka detective and started to march him back towards the building. With a satisfied smile and sigh of relief, Steve picked up the briefcase and began to follow. He was halfway to the stone staircase when, for no apparent reason, he decided to look up. Startled, he stopped.

There, in a window on the third floor, Mike Stone was staring down expressionlessly. Their eyes met, locked and held for a few long seconds. Then, very slowly, the older man smiled and raised his right hand, first in a fist then, visibly laughing, he flattened out his hand and brought it to his right eyebrow in a crisp salute.

Feeling the blood rushing to his face, Steve dropped his head and chuckled quietly to himself. He looked back up at the window, grinning and shaking his head, then kept walking, following Haseejian and their new detainee up the steps and into the building.