As one of the newest additions to the Homicide division, Detective Samantha Harper had drawn the PM shift, working from 6:00 PM to 2:00 AM, an odd shift to say the least but not exactly uneventful, given that a high percentage of the homicides in the city seemed to happen during those hours. And it meant that a lot of the time she was doing catch-up on her off hours, tracking down witnesses and reviewing crime scenes for clues that couldn't be caught at night. Not a bad shift, she wasn't exactly a morning person and staying up till 2:00 AM wasn't that taxing, she still had time to do errands before heading in to work.

So far it had been a quiet evening and she was catching up on her paperwork, 11:37 and less than three hours to go before her shift ended. Sitting at her desk and typing on her computer, she lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of auburn hair out of her eyes and stopped in mid-sentence to snag her coffee cup--a cheery little white cup with a smiley face on it, courtesy of last month's Christmas present exchange--and take a swallow, rubbing the back of her neck to ease sore muscles.

A few more items and she'd have this one case wrapped, after three weeks of investigation she had finally tracked down the estranged husband of the woman that had been shot to death and was currently putting the finishing touches on an extradition request. She shook her head a little, the fool had actually tried to use his dead wife's credit cards to buy gas and had been picked up by a deputy just over the state line--of course, if it hadn't been for his stupidity then she would of had to shelve the file in another week or so...

The sound of the telephone ringing made her straighten in her chair to regard the front desk in the squad room, eyes flicking around the room to look at the three other occupants. Smithers was on the phone, feet up on the desk and finger twined in the cord, from the huge smile on his face he was no doubt talking to his wife, probably doing their little version of phone sex again. As soon as the phone rang Rodriguez buried his head in a mound of papers and Patterson was staring at the screen of his computer with a ferocious scowl on his face, doing the two-finger typing, sweat glistening on his balding head, one meaty hand coming up to slap the side of the monitor.

"Anyone going to get that?" asked Harper rhetorically and shook her head as she got up out of the chair to answer the phone. She still had three cases pending, it was not a good idea to answer the phone, but if no one answered it then the lieutenant would come down hard on them all. Didn't look good for the phone to go unanswered in the Homicide division...

Grabbing the phone, she lifted it to her ear and said curtly into it, "Homicide. Detective Harper."

"This is Dispatch. There's been a shooting down at the 1100 block of Broadway, four known fatalities. One survivor, ambulance is en route. Responding officers are Jamieson and Cole."

From the desk she extracted a partially blank piece of paper and removed her pen from where she had it tucked above her ear, scrawling down the information. "Got it. On my way." Hanging up the phone, she returned to her desk to grab her coat and gave Rodriguez an ironic salute."You have the bridge, Number One." In turn Rodriguez grinned at her and she resisted the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him, made herself turn around and walk out of the squad room.

Fifteen minutes later and she was on the scene, a semi-deserted section of the warehouse district, home to winos and street people, not to mention a few crack houses here and there. The arrival of two squad cars and an ambulance had drawn a small crowd of spectators and Harper pushed her way through them, slipping under the yellow POLICE DO NOT CROSS tape and showing her badge to the patrolman that stood on the other side of it, Jamieson by his name tag.

"Detective Harper. What you got?"

"Looks like a shoot-out. Four dead, one injured--" He led the way down the sidewalk and past two bodies already placed in black bags, motioning to where a third lay and two ambulance attendants were loading up the sole survivor. Harper went to the two attendants as they got the wheels of the stretcher up and glanced over the survivor--late twenties or early thirties, white male, wavy brown hair down to his collar, a ragged wound across his temple from where a bullet had torn across his forehead. Lucky guy, another inch and he'd be in the produce section of the hospital...she leaned forward to study him better, noting the little details; nicely dressed, long black leather coat, wore gloves, which was not surprising in this cold weather but they were too thin to be of much use, under the coat was a shoulder holster, which marked him as a willing participant in whatever had gone on here.

Harper lifted her head to look at the nearest ambulance attendant. "How bad?"

"Concussion most likely--didn't penetrate the skull. Okay to move him?"

"Sure." Harper moved back, watching as the attendants wheeled the stretcher to the waiting ambulance, and then turned her attention back to the scene, frowning a little as she glanced around. Yes, the area was infamous for drug dealing and street violence but the type that engaged in the random shootings didn't quite have the proficiency in arms demonstrated here, by the placing of the bullet wounds on the bodies. She kneeled beside the third of the four bodies, seeing that the two hits he'd taken had been directly in the chest, penetrating the heart, rose to go the last and saw that he'd taken one squarely in the head.

Jamieson came up beside her, his breath pluming in the cold air. "Got the call of shots fired and it was done by the time I got here--waited for backup before I approached. All of them were still warm when we got here so it couldn't of been that long. Here--" He led her down the sidewalk, showing a trail of blood that led to the curb, and pointed to the street, where there were the black imprints of tires indicating someone had peeled out. "Took off in a hurry."

"Weapons recovered?"

"Three handguns--" Jamieson indicated the pile beside one of the bagged bodies with a nod of his head. "Called coroner, should be here soon. Evidence techs on their way too."

"Good. Go ahead and do your report, I'll take over from here." Jamieson nodded and walked back to his patrol car, leaving Harper to wait for the coroner and techs.

************

Two hours later and the bodies had been loaded and the scene swept, shell casings gathered, guns tagged and bagged to be examined at the lab, and once the last vehicle had left Harper drove to County General, stopping at the admissions desk to identify herself and locate the victim. He'd already been treated and sent up to the third floor, from the nurse at the desk she got a packet containing his personal effects--just a wallet and a card key for the downtown Holiday Inn--before she went upstairs and to room 312.

Luckily enough there was a man exiting the room, a doctor from the white lab coat, lifting his head from the chart he was examining to look at her inquiringly as she stepped into his path, flashing her ID. "Detective Harper. I'm here to check on a shooting victim that was brought in earlier."

The doctor--Keene, from his name tag--pushed wire-rimmed glasses back up on his nose and glanced down at the chart he held. "Mr...Lewis. Gunshot wound to the temple, flesh wound to the left arm--bullet didn't penetrate the skull but he does have a concussion. Hasn't regained consciousness yet, we're going to be keeping an eye on him. If you have any questions for him...it's going to be a few hours at least before he wakes up."

Harper looked at her watch--2:12--and sighed, suppressing the urge to rub her eyes. "I can hang around for a while." There was a diner about a block or so from the hospital, she could get something to eat there and coffee to keep herself awake--cafeteria had long since closed and she didn't relish the thought of picking out breakfast from the vending machines. Would also give her the chance to go through Lewis' wallet, see what else was in it...she handed a card to the doctor, with the station's number and her pager number on it. "Call my pager when he wakes up, okay?"

Dr. Keene nodded distractedly. "I'll tell the nurse." With that he walked off towards the nurses' station and Harper headed back to the elevator, going down to the lobby and outside.

Standing on the sidewalk, just out of range of the street light, cold even with the coat and black sweater, but that small discomfort was easily shut out. Impatient because...someone...hadn't come yet, late already, a man beside him, rubbing hands together and stamping feet but uncomplaining.

And then movement, a face coming into sight, and sudden sharp anxiety as he recognized that face, someone that was supposed to be dead. Moving back even as that man recognized him as well, gunfire and a burning sensation across his arm, firing in turn and seeing two men go down. And then a blow to his head, white light erupting in his vision, fading to gray and then black, the sensation of falling forever and then nothing...

Consciousness returned to him slowly, coming with it an instinctual awareness that he was somewhere other than where he'd been before, and he opened his eyes, blinking to clear blurred vision, turning his head to look around him and regretting immeaditly that movement as pain sliced into his head, that and a sudden intense nausea, closed his eyes tightly and swallowed against the bile. Once it had passed he allowed his eyes to open again and looked slowly around the room.

Hospital room...for some reason the thought brought anxiety, though he could not remember why, and a sudden driving need to leave here. When they started to look for him hospitals would be the first place they checked, knowing he was injured and that he would be taken in for treatment. He lifted his left hand and stared at the IV needle taped there, thoughts slow and muddied, taking a long moment to realize what it was--he pulled the needle out with his right hand and pulled himself up slowly, careful not to make any quick movements that would jar his aching head.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he grasped the headboard as he got to his feet and a wave of dizziness made him reel, nearly sending him back down onto the bed; gritting his teeth he forced it back, breathing deeply, and managed to stand on shaky legs. Looked down at himself, seeing only the hospital gown, and it occured to him that he wouldn't be able to walk out of here just wearing that, someone would stop him; turning his head slowly he saw a closet and forced his legs to work, just a few steps to the closet but it felt like a mile, opened the door and saw his coat inside, on a hanger.

Pulled it off the hanger and slipped one arm into it, nearly losing his balance as he tried to get the other arm in, dizzy and nauseated, the throbbing in his head increasing. The coat went down past his knees and if he held it closed the gown couldn't be seen under it...slowly, painfully, he turned and went for the door, pulling it open to look down the hall and then stepping out into the hallway. One hand sliding along the wall as he walked, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, the pain in his head a distant concern, lost before the driving need to be gone from this place. ***********

After a breakfast of pancakes and sausage and two cups of coffee, Harper was ready to sit for a few hours, at least until the victim woke up, and while she had been sitting at the table, waiting for her breakfast, she had examined his wallet, finding little of interest. There was a driver's license identifying him as Michael Lewis, resident of Richmond, VA, and a business card stating his occupation to be a buyer for art galleries, with a business address in Richmond as well, but nothing else, no money, no credit cards, just the card key for Holiday Inn, which had probably been in his coat pocket. Too early to do a check on that so she had headed back to the hospital, making a pit stop at the restroom, and gone back up to the third floor.

Passing the nurses' station, she glanced down the hallway and saw someone moving away from her, one hand trailing along the wall, long black leather coat that didn't quite hide bare calves, feet bare as well. Looking back at the station she saw no one there and walked slowly down the hall and around the man as he moved one foot at a time, with the care of someone either drunk or drugged, head down and brown hair hanging into his face, obscuring features.

But she didn't need to see his face to know who this was, the coat was a giveaway... "Whoa, there--" She reached out to catch his arm, tightening her hold on his wrist when he tried to pull free and moving to block his path. "Where do you think you're going?"

He lifted his head to look at her, gray eyes bloodshot and dark with anxiety, tugging to free his captured wrist. "They'll find me here...have to go..." She let go of his wrist and he stumbled, putting his back against the wall and sliding down it, hands pressing against his head, swallowing hard.

Harper kneeled before Michael Lewis and asked, "Who will find you?"

He raised his head a little, one hand still pressed to his head, and closed his eyes. "I don't know..."

"Come on, let's get you up and back to bed--" Taking his arm she got him halfway up before his knees gave way and caught herself before she fell on top of him, turned her head to call down the hallway, "Can I get some assistance here?"

Almost immeaditly a nurse emerged from one of the rooms and with one quick glance at them was down the hallway at a near run, casting a shamefaced glance at Harper. "I just checked on him ten minutes ago--here we go--" She took Michael's other arm and between the two of them they got him up on his feet and guided him back down the hallway and to his room.

He offered no resistance as they took him back to the room, only when the nurse had him sitting on the edge of the bed and was trying to push him down did he stir, looking beseechingly at Harper. "Not safe--"

Harper moved forward to add her strength to the nurse's, getting him down on the bed, and said soothingly, "I'm a police officer, I will sit here and make sure no one gets in. You just lie down and rest, okay?" Her promise seemed to reassure him for he laid back and closed his eyes, allowing the nurse to put the IV back in, falling back into sleep.

The nurse shook her head as she taped the IV needle back down. "Shouldn't of been able to get up and move around. I'll check back in about twenty minutes. Call me if he's a problem."

"Sure." said Harper ironically and pulled up a chair with a sigh. It was going to be a long day...

***********

Even sitting in the uncomfortable chair couldn't keep Harper from falling asleep and she kept catching herself dozing, finally going an hour's stretch, waking when another nurse came to touch her on the shoulder. Yawning and stretching, a grimace coming to her face as sore muscles twinged in protest, she accepted the cup of coffee the nurse gave her and glanced at her watch, seeing it was 6:32, looked over at the bed to see Michael still sleeping.

"There's a couch in the lounge if you want to lay down for a while." said the nurse.

Harper shook her head. "Told him I'd keep an eye out." She took a gulp of coffee and came close to spitting it back into the cup, coughing as it went down, eyes watering, lifted her head to look at the nurse as she grinned cheerfully at her.

"Strong, eh?"

"It'll take paint off. Twenty-four hour blend, right?" Forewarned she took a smaller sip and felt some of the weariness start to recede.

"Got to do a quick exam. Can you wait out in the hall?" Harper nodded, rising from the chair to go out into the hallway, pacing in front of the door in an effort to work the stiffness out of her legs. How much longer she was going to hang around she didn't know--she would like to at least get a few hours of sleep sometime during the day and she had a report to file on this, plus other things to attend to. She had promised to stay and keep watch but she could call downtown, get an uniform to stay with him for the day so she could get some sleep and then get some work done. Given the circumstances and that this Michael Lewis was the only witness to what happened, she figured it wouldn't be that hard to wrangle permission.

With that solution in mind, she went to find a phone.

An hour later and a patrolman showed up to take over the watch, allowing Harper to go home and set her alarm clock for 1:00 PM before falling blissfully into bed. Seemed like she had barely gotten to sleep when the alarm went off and she forced herself out of bed with a groan, using the bathroom before going out to the kitchen in search of coffee. Two cups and a shower and she was ready to go.

First stop was for something to eat and from there she went to the hospital, spending twenty minutes trying to track down the doctor now in charge of Michael Lewis--Dr. Hayes, from the nurse on duty--and finally locating the woman down in the hospital cafeteria, eating a late lunch and reading charts at the same time. A quick introduction and Dr. Hayes searched through the charts before her for the Lewis chart, muttering a curse under her breath as she nearly toppled her can of Coke onto the charts and finally extracting one.

"Okay--" Letting loose a sigh, Dr. Hayes scanned the chart, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Lewis...right, I saw him just about an hour ago. Concussion, flesh wound to the left arm--he was conscious, a little confused but making sense. Only problem is that he can't seem to remember his name or anything else for that matter."

"You've gotta be kidding me." Amnesia, for God's sake, the staple of bad soap operas...

Dr. Hayes looked at her evenly. "I don't have time to be kidding you. I've got my patients and have to take on the cases of another doctor that called in sick, I don't have the time for a sense of humor. Amnesia can be a side effect of a concussion, most of the times it's not permanent, the memory starts to come back after a few days. It's rare for the condition to be permanent." She glanced at her watch and reached out to grab her sandwich and take one last bite, gathering the charts in a pile and snagging her can of Coke as she got to her feet. "Got rounds--any questions, check with a nurse, okay? And if you need to question him, keep it short." Trying to juggle the charts, Dr. Hayes walked rapidly out of the cafeteria.

Harper sat at the table for a moment, covering her eyes with her hand, thinking, this is not my day. Reluctantly she pushed herself up to her feet and went to the elevator, taking it up to the third floor.

************

The patrolman was out in the hallway, talking with a nurse, and when she appeared he started to head back for the room but Harper waved him off, making a mental note to not request him again, and continued into the room. Michael Lewis was still conscious, the bed raised a little, head turning to look at her as she entered the room, tracking her as she moved past the foot of the bed and up to his right side, gray eyes a little wary as he watched her.

"I'm Detective Harper. You remember me?" She got out her ID and showed it to him, holding it still as he squinted at it, giving a slow nod.

"Yes."

"Just wanted to ask you a few questions about what happened. Can you tell me what you remember?" she asked with a forced cheerfulness.

A hand went to touch the bandage on his forehead, eyes half-closing, frowning as he tried to recall. "Dark...meeting someone...gunfire..."

"Meeting who?" she prompted, leaning forward a little and watching him intently as he thought about it, gauging his expression for sincerity. The frown deepened, one of frustration, a little anxiety showing in his eyes as he searched for the memory.

"I don't remember..." No attempt to look away from her, his eyes meeting hers steadily, the anxiety stronger now, mixed with just a little fear.

"How bout something simpler? Like your name?"

"Name..." he repeated and gave a small shake of his head, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "I can't remember--"

"Here." She removed his wallet from a pocket of her coat and handed it over to him, watched as he opened it and stared at the license. "That's your name--Michael Lewis."

Holding it open in both hands he studied it, he studied it, the frown still present. "It's me...but it's not me."

"How so?" A very odd thing for him to say and rather than there being a sense of relief at knowing his name, the anxiety was still there, sharp as ever.

"I don't know." he said, rubbing his forehead, suddenly looking very tired, handing the wallet back to her and laying back on the bed.

"I'll let you rest, come back later and show you some photos, see if that stirs anything up." She picked up the wallet and put it back in her wallet, stopped for a moment to look at him as he lay back on the bed, eyes closed. Looking hurt and vulnerable and rousing her protective instincts, it didn't even matter that she didn't know who he was, only that he was in trouble.

Sighing she pushed open the door and left the room to head back to the station, see what else she could turn up on her mystery man.

The man seated behind the desk tossed the newspaper he'd been reading down on it and swiveled his chair to regard the blond-haired man that stood in front of his desk, hands behind his back as he stood at attention. "Tell me how he's still alive."

"I saw him go down. He was hit in the head." said the blond man.

"And you didn't check him before you took off?" The man rose from his chair, giving a shake of his dark head, coming around to stand just beside the other man. "First you bring me an operative from Section One, a group that I have told you about in great detail, and if that's not enough, it's one of their higher level operatives, who just happens to of been with the Section long enough to remember me. And then, to compound your idiocy, you leave him behind for the police to pick up. Now I have a Section operative on my trail who--if he hasn't already--is going to notify the Section that the man they know as Solomon was also a former operative."

He reached to grab the blond man's arm and pulled him around to look at him, face inches from his. "What are you going to do to rectify this situation?"

The blond man swallowed and said quickly, "I'll check the hospitals, find him and bring him to you. It shouldn't take long."

"See that it doesn't. I want this taken care of...now."

Nodding jerkily the blond man moved to go and Solomon released his arm, going to sit back behind his desk, looking down at the newspaper on it with a snarl. Of all the people that this idiot could of brought, he had to bring Michael, who had been one of the best even before Solomon had "died" and no doubt was still on the upward track to replacing Operations. No playing around with him this time, he would see to it that he personally pulled the trigger and ended Michael's life. Opening a desk drawer, he removed a cigar and lit it, leaning back in his chair to put his feet up on the desk.

************

Harper arrived at the squad room just before 4:00 and immeaditly went to work on finding any information she could on Michael Lewis. First she sent a fax to the Richmond, VA, PD requesting information on him and then called the Richmond, VA, DMV to check on him through there; after 30 minutes of getting the runaround and finally talking to a supervisor, to whom she gave her badge number, she was informed that according to their database, no such person existed. Making a copy of the license and faxing it to them only confirmed it, though the driver's license was a perfect replica of a Virginia driver's license there was no record of a Michael Lewis in their database.

And as soon as she hung up with them, mystified, she got a call back from the Richmond PD, saying that he had no record with them and that the addresses she had given Detective Polk--both the home address and business address listed on the card--were non-exsistent, the street numbers didn't go up that high in both cases. The phone number on the business card led her to voice mail, with the voice on the recording recognizably his, and she hung up rather than leave a message. Running his name through their computer brought nothing--as she'd already begun to suspect--so she went with the national database.

With three of the dead men she had better luck; all three had records going back to childhood, varying from extortion to manslaughter, the recent crimes indicating that they were working as hired muscle. The fourth man was unidentifiable, didn't even carry any kind of ID with him, just a card key for Holiday Inn, not surprisingly that of a room adjacent to the one Michael Lewis had. Though by now she had the feeling she was just going through the motions she sent his fingerprints through the national database and reviewed the autopsy and ballistics reports.

Two of the dead had been killed by the same gun but as to whose gun it was, there was no way to tell; both Lewis and his companion had been wearing gloves, leaving no fingerprints on the guns, but from the placement of a recovered gun by the companion's body she guessed that he'd been responsible for killing one of the men and Lewis the other two. Pure speculation at this point and there was no way to tell who had initiated the gun battle, if Lewis recovered his memory then he would be cagey about what exactly had happened, to avoid any prosecution.

Harper put a call into Vice to check on what kind of activities the three dead men might of been involved in and got hold of Detective Barrett, who said he might have something for her. Grabbing her coat and noting that she still had a little over an hour before her shift "officially" began, she went down to the second floor and the Vice Division, finding Detective Barrett off in a corner, talking on the phone and chewing on a swizzle stick. A tall thin man in his mid thirties, with light brown hair going gray, suit coat hanging on the back of his chair and sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up, he nodded at something he heard over the phone and gestured for her to sit down, tucking the phone between his shoulder and head as he reached over to the computer on his desk and tapped at the keyboard.

"Okay, 2:00 tomorrow, Tony--do not stand me up. I know where you live." Hanging up, he extended his hand to Harper and she shook it, ran his eyes over the desk in search of a pen and patted at his head, finally finding the one he'd tucked behind his ear. "1100 block of Broadway, right?" Muttering under his breath, he pushed through the papers on his desk and extracted one, a report from the look of it. "Let's see--been some activity around there lately, rumors of some kind of deal going down, but nothing we can pinpoint. Can't tell you either what kind of deal it is--all we got is just smoke, really vague. No time to pursue it, too much other stuff on my desk."

"Any new players in town?"

"Not to my knowledge." admitted Barrett. "Let's see, the names you gave me--Cullen, Parks, and Templeton--" He gestured for her to come to him and she rose from the chair to go back behind his desk and look at the computer monitor as he turned it a little, showing one of the three on the screen. "Templeton was working as bodyguard for a local dealer but the guy got sent up--he's done some time with Cullen. Parks we know was involved in some gun running but strictly small time, selling to local gangs. All three have a long record but as of six months ago there's no activity, not even so much as a parking ticket."

"So they were working for someone that kept them on a tight leash." mused Harper.

"That'd be my guess. As to who--local informants either don't know or won't say." Barrett lifted his shoulders in a shrug and gave her a rueful smile. "Sorry I couldn't be more help."

"It gives me something of a direction to go in. Thanks." Suppressing a sigh she left the squad room and, rather than go back up to Homicide, elected to go check the Holiday Inn before she had to sign in for the evening. She checked the room of the dead man first and found very little, a suitcase beside the bed and garment bag hanging in the closet; the suitcase had underwear and white T-shirts in it plus various toiletries.

Leaving that room, she went to Lewis' room and found it to be similar, a garment bag and suitcase as well, but when she looked under the bed, she found a long black case and flipped open the latches to find nestled inside a sniper's rifle, complete with silencer, extra ammo clips lying beside it. Searching the room more intensely she found nothing else of interest and went back to the other room to give it a similar treatment but there was nothing more to be found there. Taking Lewis' suitcase she put it on the bed and got out a pocket knife, using it to pry off the panel in the lid of the suitcase and setting it aside.

************

Tucked back behind there was a familiar looking little leather billfold, which contained a gold badge and a picture ID--him--for a Detective Michael Lewis of the Baltimore, Maryland, PD. Passport and credit cards under the same name, even a second ID with his picture, this one surprisingly enough for a Michael Talbott of the FBI. Replacing the ID, she closed the panel and then the suitcase, eyes flicking to the case with the sniper rifle, shaking her head. This was too spooky,two men that didn't seem to exist and one carrying around an ID for a police detective and a Federal agent--maybe Lewis was a Fed, working undercover...she removed the panel again and pocketed both ID before leaving the hotel room.

Returning to the station, she made a quick call to the DC branch of the FBI and once her credentials had been established was informed that the only Michael Talbott the FBI had was a fifty-six year old man working in the administrative offices of the Santa Fe, New Mexico, branch. Baltimore PD had no Michael Lewis currently attached to the department.

Which left her where she started, four dead men and a guy that didn't exist lying in a hospital bed with no memory of what had happened. This is going to look lovely on my report, thought Harper sourly.

Michael slept fitfully most of the day, sleep disturbed by odd dreams that faded once he awoke, and when he awoke for the last time in the evening, it was with a sudden inexplicable feeling of dread. Though he couldn't remember why, he had to get out of the hospital, he had been here too long as it was, and the rest had brought back some of his strength, enough that he was able to get out of the bed with only a little effort, head clearer this time as he searched the room.

Somewhere in the back of his mind panic lurked but he wouldn't allow himself to feel it, pushing it farther back so that he could concentrate on the task at hand. Later, when he was out of here, he'd deal with it and the frightening loss of memory, but for now...he needed to be gone. In the closet was his coat still and farther back a pair of boots but no clothes--with the coat on and boots in hand, he opened the door to the room and looked up and down the hallway before slipping out. Glancing behind himself, he moved down the hallway, scanning the doors, finally finding one that said EMPLOYEES LOUNGE.

Pushing it open, he looked inside and listened for the sound of anyone moving around but it was silent and empty and he methodically checked the lockers, finding one open, a pair of surgical scrubs lying inside. Better than what he was wearing now--he dressed in them quickly and pulled on the boots, stopped to look in a mirror and tugged hair down over his eyes, partially obscuring the bandage, before he went back out into the hallway. Head down and hands in his pockets, Michael headed for the stairway and as he came to the stairs, could hear the elevator doors opening but decided to stay with the stairs, taking them down to the lobby.

A blond-haired man emerged from the elevator, pushing a laundry cart before him, dressed in a white hospital uniform, whistling tunelessly as he moved down the hallway, keeping an eye out for the staff. Leaving the car just outside Room 312, he drew a small black case from the pocket of his pants and opened the door, flipping the case open to withdraw a syringe, filling it with the small vial of colorless liquid in the case as well. With syringe in hand he turned to the bed.

And cursed aloud at seeing that the bed was empty. Covers had been pushed aside and the IV needle lay on the pillow, from the small circle of dampness on the pillow it hadn't been long either. Closet door was open and hanger empty--

Cursing again, the man left the room and strode rapidly up and down the hall, leaving the laundry cart behind to take the elevator back down to the lobby. Fifteen minutes later and no sign at all of the target, nowhere to be found--slapping his hand against his thigh he went out to the street to look as well but he was too late. He didn't relish the idea of going back to Solomon and telling him that once again he'd lost the operative...

There was a bus stop two blocks down from the hospital and when the bus arrived just as he was walking past the stop, Michael automatically got on; patting his pockets to find no change for the fare, an older woman sitting at the front rose to give him the money for the fare and he thanked her with a sheepish smile, going to the rear of the bus and sitting next to the window. Letting his head rest against the window, he tried to think of what to do or where to go from here--no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't recall anything past the night before, not even the name seemed familiar, as if it wasn't really his name.

Had to be somewhere to go, someone he could contact, but it was all gone, wiped clean. All that remained was the certainity that he was in danger, that he had to find a place to stay...he closed his eyes as he tried to think and found himself drifting back to sleep. Awoke a short time later to someone shaking his shoulder, blinking as he lifted his head and looked at the bus driver.

"Last stop--you have to get off." Nodding Michael got up from the seat and left the bus, wandering through the transit station, shivering in the cold air but it helped to clear his head, give him a focus. Glancing around at the street signs as he left the station behind, he saw one that looked familiar--Pine Street--and the memory of Detective Harper showing him her ID flashed through his mind, she'd had a driver's license as well with it and he'd looked at that too. The address was on Pine, not that far from here, it was the only place he could think of...

Pulling his coat tighter around himself, Michael started to walk.

***************

Harper had to set aside the Lewis case for the first three hours of her shift, finding herself occupied with tying up the extradition and adding assistance in the arrest of a murder suspect, which resulted in a twenty-minute case when the suspect fled and a brief shoot-out that left said suspect in critical condition. Going down to the hospital with Rodriguez, she made a brief detour to the third floor to discover that sometime during the course of the day Michael Lewis had gotten up out of his bed and walked out. The patrolman had been pulled off the door hours before but all the same you'd think one of the staff members would of noticed a guy wandering the halls in a hospital gown...

"When's the last time you saw him?" Harper asked the nurse in charge, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, feeling a headache start to develop.

The nurse shrugged helplessly, looking frazzled. "Sometime after the 5:00 meds were passed, that's the last time I checked on him."

5:00--it was now 9:23, four hours plus change...Harper sighed as she looked around the room. No signs of a struggle, it looked like he had just gotten up out of bed and walked out, like he'd tried to do much earlier this morning. Only this time there hadn't been anybody to stop him. "Has Security checked the hospital for him?"

"It's a big hospital." said the nurse lamely. "If he's still in here, there's a lot of places he could be."

Most likely he wasn't still here, maybe he'd remembered something and took off before she could come back and question him. And with him gone so was her case, she could write it off as another case of street violence and toss it aside, move on to another case. "Thanks." she said to the nurse and left the hospital for the station downtown, spending the rest of her shift filling out reports, finally deciding to just take off a little early, leaving just past 1:00 AM, Rodriguez promising to cover for her.

Nearly 1:30 AM by the time she got home and as she climbed the three steps up to the porch she found herself glancing off to the left, seeing a figure sitting huddled in one corner of the porch. A street person that was a long way from home, no doubt, and so she'd wake him or her, maybe give them a couple of dollars to get back downtown--with that in mind she went to kneel by the person and shake a shoulder, frowning and drawing back as the person stirred, head lifting to look at her, white bandage on his forehead.

"Michael?" she said in disbelief, straightening. "How long have you been out here? For God's sake, you must be freezing--here--" She extended an arm to pull him to his feet and he took it, her hand going up his wrist to grasp his arm firmly and pull him after her as she went to unlock the door, pushing him inside. "Sit down, take off your coat." Without waiting for a response, she went into her bedroom to grab a blanket from her bed, taking it back out into the living room and draping it over Michael, tucking it around him as he sat shivering on the couch.

Get him something warm to drink then interrogate him as to what he was doing out of the hospital... "Stay." she said, pointing a finger at him, and went into the kitchen to start on a pot of coffee. As she waited for the pot to fill she stuck her head out into the living room, half-expecting to see him gone, but he was still sitting there, the blanket pulled tightly around him.

With two mugs of coffee she went back out into the living room and gave him one, his hands shook a little as he took it and held it between his hands for a moment to warm them before he took a gulp. "Thank you." he said quietly, eyes lifting briefly to meet hers.

Harper waited till he'd drank half of the coffee to speak, tucking her feet under her, her own mug held in her hands. "How did you know where I live?"

"You had your driver's license with your ID--I remembered it." he said simply.

And yet he couldn't seem to remember anything else... "So why did you leave the hospital?" And why did you come here, she wanted to add but didn't. She had truly thought that she'd seen the last of him, wouldn't of thought he'd come here.

"It wasn't safe." said Michael in a monotone.

"Why?"

"I don't know." Frustration made him sharp and as she gave him a look, he made an apologetic gesture. "I can't explain it, I just knew that it wasn't safe. It was...like..."

"Intuition?"

He gave a small shake of his head. "I don't believe in intuition. More like...instinct."

"And you didn't remember anything." she stated, sighing as he gave another shake of his head. "Okay, I want to take you somewhere, show you something." Go to the Holiday Inn, show him his room, and also get him something else to wear other than the surgical scrubs he'd lifted from the hospital. She picked up his coat and tossed it to him, heading out of the house and waiting for him on the porch before going out to the car.

*************

He was silent on the ride over, following her into the Holiday Inn lobby and then to the elevators and up to the second floor. Harper used the card key to enter his room and switched on the light, gesturing for him to proceed her into the room and shutting the door behind her. Michael stood in the middle of the room, hands shoved into his pocket, and Harper went to the bed to open the suitcase, prying open the lid again and drawing out the items she'd found inside, spreading them out on the bedspread and glancing over her shoulder at him.

"Look at these."

Walking up to the bed and standing beside her, he looked down at the ID spread out on the bed, from the detective's badge to the FBI badge, frowning as he reached out to pick up first one and then the other, looking from one to the other. "This is mine?"

"And so's this." Harper got down on her knees to retrieve the black case from under the bed, laying it down on the bed and stepping back to let him open it. Michael flipped the latches and pulled the lid up, putting his hands on the rifle inside, hands sliding down it in almost carress to grasp it and lift it from the case.

Raising it to his shoulder, he looked experimentally through the scope and then with quick, economical movements broke it down, laying the pieces down in the case and shutting the lid. Harper had watched him through the process, seeing the confusion and anxiety disappear, replaced by a cool efficiency, disappearing once the lid had been closed, as if he had shut off a part of himself.

"Who are you, Michael?" she asked quietly, more than a little spooked now by all this. He'd handled the rifle exactly like someone who'd used it in the field and not shooting at paper targets.

"I'm not sure I want to know." he said as softly, staring down at his hands, gray eyes a little haunted.

"All of that--" She waved at the ID on the bed, "--is fake. No detective in Baltimore PD by your name, the only FBI agent with that name is all the way in Santa Fe and about five or so years from retirement. Your driver's license is a fake too, your home address doesn't exist, neither does your business address, the only thing real is the phone number but that's just voice mail. For all intents and purposes, you do not exist." She hadn't really planned to lay this all on him but for some reason she found herself believing him, believing that he truly couldn't remember anything. Years on the force gave one a kind of insight and that insight told her he was telling the truth.

"I've checked on you every way I know of--there's just one thing left I can do. Take you downtown, run your fingerprints through the national database."

Just the thought of that made him feel extremely wary and reluctant to agree to the idea and it must of showed in his expression for Harper said, "That's all I can do for you now.I'm up against a wall here. Why does it make you nervous?"

"It's like...something happened to me a long time ago. Something...bad." he said slowly, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on that feeling of dread, track it back to its source and see why he felt that way. But there was nothing there...

"Michael, this is the only way we're ever going to find out who you are...and where you belong."

Rubbing his forehead he gave a slight nod of his head and Harper suppressed a sigh of relief. "Good--we can go downtown first thing in the morning." No point in doing it now, they wouldn't be able to run the prints through the national database until much later this morning. "Grab the suitcase and let's go--you can have the couch at my place, it's comfortable."

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked quietly.

Harper considered the question even as she regarded him, seeing a touch of suspicion but also a genuine desire to know, a question asked by someone that wasn't used to such ready assistance from others. "Because you need help and I'm a cop, it's my duty. And I've never been able to resist a stray."

That got an actual smile from him and he did as she said, shutting the suitcase and carrying it with him as they left the hotel room.

************

"Couldn't find him..."

The blond man winced inwardly at the deceptively calm tone of Solomon's voice and wished he were anywhere else than here, standing once again in front of his desk and trying to explain yet another debacle. "He'd already taken off."

"Jordan..." Solomon shook his head as he took a puff on his cigar, dark eyes hard as pebbles. "Your incompetence is going to ruin us all. By now, as far as we know, he's contacted the Section. Everything I've built here is going to crumble and it will be your fault. What should I do with you?" An almost playful note to his voice and it sent shivers down Jordan's spine, knowing very well what Solomon did to those he perceived as a traitor.

"There's a detective--a woman--that's been assigned to his case. She might have some idea of where he is or might even be protecting him herself."

"Not very likely--you don't know this particular young man like I do. Not exactly the sort to put such trust into someone." Michael had once but the Section had soon broken him of that. But it was worth a try... "Do what you have to do. I want him brought to me by tomorrow or you will die in his place. Is that sufficient motivation for you?"

Jordan nodded stiffly. "I'll find him."And turned to leave the room, going off to contact his source at the police department and find out where this Detective Harper lived.

************

Back at her house, Harper had gotten Michael settled on the couch before she went to bed herself. As tired as she was, she still found it difficult to get to sleep and eventually got up just a little bit before 9:00 AM, going first to the bathroom and then to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Trying to walk as quietly as possible, she entered the living room and moved around the couch to see Michael still asleep, lying on his side, the blanket pulled around him. Setting her mug down on the coffee table, she went to kneel before the couch and studied him as he lay sleeping, looking almost peaceful; for the first time she really looked at him, acknowledging to herself that he was a very attractive man, more a sum total than any single part of him.

His hair had fallen down into his eyes as he slept and she extended a hand to touch it, run her fingers through it and comb it back from his forehead, his hair thick and soft as silk under her fingers, let her hand trail down his cheek and to his lips, pressing one finger against them. As an idle thought came to her--I wonder what his mouth would taste like--she drew back, shaking her head, annoyed with herself for the lack of control. She could not be thinking about him in this way, for all she knew, he had a wife and six kids tucked away somewhere...

He stirred in his sleep, a frown creasing his brow, muttering something, and Harper leaned forward a little to hear him better. A restless shifting in his sleep and he muttered again, "Simone, don't..." An increase in his breathing and the frown deepened, Michael shaking his head in his sleep, a sound like a moan escaping him, and Harper reached out to grasp his shoulder, shake him awake.

One shake of his shoulder and he moved away from her hand, struggling to get free of the blanket wrapped tightly around him, Harper got up to put both hands on him and held on as he kicked to get feet free of the blanket, pushing him back onto the couch, staring down at him as his eyes opened, wild and slightly unfocused. "It's okay, it's a dream, just a dream." Slowly sense came into his eyes and he nodded, Harper moving back to give him space, watching him as he rose to a sitting position, drawing in a shaky breath.

"Who's Simone?" asked Harper quietly.

Michael lifted his head and she drew back a little at seeing the pain and grief there, raw and strong, swallowing hard against a sudden lump in her throat. "I--I think she was my wife."

"She died?" He nodded mutely and Harper took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Do you remember how?"

The dream was still fresh in his mind but as all dreams were, it was distorted, time slowing in parts and racing in others. Gunfire like thunder crashing down around him, seeing the woman fall and it was like he had been shot himself, the pain so great that it eclipsed everything, wanting more than anything to go to her but unable to make himself move. "She was...shot. I couldn't reach her--" Couldn't remember how long it had been or why it had happened, only that she had died and from the pain he felt just from the dream, it had come close to destroying him. Shut it off, advised a little voice in his mind, put it away from you and don't let yourself feel it.

Harper could see him withdrawing, see it in his eyes as they went flat and in the stillness of his expression, and she tugged on his hand, shaking her head at him. "I know it hurts but it's the only thing you can remember--go with it, Michael. Try to remember what happened and why."

It was an old wound and his mind balked at exploring it, probing it, as if to press too hard was to reopen it and let out the flood that had been so long dammed up. "I...can't." he said, voice shaking a little. "It makes me...feel too much."

"Okay." The detective in her wanted to push it but the other stronger part of her understood that this was a memory too painful for him to explore, even if it might add a piece to the puzzle. Whatever the two of them had been, it was obvious that he had loved her very much and he'd done what a lot of detectives did to get through their jobs: just shut all his emotions off. So Harper was willing to let it go, if only for the sake of his peace of mind...

"Why don't you go ahead and take the first shower? I'll have breakfast ready by the time you get out, while you're eating I'll take my shower."

Letting out his breath in a sigh, Michael nodded and pushed himself up to his feet, Harper moving back to give him space, turned back to face her. "Detective Harper--"

"Sam." she said firmly.

He inclined his head. "Sam. Thank you...for everything you've done." With that he went to the bathroom, leaving her to stand alone in the living room for a long moment before she headed into the kitchen to make breakfast. *************

Ninety minutes later and they were at the downtown jail, where Harper took Michael through Processing and had his fingerprints taken. She didn't know what memory it had raised or if he was even aware of his own reaction but he was tense throughout the whole process, mouth set in a thin line, not relaxing until they had left it and the jail behind. In the car she thought to question him about it but let it go, content to wait and see what the fingerprint check brought--while he'd been washing his hands, she'd asked the sergeant to also run them through Interpol, just in case. There was an accent there, strengthening when he was tired or stressed, French, she thought from the way he pronounced certain words and occassionally substituted a "d" for "th".

With Michael in tow, she made a brief stop at the Homicide squad room before taking him back home, giving him her number at work and telling him to call her if she needed anything, giving him her pager number as well. She wanted to be around the station when the reports on his prints came back, wanted to see any results first hand, and she had some other things to take care of, other cases to look into. Before she had left, she had a brief struggle with her conscience, managing to subdue it long enough to let her tell him where she kept her gun at home. Just in case, she told herself, no one's come after him but if something should happen...and she had to admit it made her feel a little easier in her mind to leave him alone, knowing that he had the means to protect himself if necessary.

And that knowledge made it possible for her to get to work, forget about him for a little while.

After Harper had left, Michael had gone to the closet to take down the shoe box on the top shelf and remove the gun and its extra clip, taking it with him as he sat down on the couch. In the shoe box he found as well cloth and tools to clean the gun and devoted a good part of an hour to breaking down the gun and cleaning it, a clinical part of his mind noting that from the looks of it she didn't use it that much, if at all.

Once that was accomplished there wasn't a lot else to do and he didn't like just sitting around, feeling the need to be doing something, if only going for a walk, but instinct told him it was better to stay put, out of sight. Turned on the TV and settled down on the couch, turning channels until he came to CNN and leaving it there, sitting back and listening to the news, the gun in his lap as he let himself relax.

And came out of a light doze at the sound of footsteps outside the front door, moving up and down the porch, straightened slowly, his hand unconsiously closing around the gun as he rose from the couch and walked silently to the door, standing beside it and listening. Footsteps again, coming to a halt just outside the door, the door knob turning slowly and a light tug on the door then silence. A pause and the sound of something scraping along the lock, Michael placed himself on the other side of the door, near the window, so that when it swung open it would be away from him, and waited.

It took the person on the other side a few minutes to pick the lock and while he waited, several possible scenarios flicked through his mind, primary--and perhaps most appalling among them--was the idea of just shooting the man as soon as he came in the door but it was discarded by that practical part of him that had resurfaced to deal with this, citing that it would make too much noise and draw the attention of the partners the man was sure to have. So he stood there and waited for the lock to click, the door knob turning and the door easing slowly open, allowing that cool, efficient part of himself to take over, tucking the gun into the front of his pants.

As soon as the man entered the house, Michael seized one arm and hooked his foot behind his ankle, tossing him to the floor, the man landing hard on his back with a whuff of displaced air. Dropping to his haunches, Michael caught the hand that held a gun--equipped with a silencer, he noted detachedly--and with his fingers folded in drove his fist hard into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. Kicking the door shut, Michael pulled the man's gun free from his hand and looked down at him as the man lay choking on the floor, blood coming from his mouth, feeling his finger tighten on the trigger and managing through sheer will to keep himself from putting a bullet in the man's head.

From the kitchen the sound of the door there opening and he moved to the kitchen, the silencer-equipped gun held tightly in one hand, to the left of the doorway was the stove and beyond it the door that led out to the small backyard; he dropped down to a crouch and moved slowly forward, hearing a creak of tile under foot, inched forward a little more, the gun held in both hands, and, taking a deep breath, moved, tucking and rolling across the floor, bringing the gun up to aim it at the man that stood there.

With an exclamation of surprise the man started to adjust his own aim and Michael shot him twice in the chest, rising to go the man and kick the gun from his hand, putting another bullet directly into his head. Started to move out of the kitchen, a step through the doorway and a glance to the left to see another man emerging from the hallway that led to the bedroom, a blond man that seemed oddly familiar. The man cursed and fired even as Michael dropped to his knees and fired, the bullet striking the man high in the thigh, sending him down onto the floor, clutching his thigh as blood jetted from it, signifying that he had hit an artery.

Michael walked up to him, gun extended, and said, "Who are you?"

"f---...you." said the man hoarsely and freed one hand to reach for his gun, his fingers just closing around it before a bullet between the eyes made him go limp.

And with that the rush of andrenaline was expended, leaving him weak and shaky, the gun falling from suddenly nerveless fingers to fall to the floor with a hollow thud, he raised his hand to wipe the back of his mouth and walked unsteadily over to the couch to sink down onto it. He hadn't even thought about it, just let instinct take over and do the job--what did that say about the kind of man he was, that he could take three lives so easily and without a second's thought?

On the coffee table was a phone and Michael reached for it, dialing the number Harper had given him, finding himself staring at the still form of the first man he had killed and unable to take his eyes off him.

************

It was just past noon and Harper had grabbed a quick lunch before returning to peruse the first response to the fingerprint check and making a face as she read the results: fingerprints not on record. Biting into her sandwich she heard the phone ring and chewed rapidly, swallowing before she picked up the phone.

"Homicide, Detective Harper."

"Sam?"

A sudden chill went down her spine at the sound of Michael's voice. "Michael? What's wrong?"

"There's been...trouble. You'd better come home." he said, sounding strained.

"On my way." She hung up the phone and grabbed her coat, lunch forgotten as she hurried out of the squad room and down to the parking garage. It took twenty minutes to get home and she didn't even bother to lock the doors of her car, climbing out and racing up to the porch, opening the door and nearly tripping over the body that lay just beyond the door's reach.

Looked farther into the living room and saw another body back by the hallway leading to her room, a blond man she could tell but not much else because he'd been shot in the head as well as the thigh, blood soaking the carpet underneath. No signs of gunshot wounds on the first body, just blood coming out of the sides of his mouth and a bruise darkening on his throat, eyes staring glassily up at the ceiling. Slowly she shifted her gaze to see Michael sitting on the couch, her gun lying on the coffee table, head in his hands, lifting his eyes to look at her, steeling himself against her reaction.

"God--" she whispered huskily.

"Heard noises out on the porch--hit him when he came in." Michael nodded at the first man, his voice a monotone as he spoke. "Another one in the kitchen, he came in through the back door. That one--" Indicating the second body with a gesture of one hand, "--must of come in through the window. I...think he was there, the night of the shooting."

"You're okay." She knew she wouldn't of been, she couldn't of taken all three of them out like that--bam, bam, bam.

"Yeah." His mouth twisted as he said it, one hand going up to cover his eyes. "I didn't even think about it, I just...reacted. It was like someone else took over..."

The part of himself that had been lost with his memory, she thought, or maybe just buried...she shook her head to banish the thought and caught his arm, pulling him up. "I have to call it in but I can handle the questioning, stall things a little. Just long enough to give us the time to think about what to do. But I am going to need you to come downtown with me."

"Under arrest?" he asked quietly but with an edge to his voice.

"No. Under protective custody. It's...self defense. They would of killed you but you got them first." And if she kept telling herself that she might believe it...

Some of her doubt must of showed for his eyes shuttered and he pulled his arm free, body stiff, proceeding her out the door.

Michael had sat in the car while Harper called in, remaining there as Greene from Homicide responded to the call, the coroner and lab techs not far behind. Harper had given Greene a sketchy description of the events of the last few days, omitting everything that she had learned--or not learned, as the case may be--about Michael and what she suspected, sticking to plain fact. Added in her own speculation as to who the three "burglars" were and why they'd come here, Greene agreeing to letting her take Michael downtown and get his formal statement, as long as he had the option of interviewing him as well.

Harper ran Michael through the story a half-dozen times and learned little more than what he had intially told her. All three had been armed and had been breaking and entering to boot, so the shoot was somewhat justified, even if the actual methods involved with a little extreme. That Michael seemed nearly as disturbed by what he'd done as she was earned him a point or two and she cut him some slack, not probing too deeply.

Once it was done he sat in the chair, staring moodily at the desk, and Harper busied herself typing up his statement, trying to distance herself from this by burying herself in the paperwork. Pausing in her typing to rub the back of her neck, she glanced at the front of the squad room as the door opened and watched a tall blond woman--hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a T-shirt under a jean jacket decorated with sequins and silver studs--enter the room, eyes scanning the room to fall on Michael.

"Michael!"

He turned in his chair as the young woman hurried over to him, rising as she stopped before him, a faint frown creasing his brow, the blond giving him a fierce hug. "My God, I've been worried about you, what happened to you?" She touched the bandage on his forehead lightly and let her hands fall to his shoulders, squeezing gently. "They told me you'd been shot--are you all right?"

"Fine." he said, looking a little bewildered, and Harper rose from the desk to approach the woman.

"And you are--?" she trailed off with a pointed look at the woman.

In turn the blond smiled at her, twining one arm through Michael's. "I'm his cousin, Josephine."

***********

"His cousin." said Harper slowly, glancing at Michael as he studied the woman Josephine, still frowning but it was one of puzzlement, not anxiety.

Still holding Michael's arm, Josephine nodded and reached up to brush back his hair, an affectionate, easy gesture that spoke to some kind of bond between them, touching his cheek briefly. "I left messages at the hotel but he never answered them. I got worried and called your department, they told me he'd been shot. I came as soon as I could." She squeezed his arm. "The family is so worried about you!"

"Michael?" Harper looked to him for a response and all he could give her was a mute shake of his head. "You know what he was doing here?" There was something between them, Harper could tell that much, but it didn't seem like a family bond, something more intimate. And there was the little matter of the fake ID...

"Well..." Josephine cast a sideways glance at Michael and then looked back at Harper, smile a little rueful. "I don't really think I should be discussing this with a police officer."

"He doesn't seem to remember what he was doing there...or anything else for that matter."

"Really." Josephine's smile was a little frosty as she looked at Michael, light blue eyes assessing him. "Sometimes in his line of work he finds it necessary to buy pieces from certain...unsavory people. I think that's what he was doing here. I told him to check in with me but he never did so when I didn't hear from him, I checked the police first."

It made sense if it weren't for the other little things, the sniper rifle and complete lack of any history on Michael, plus the attack on him at her house--indicative of something a little more serious than thieves looking to unload some art. She shifted her attention to Josephine as the other woman asked, "Can I talk to him for a few minutes? I'll bring him right back, promise."

Harper looked to Michael and he gave a small nod; with a sigh, Harper gestured at the small office in the rear of the squad room that doubled as an interrogation room. "Go ahead. I'll be right out here."

Smiling at her, Josephine drew Michael to the back of the room and into the little office, Harper watching them with a faint feeling of misgiving.

Shutting the door behind them, Josephine turned to face Michael, arms folded over her chest, the pleasant smile gone, blue eyes cold as she regarded him. "What game are you playing here, Michael?"

"I don't know what you mean--"

Josephine made a sharp impatient gesture. "Don't give me that wide-eyed look--I know you too well. What are you doing?"

Michael moved forward to catch her hands, holding them tightly as she tried to pull away. "You know me--then tell me who I am."

For a long moment, she stared into his eyes, mistrust plain in hers, slowly fading to sudden realization. "You don't know, do you? You're not lying." Sudden dismay in her eyes and with it a touch of fear. "God, Michael--do you remember anything?"

"Nothing before the shooting." he said tersely.

"You're all right, though. It wasn't that bad?" Blue eyes worried she touched him on the forehead again, fingers trailing across his cheek, and he closed his eyes at her touch, letting himself relax. No memory of her but instinct told him he was safe with her, that he could trust her. "Tell me what happened."

"It was dark, we were waiting for...someone." Eyes still closed he tried to put himself back in that moment, to recall what he could. "He was late but I wanted to wait, it was...important to see him. And then there was someone there and I saw him and I knew him." But from where he didn't know...

"It was Solomon?"

"I don't know." he said wearily, going over to sit down in the chair, letting his head sink into his hands, raising his eyes to look at the young woman. "You're not my cousin."

"No. My name is Nikita. Josephine is the name you gave me." She went to kneel before him, setting her hands on his knees. "Don't you remember?"

"Who am I?" he asked, unable to keep a note of desperation from his voice. "Where do I come from?"

"Not...here." said Nikita, straightening and extending a hand to pull him up. "I'll call in, arrange for you to be released. And then we can work from there." She dipped a hand into her pocket and slid her hand along the inside of his collar, straightening it, took a step back and gave him a smile meant to be reassuring but there was too much unease in her eyes, her stance, to make it more than a token gesture. "It'll be all right." But it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

***********

Harper watched the two as they emerged from the office and if she'd had any lingering doubts as to whether or not they were cousins, it was quickly dispelled by the way Josephine held Michael's hand and the look she gave him as they walked back to Harper's desk. Not cousins but something else, partners at the least, and from that look, she was wanting it to be something more than that. So his people--whoever the hell they were--had finally caught up with him...

Josephine gave Michael a kiss on the cheek. "I'm going to call the family, let them know you're okay. Be right back." He nodded, watching her go, and his eyes flicked over to Harper, who was simply watching him, then slid away.

"Going to tell me what's going on?" she asked evenly. "I think you at least owe me that much."

He was silent for so long that she thought he wouldn't answer, staring down at the floor, then at last he stirred, lifting his head to look at her. "I don't even know. Just that she's not my cousin, she's...something else."

"And you trust her."

"Yes."

Harper gave a shrug of her shoulders, thinking that this was soon going to be out of her hands anyways. "You know what you're doing."

"I hope so." he said softly, nearly inaudibly, and let out his breath in a long sigh, squaring his shoulders. "Where's the restroom?"

"Down at the end of the hallway."

"Tell her I'll be right back." Harper nodded, glancing away, and Michael came forward to touch her on the shoulder, Harper turning to look at him just as he leaned forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for everything, Sam."

"You're welcome." He smiled, a genuine smile, one that lit his eyes, and Harper stared after him as he left the squad room, a foolish grin spreading her lips. Shaking her head she went back to her desk and to the more mundane world of Homicide.

Emerging from the bathroom stall, Michael glanced briefly at the man washing his hands at the sink and then stepped over to another of the sinks, running cold water and splashing some on his face, grabbing a handful of towels to dry face and hands. Though there was still a vague unease about returning to wherever he came from, he thought that Nikita's prescence would help to banish it, that if he had one supporter, it would be her. But as to how he could be so certain of that he didn't know...

Tossing the paper towels in the garbage, he started for the door and it opened before him, a man coming inside, stepped aside to make room for him but the man followed, smiling at him, a predatory smile. And from behind the other man came, grasping his arms and holding him still as the first man moved quickly forward, a gloved hand coming up with a handkerchief to press it over his nose and mouth. Too close for him to try to kick and one inhale was enough to send his head reeling, recognizing the sickly sweet smell of chloroform, tried to twist his head away but the man caught a handful of his hair and held his head still, pressing the handkerchief harder against his face. Lungs ached and burned with the effort of holding his breath and he had to finally surrender, to breathe in, slumping in his captor's hold.

Just in case the man held the handkerchief to his victim's face for a few more seconds and then went to the door, pushing it open as the second man dragged Michael's limp form to the door. On the other side a man with a detective's badge pinned to his lapel stood, giving them an impatient nod and watching as the two dragged Michael out and to the fire exit, which he had already taken the pains to disable. Once they had gone, he returned to his desk, patting the bundle of money tucked into one pocket.

**************

Harper looked up from her desk at the sound of footsteps and saw Josephine standing there, eyes scanning the squad room and then coming to rest on Harper. "Where's Michael?" she asked casually.

Harper glanced around the squad room as well and then down at her watch. More than five minutes since he'd gone, it shouldn't take him that long to use the bathroom... "He went to the bathroom. Should be back soon. Have a seat." Reluctantly Josephine sat down, crossing her legs, one jean clad leg idly swinging as she waited. "Get hold of your...family?" she asked archly.

Josephine turned her head to regard her. "What did he tell you?"

"There's not a helluva lot that he can tell me. I can figure some things out on my own. It's what I get paid to do." added Harper dryly.

"You've helped him--he seems to trust you. And he's never been that big on trust." She was silent for several seconds, head turned away from Harper, and Harper sat back in her chair, willing to wait her out. "Where we come from...trust is a rare and precious thing. If he can trust you...then so can I. My name isn't Josephine, it's Nikita."

"If you're going to tell me where exactly it is you come from, don't bother. I really do not want to know." Definitely not a place she wanted to visit, she was sure of that. Too cloak and dagger for her tastes...

Nikita smiled mirthlessly. "Don't worry, I wasn't going to tell you. If I did then I'd have to kill you." And the way she said it was only half-joking, a grimness in her light blue eyes that seemed out of character for her. She glanced at her watch then at the door of the squad room, frowning as she rose from the chair. "He's taking too long--I'm going to check on him."

"Hang on--" Harper got up from her chair to follow Nikita out of the squad room and to the men's bathroom down the hall. Before she could stop her, Nikita had pushed open the door and gone inside, through the door she could hear her apologizing to someone and then the door opened, a patrolman hastily zipping his pants as he exited, casting a sideways look at Harper as he hurried down the hallway.

And then Nikita emerged, mouth set in a thin line, blue eyes dark. "He's been taken."

"From a police station?" said Harper in disbelief, voice rising a little at the end.

Nikita gave her a scornful look as she opened her purse and withdrew something. "As much as you've seen over the years, you can say that?" In her hands she held a rectangular, flat black object, looking a lot like a remote control but with a small screen that showed a prominent red dot. "I put a tracker on him, we shouldn't have any trouble locating him."

"We?" echoed Harper, shaking her head. "What about your people?"

"They're on the move but we don't have time to wait for them. By the time they get here, Michael will be dead. This man Solomon thinks Michael can identify him and he has no intention of letting that happen." Looking up from the tracker to meet Harper's eyes, seeing her reluctance, she said calmly, "I am going in, with or without you. Our survival might depend on your help."

"Damn it..." Harper rubbed her forehead and let out a noisy sigh. "No other back-up, right? Just us?"

"Just us."

"Just call me Dirty Harriet." said Harper wearily and went back into the squad room to get gun and coat.

**************

A slap to the cheek brought Michael up out of unconsciousness, head aching and still a little dizzy from the after effects of the chloroform. Sitting in a chair, arms bound behind him, raising his head carefully to look at the man that stood behind the desk, the same man from that night, Michael drew himself up as much as he could and met the other's man gaze, managing to keep his expression calm.

"It's been a long time, Michael." said Solomon with a smile, walking slowly around the desk and back behind Michael's chair. As much as he wanted to turn and watch him, keep him in his line of sight, Michael held himself still, staring straight ahead, keeping the outward calm even though his heart was pounding. "You've come a long ways too, haven't you? You always had that potential, even when you were first recruited. A diamond in the rough--" Fingertips brushed against the top of his head and he couldn't resist the impulse to pull away from that hand, wincing as fingers caught his hair and held his head still, Solomon leaning in close.

"You know what I can do for you--I can cut you loose of the Section, give you a new life here. You would be the perfect addition to my team." he breathed into Michael's ear, fingers sliding through his hair and releasing, Solomon moving between Michael's chair and the desk, leaning back against the desk. "I can offer you money, anything you want."

"You don't have anything I want." said Michael flatly.

Solomon shrugged. "Well, I had to make the offer." His eyes turned hard as he looked at Michael. "Does the Section know who I am?"

In reply Michael merely returned his stare, nothing at all in his eyes, none of the confusion or fear he felt, and Solomon nodded, straightening. "I know how the Section's trained you and that it's useless to try to get the information from you. All the same...my boys could use the practise. Begin." The chair was dragged back and then a fist drove hard into his chin, rocking his head, another driving into his stomach, doubling him over, gasping for air. Head pulled up by his hair and another blow, this one across his cheek, wetness flowing down his cheek as a ring cut into flesh, a third blow, splitting lip, and the hand gave his head a contemptuous shove, letting him slump, still trying to recover his breath.

Solomon came to kneel before his chair. "Feeling any more cooperative?"

Drawing in a breath, Michael spat blood in his face, hardly feeling the blow Solomon dealt him, cursing as he used a handkerchief to wipe blood and spittle from his face. From behind him came another man, switchblade in hand, grasping Michael's chin to hold his head still while he laid the switchblade against his cheek. "Pretty face." said the man, colorless eyes glinting behind round glasses. "But not for much longer..." Grinning he pressed the blade harder.

Nikita's tracker led them out of town and into the more upscale part of the suburbs, to a street lined with houses and driveways blocked by gates. It was before one such gate that they came to a stop, Harper coasting just past it to park the car along the curb, looking over her shoulder to regard the ten foot high gate with dismay. "How do we get in?" she asked with a shake of her head.

"Climb the gate." said Nikita shortly, digging into the bag she had brought from her car and extracting small binoculars. "Would be better to do this at night but he'll be dead by then." If he isn't already, was the comment that went unspoken between them, and Nikita removed a gun with a silencer attached to it from her bag, extending it hilt first to Harper.

"No." said Harper simply, shaking her head.

"We go in there with guns blazing, the first one to die is Michael. This way we take down the guards with a minimum of fuss." At Harper's mulish expression, Nikita said flatly, "Solomon's crew is full of murderers, men that kill and enjoy it. Any of those men are deserving of a death sentence."

"So you're setting yourself up as judge, jury, and executioner?"

Something flickered in Nikita's eyes, lost before the sudden chill. "If they're between me and Michael, then, yes."

And that she could understand, the two of them as partners, and partners held together through everything, at risk of life and limb...reluctantly she took the gun and said tonelessly, "What do you want me to do?"

"Ring the gate and get them to open it. I'll do the rest."

Opening the car door, Harper placed the gun at the small of her back, behind her coat, and went to go ring the front gate.

************

Squaring her shoulders, Harper went up to the gate and to the box set into the stone wall that framed the driveway and curved up to it, pressed the button there twice. She waited and then pressed it again, glancing back over at the car to see no sign of Nikita, and as she turned back there finally came a voice from the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Hi, I have a delivery here for a Mr. Solomon." Inwardly she winced at the pathetic line but it was the best thing she could come up with on short notice.

A pause and then the voice spoke again, managing to sound cold even through the tinny speaker."Mr. Solomon is not expecting any deliveries."

"Well, I have a package here and it has its name on it--it's from...D.C."

A longer pause this time and for a moment she thought that the man on the other end had just walked away, was prepared to push the buzzer again when the man finally said, "Someone will be coming out to accept the package. Wait there."

Harper let loose a sigh and did as she was told, reaching behind her to pat her back and assure herself that it was still there. As much as she didn't like the idea of using the silenced gun--and the implications that she would be shooting men without giving them the chance to surrender--she accepted that it was a necessary evil and that the people she'd be facing would just as cheerfully shoot her down if they had the chance. So she stood at the gate, keeping an eye out for the approaching man and trying to see where exactly Nikita had gone to.

A man finally appeared, tall and heavy-set, with an Army-style buzz haircut, expression flat as he came to a halt on the other side of the gate and looked her over. "Well?" he said, a note of suspicion in his voice. "Where's the package?"

"Don't have one. Just wanted to meet the infamous Solomon. I've heard so much about him." said Harper with a shrug. "Knew you wouldn't just let me in because I wanted to see him so..."

"Think you're clever, do you?" said the man with an ugly sneer. From the brush directly behind him Harper could see Nikita emerge, gun in hand, stalking silently up behind him.

"Maybe I'm not but she is." The man started to turn just as Nikita fired, one bullet striking him in the shoulder, the next two bullets hitting him directly in the chest and the man falling back without a sound. Nikita dragged his body back off the driveway and onto the grass, stopping to pat him down before rolling his body down the slight incline and into the brush, strode up to the gate with keys in hand and unlocked it, pulling it open far enough for Harper to slip inside.

"Up to the house, keep to the side of the road. We'll try one of the back entrances first."

"I'll just follow you." said Harper and jogged after Nikita.

*************

As the blade bit into Michael's cheek, the door to Solomon's office opened and one of his men came inside, saying, "There's someone at the front gate--Harris went out to take care of it."

"Stop." The blade was removed from Michael's cheek and Solomon came to stand in front of his chair, leaning forward, hands on the arms of the chair, face inches from his. "You did contact them, didn't you? That's them, isn't it?" Nikita, it had to be Nikita, but how had she--he remembered back at the squad room, when she had slid her hands under the collar of his shirt, and experimentally lowered his chin, allowing it to press against the collar of his shirt and feeling something hard underneath it. Something to track him with...

Michael lifted his chin and said calmly, "They have the house surrounded by now. If you surrender some of you might live."

"You forget that I know the Section too." To the man that had come into the office, Solomon said, "Check around the house." Solomon pressed the barrel of a gun against the side of Michael's head and breathed, "You won't be the first to die maybe but you'll die before me." He stepped back from the chair and grabbed the knife wielder's arm, shoving him towards the door. "Watch the door."

Nodding the man went to open the door and stepped hastily back as it opened before him, one hand going up to his coat even as there were two soft sounds, the cough of a silencer, falling back under the impact. Solomon had moved back behind the desk and now he turned, gun coming up, looking from the doorway to Michael and then deciding on a target, gun trained on Michael.

"Down!" shouted Nikita and Michael brought up a foot, pushing hard against the desk and tipping the chair over backwards even as Solomon fired, feeling something tug at the sleeve of his shirt. He tried to raise his head, to spare himself the impact, but it was enough of a blow to make his eyes water and his vision swim. Nikita was beside him in a flash, using the knife taken from the other man to cut him free, hauling him up and pressing a gun on him. Beyond the desk he could see a pair of feet extending out from the end of it, presumbably those of Solomon.

"We're not out of this yet--you okay?" He nodded, allowing himself to hold onto her for a moment as his head cleared, and Nikita laid a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, smiling slightly. "Let's go." She went out of the room first, going left, and he went right, gun extended as he examined the hallway, following her lead as she went down the hallway and headed for the back of the house.

***************

Harper was waiting for them on the back porch of the house, eyes scanning constantly around her, and as they emerged, she hurried to meet them, a question forming on her lips, and saw a man exiting from behind them. No time to warn them so she shoved ahead of Michael, pushing him back even as there was a gunshot and something tore through her shoulder, sending her tumbling to the ground, the pain like fire in her shoulder, overwhelming everything. Gunshots but they sounded impossibly far away, barely discernible above the roaring in her ears, and she touched her shoulder with one hand, bringing the hand up before her eyes and staring at the blood on her fingers.

Michael kneeled before her and slid an arm around her back, lifting her carefully, muttering an apology as she gasped in pain. "Damn, it hurts..." she said through her teeth, blinking back tears of pain. "Never been shot before."

Michael pulled her coat away to examine the wound and said softly, "It's not that bad."

"I guess you're an expert on that, huh?" He wrapped his arms around her as she started to shiver, accepting a scarf Nikita gave him and balling it up to place it against the wound on her shoulder, and Harper let herself sink against him, head resting against his shoulder, the world slowly receding from her as she lost consciousness.

The Section team arrived a short time later to carry Harper to the hospital and leave her off there before continuing on to the local substation, where they gave a report. Nikita carried most of the conversation and Michael added what he could, willing to let her take over, feeling a sudden sense of dread from the moment he first entered the substation. With the end of the report they were informed that transport would be arranged for them to leave the next day, to go back to the Section HQ, and with that day's grace Nikita took Michael to the hospital to see Harper.

As Michael had predicted, the wound wasn't that bad, it had passed through her shoulder and right now she was floating on a dose of painkillers and not feeling bad at all. She'd pay for it later but now she was too happy to just be alive, that little thrill added when she woke up to find Michaelstanding over the bed.

"Haven't we done this before?" she asked groggily.

"I just wanted to say thanks...and goodbye."

Harper blinked, trying to focus her scattered thoughts. "Where you going?"

"I don't know." A sad smile and he leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead. "Take care of yourself. Don't make a habit of jumping in front of bullets for strangers."

"Michael--" He stopped at the door, turning to look at her, and she cleared her throat, managing to focus a little more. "I hope everything turns out okay for you."

"Thanks." With that, he pushed open the door and went out into the hallway to meet Nikita, the two of them walking out of the hospital and out onto the street. As he started to hail a taxi, Nikita caught his arm and pulled him along, taking him down the sidewalk and to a park just two blocks away, sitting him down on the nearest bench.

"We need to talk." she said firmly as she stood over him. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"I...had a dream about Simone." he said slowly. "Of how she died..."

Nikita drew in a deep breath. "And that's all?" She was surprised that she could sound so calm, especially since her heart had started pounding and her palms were sweating, for Michael to have no memory at all of his life could mean very serious consequences.

"That's all." he repeated woodenly.

"God--" She rubbed her forehead, thinking that this was how Michael must of felt in the past, when he had to run interference for her to ensure her survival. It was an unpleasant feeling, to know that someone else's life depended on how well you could lie and misdirect, that the slightest misstep meant that person's death.

"I'll tell you what I can but there's not enough time, there's no way that they're not going to know. When we go back, I want you to remember this especially--no matter how much it might seem otherwise, no matter what she says or does, Madeline is not your friend. Anything you tell her she will use against you." She came to kneel before him, gripping his shoulders hard. "I want you to remember that most of all--that you tell Madeline as little as possible. Understood?" At his mute nod, she straightened and began to tell him about the Section and what little she knew of him.

End

Send suggestions and comments to Ghost