Chapter 19

"Counselor, this is Briscoe. Ed and I are over at Manhattan General Hospital. Leslie Fairchild was shot a little while ago."

McCoy sat up straight in his chair. "How bad?"

"It looks like she's going to be all right, but we won't be able to talk to her for a while. It happened in a parking lot when she was about to pick up her kids from swimming class. An officer brought them over here to meet with their father. We were going to head over to see if we could find out if anyone saw anything, but we have another problem. Fairchild has been trying to get in touch with his lawyer all day and hasn't been able to reach her. He seems pretty upset. He says it's not like her to be out of pocket for this long. We called the guys you had assigned to her office and apartment. No one has seen her. Her answering service says she hasn't picked up messages since this morning. Do you want us to put together a search for her?"

McCoy's knuckles were white as he gripped the phone more tightly. Despite what he might want personally, he didn't have a legitimate reason to authorize a search yet. He couldn't assume the worst. "Abbie and I will try to track down Calea. If we don't find her shortly, I'll call and let you know. See what you can find out about the shooting."

"We’ll keep in touch."

After pressing the flash button, McCoy dialed Morgan's office. Speaking with the answering service and getting the same information as Briscoe, he left an urgent message for her to call him or Carmichael.

Getting up, he exchanged his dress slacks for jeans, grateful that he had brought his warm hiking boots in from the trunk of his car that morning. After changing and grabbing his coat, he quickly made his way down the hallway to Carmichael's office, finding her looking through one of a stack of files.

"Briscoe called," he said as she looked up. "Fairchild's wife has been shot. She's at the hospital. And no one has seen or heard from Calea since she left court this morning. I called her office and spoke to her service. They don't know where she is. She isn't answering her pager."

Carmichael looked at him in alarm. "Have you tried her home number?"

"I don't have it. The only number she's given me is her office."

After flipping through her Rolodex and pulling out a card, she dialed. After a pause she hung up the phone. "No answer."

"Do you have any idea where she might have gone besides her office and home?"

Carmichael grew thoughtful. "When she's stressed, she runs. We could try the park where she and I have been running." She got up, preparing to get her coat.

McCoy stopped her. "I want you to stay here in case she calls. I'll go see if I can find her. Tell me where the park is."

She gave him quick directions and looked up the address of the townhouses in the phone book, jotting it down for him.

"I'll call you later," he said. "If you hear from her, tell her Fairchild is at Manhattan General."

She nodded as he quickly left.

***As McCoy drove, he looked up at the sky. Dark clouds seemed to have parked themselves over the city. Even though it wasn't raining at the moment, the streets were wet, causing traffic to move maddeningly slowly. He wished for at least the fourth time that he had ridden his motorcycle so he could maneuver through the cars and make better time.

He was on his way to her apartment, already having stopped at the place where Carmichael said she and Morgan ran. The security guard hadn't seen her all day and a quick look at the grassy area in the middle of the complex had confirmed that she wasn't there. The guard had promised to call McCoy's office if he saw her.

When he arrived at her building, McCoy parked in the visitor area and spoke briefly with the two officers waiting by the front doors. When they assured him they still hadn't seen Morgan, he went to the security desk inside, irritated that they hadn't thought to keep an eye on the parking garage as well.

The guard shook his head slowly after McCoy showed him his identification and explained the situation. "She hasn't been by my desk, but she could have entered the building on the fourth floor where her parking space is. Let me call the guard at the parking entrance and ask if he's seen her."

After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone. "He's not sure if he saw her come in, so he's going to send someone up to see if her car is in her space."

"Do you have security cameras in the hallways?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, we do. I can take a look and see if she's been home. Can you give me a time frame to work with?"

"Try from 10:00 this morning until now," he suggested.

The man quickly called up the desired information on his computer screen. As he was fast-forwarding the tape, his phone rang. After listening for a few seconds he thanked the caller and hung up.

"The guard in the parking garage says her car is in her space and it's still slightly warm."

McCoy sighed in relief. At least she was safe a short time ago.

"I'm going to move the search up," he said, punching in the information. "Given the weather, I'd say she's been home within a couple of hours if her car is still warm."

After closely monitoring the screen for a few minutes, he turned it toward McCoy.

"There she is. She got home about an hour and a half ago."

McCoy leaned across the desk to view the screen. The tape showed Morgan walking toward the elevator that took her to her floor, wearing the same clothes she had been wearing in court.

The guard had dialed the phone and after waiting a few seconds, hung up.

"She doesn't answer her phone." He pulled the screen back to face himself. "Here she is again." He turned the screen. "Looks like she was going running."

McCoy swore softly as he watched the figure on the screen enter the stairwell. "Why didn't the officers out front see her when she left?"

"She could've gone out the back entrance, but I don't know why she would. She usually comes through here when she leaves to run and when she returns."

"Do you have any idea where she would run if she didn't go to her usual place?"

The guard shook his head. "Could be anywhere. But she left about an hour ago. She's not usually gone much more than that. I'd say your best bet to catch up with her is to just wait here."

McCoy nodded. "I'd like to wait upstairs. If she comes in the back, I don't want to miss her."

Upon reaching the fifth floor, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall to wait next to the elevator that continued to the sixth.

He tried not to think about how easy it would be for someone to follow her on the street. Instead, he focused on what he was going to say to her once she was there. But after waiting for fifteen minutes and checking his watch numerous times, the relief he felt upon seeing that she had arrived at her apartment safely dissipated. Several people left one of the offices but no one came out of the elevator or stairwell down the hallway from him. He paced restlessly, trying not to let his imagination get the best of him.

He had been waiting for almost thirty minutes when he heard the door to the stairwell open. To his immense relief, Morgan emerged and began walking toward him, pulling off a pair of black knit gloves. She was halfway down the hall before she looked up and saw him waiting next to the elevator. Startled, she stopped for a moment. But upon recognizing him, she continued.

When she got closer, she said angrily, "I should've known. I guess you're the one I have to thank for the cops out front. I thought I made it clear..." She stopped a few feet from him, looking at him intently. Taking a couple more steps, her expression changed to one of concern. "Jack? What is it?"

He kept his voice even as he looked down at her. "She's going to be all right, but Leslie Fairchild was shot this afternoon."

Fear immediately flashed in her eyes. "Peter and the kids?"

"They're fine. They're at the hospital with her."

Morgan let out a breath. "I have to go to them," she said, turning back the way she had come.

McCoy took a step and stopped her. "I know; I'll take you. But you should change first."

She looked down at her wet clothes. Bending over, she quickly untied her shoelace, removing from it the small elevator key.

When the elevator door opened McCoy hung back, not sure if he should follow or wait where he was.

"When did it happen?" Morgan asked as she stepped through the open doors.

Taking her question as an invitation, he stepped in behind her. "About 3:00."

Before the door even closed, she had pulled off one shoe and dropped it on the floor. The other quickly followed, along with her socks. She then pulled a sweatshirt over her head and dropped it as well. Despite the circumstances, McCoy watched with thinly disguised interest as a long-sleeved tee-shirt followed, leaving her with a black undershirt on. He caught a glimpse of a small dark green bow where sweat had made the silk almost transparent before she bent over and scooped up the pile of clothes.

"I'll only be a few minutes," she said when the door opened.

"May I use your phone?" he called after her.

"It's in the desk," she replied before disappearing around the corner.

The area behind the sheer curtain separating the bedroom from the rest of the apartment was fairly dark. McCoy located the light switch and flipped it on. The bed, with wooden posts and a wrought iron leaf pattern in between, was neatly made.

The phone was not sitting on top of the large desk so he lifted the roll-top. Inside, he found a cell phone. He pulled up the chair beside the desk after dialing.

"Carmichael," said the familiar voice.

"Abbie, it's Jack. I found Calea. She was out running and she's changing now. I'm going to drive her to the hospital in a few minutes."

"How is she?"

"A little shaken, but otherwise fine. Is there any news from the hospital or Briscoe?"

"None from the hospital, but Ed called. He and Lennie are heading back over to see if they can talk to Leslie Fairchild. Several people saw the car the person who shot her was driving, but no one got a look at the shooter."

"Do me a favor and call to let them know that Calea is all right and we will be at the hospital shortly. Also, have them arrange with Lt. Van Buren to keep two officers at her building. I want them to work with security here to keep an eye on things."

"All right," Carmichael agreed. "Do you want me to meet you at the hospital?"

"I don't really see the need. I doubt that anything much can be done this evening. I'll call you if something happens."

After he hung up the phone, he sat back and heaved a huge sigh. A framed photograph on one of the small shelves inside the desk caught his eye and he reached out to pick it up. It was a picture of a boy, he guessed to be about twelve, standing behind a younger girl with his hands resting on her shoulders. They were standing barefoot on a beach, their hair and clothes windblown. There was no mistaking the smile or intense eyes of the little girl for anyone but the woman in the room next to him. He studied the face of the boy and saw a definite resemblance, with different eyes. Replacing the photo, he carefully closed the desk, put the chair where it had been, and turned off the light.

It had been no more than twenty minutes since they had come in when McCoy heard the bathroom door open behind him. Turning from the windows, he saw Morgan walking out, shoes tucked under one arm, still buttoning her sweater.

"I'm ready to go," she said as he came toward her.

When they reached the elevator and she had pushed the button, he looked down at her wet hair. "It's cold out," he reminded her. "You need a coat."

Tossing her shoes through the door as it opened, she turned and ran back while he waited.

Once inside the elevator, she slipped into the coat and then stepped into her shoes, pulling small zippers on the tops closed.

"Do you have your keys?" he asked as she straightened.

She reached her hand into the pocket of her jeans, then nodded.

They walked quickly to the next elevator. Once inside, they remained quiet, with Morgan fidgeting anxiously until the doors opened and they were on their way to the front of the building.

McCoy stopped to briefly discuss the plans with the waiting officers before seeing her to his car, looking around cautiously as he walked close to her.

Once he had pulled onto the street, she turned to him. "Tell me what happened this afternoon."

"Briscoe called me a little after 4:00 from the hospital. He said Leslie had gone to pick up the children from swim class when someone drove through the parking lot and shot her. They haven't been able to talk with her to see if she can identify the person yet. No one who was in the parking lot at the time got a good look at the person who did it."

"Were the children there when it happened?"

"Evidently, it was before she went in to get them. An officer took them over to the hospital to meet with their father."

"What about the protection you said you would assign? Where were they?" She didn't sound accusing, only upset.

"They were watching the Fairchild's apartment. Their orders were to keep both your client and his wife under surveillance. I would have to assume she hadn't been home yet."

Morgan grew thoughtful. "Leslie left court this morning before any of this started. She wouldn't have known anything about it, which means someone probably followed her from the court building."

He knew she was upset and he didn't want to make things worse, but he had to say something. "Your service said you weren't answering your pager and that you hadn't checked for messages all day. Fairchild told Briscoe you hadn't returned his calls either. He was concerned. No one knew where you were." He tried to keep his voice calm, but even in his own ears it sounded like an accusation.

A hint of annoyance crept into her voice. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but I didn't call in because I didn't want to talk to anyone. I needed some time to think so I went to the beach."

McCoy huffed out a breath and shook his head. "You know, you may not take the threats against you seriously, but some of us do. And considering the events of this afternoon, I'd say our concern was warranted."

Her annoyance was quickly growing. "And what makes you think I'm not taking this seriously?"

His worry had turned into anger of his own. "Most people's reaction to being threatened isn't to go for a run and make themselves an easy target, Calea. And going to a deserted beach in the dead of winter isn't any better. Most people would have sense enough to stay somewhere safe."

"And from this you've concluded, what? That I have some sort of a death wish or something?" she asked sarcastically.

"When it comes to figuring out what you could possibly be thinking, I don't even know where to start," he snapped.

"Well I have a suggestion for you Jack: Stop trying! I don't have to answer to you or anyone else for my actions."

The silent tension that followed went on for most of the remaining drive. It was McCoy who finally broke the silence.

"Look, I didn't mean what I said the way it sounded, but you had a lot of people worried today." He looked out of the window for a second before admitting quietly, "I was worried. I checked the place where Abbie said you usually run and I waited at your apartment. And I tried not to think about what might have happened to you."

He glanced over to find her staring at him, clearly surprised.

She sounded genuinely apologetic. "I didn't mean to worry anyone. But I'm not a child, Jack. I can take care of myself."

He sighed. "I know you think you can. But until we figure out what's going on, you have to accept that you can't do all the things you normally do without giving some thought to your safety. I don't want you to go anywhere without someone with you." He looked at her and saw her frowning obstinately. "Promise me, Calea: No more ducking out the back way to avoid the officers I've assigned to you," he said sternly.

McCoy was prepared for another fight, but to his relief she said quietly, "Fine."

After a pause, he added, "And about what happened in chambers this morning...I didn't mean to sound as if I was coercing you. I wouldn't have done anything to put your client in danger."

Glancing over, he found Morgan staring at him again but she remained silent.

When they reached the hospital, Briscoe was waiting near the room assigned to Leslie Fairchild.

"It doesn't look like we're going to be able to ask her any questions tonight," he said. "The doctor wants her to rest. We're going to try again in the morning. Fairchild is in with her now."

"Where are the children?" Morgan asked.

"Ed is entertaining them down the hall so your client can spend some time with his wife."

She nodded. "I guess I should let Peter know I'm here."

"I told him you were on your way," Briscoe offered. "He said to tell you to go in when you got here."

"All right." She glanced at McCoy before walking the few feet to the door and knocking softly.

Briscoe and McCoy moved down the hallway a short distance. Briscoe explained what the witnesses in the parking lot had to say and they both discussed further plans. The investigation of Latham had not been very fruitful and the detective wanted to spend more time looking into his activities.

Morgan had been gone for little more than fifteen minutes when she came out, followed by Fairchild. They talked quietly for a few minutes, then he touched her shoulder and went back into the room.

Upon seeing that their conversation was over, McCoy started toward Morgan who was leaning back against the wall, staring at the floor. But before he reached her, she glanced up and saw him, then straightened and walked away in the opposite direction. Briscoe came to stand beside McCoy where he had stopped.

"Looks like she's taking this pretty hard," he observed.

McCoy nodded. "They're friends."

He and Briscoe talked more about the case as he kept a watchful eye on the hallway where Morgan had disappeared. After a time, she reappeared and walked slowly toward them.

When she reached them, she looked at Briscoe. "What have you arranged in the way of security for Leslie tonight?"

"We have a man assigned to her door. He's downstairs having something to eat. We'll make sure he's in place before we leave."

She nodded. "Peter is going to spend the night in her room. His parents are on their way to take care of the children. I've booked them into a hotel nearby. I would appreciate it if someone could be assigned to them as well."

Looking at McCoy, who nodded his consent, Briscoe promised, "I'll see to it."

"Thank you. Now if you'll show me where your partner is, I'll take over with the kids. I'm sure the two of you would like to go home."

Briscoe led the way down a hall to a waiting room designed for children. It had a large selection of well-worn children's books in a bookcase and a variety of stuffed animals and other toys scattered around the room. A low table in the corner was covered with plastic building blocks and Green was sitting on the floor with the two Fairchild children, helping them build.

The little girl spotted Morgan first and jumped up to run to her, holding up her arms. Morgan bent to pick her up and walked over to Green.

"I really appreciate your help, Detective. It was very kind of you to watch the children."

Green stood up and smiled at her. "No problem. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun working late."

The little boy had come to stand beside Morgan and wrapped an arm around her leg.

Green bent over and held out his hand. When the boy had placed his into it, Green shook it, smiling.

"Good-bye Gatlin. Thank you for helping me build this great looking car."

Gatlin nodded seriously.

"Good-bye Jessica. Take good care of your brother," he added, straightening.

"Bye Ed. I hope you can come back and play with us."

Morgan addressed the detectives as they turned to leave. "Thank you both for all of your help."

When they had gone, she turned to McCoy. "Thanks for driving me here, Jack. I know you'd like to go home too. I'm going to watch the kids until Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild get here. I can take a cab home afterwards."

"I'll stay with you," he insisted. "I can help with the children and then make sure you get home safely."

"You don't have to do that," she argued, letting Jessica slide to floor and picking up Gatlin instead. "I'll be fine."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to," he assured her.

She finally nodded and turned her attention to the children. "Have you two had anything to eat since you got here?"

"Cookies," Gatlin answered with a smile.

"Cookies? Who gave you cookies?"

"Ed!" he replied enthusiastically.

Morgan reached for Jessica's hand. "Why don't we go see what we can find in the cafeteria."

After having soup and coaxing the two children to eat some dinner as well, Morgan and McCoy returned to the waiting area with them. At the children's urging, the adults sat on the floor and helped build interesting creations with the interlocking blocks.

They had been playing for a short time when Jessica settled into Morgan's lap. "Daddy says Mommy got hurt. Why can't I see her?" she asked.

Morgan wrapped her arms around the little girl. "You know how when you're sick, your Mom takes really good care of you? She makes all your favorite foods, and brings you special drinks, and keeps Gatlin quiet so you can sleep a lot?" At the girl's nod, she continued. "Well, right now, your Mom needs someone to take care of her like that. She needs a lot of quiet so she can rest and get better quickly. I saw her a little while ago and she said to tell you not to worry, that she will be well very soon. I'll bet if we let her sleep a long time tonight, you'll be able to see her tomorrow."

Jessica looked up at her with eyes on the verge of tearing. "I can't see her before I go to sleep?"

Morgan smoothed the little girl's hair back. "Not tonight, Jess. She's probably already asleep. But you know your Grandma and Grandpa are on their way here right now. They can't wait to see you. Would you like to stay in a hotel close to here with them tonight so you can see your Mom first thing in the morning?"

When Jessica nodded, Morgan gave her a smile. "The hotel has a swimming pool."

The little girl smiled happily and returned to building.

It wasn't long before Gatlin became difficult to please, rubbing his eyes and tossing blocks to the side impatiently. After whispering into Jessica's ear, Morgan stood up and held out her arms to the little boy. "Would you like to go for a walk with me, Gatlin?" He reached up and she swung him onto her hip. Addressing McCoy, she said, "If you don't mind watching Jessica for a minute, I'm going to try to get this one to sleep."

He nodded and stood up. "Sure. We'll be right here."

She walked down the hallway, talking softly to the boy.

McCoy looked at the little girl as she stacked blocks together, playing quietly. Stretching his legs, he settled into a nearby chair. Jessica played a few more minutes and then got up to walk to the bookcase. She selected several books and brought them to McCoy. Standing in front of him, she looked up at him expectantly. "Aunt Calea said you can read. Will you read me a story?"

He smiled at her and held out his hands for the books. "I think I can manage that."

She sat in the chair next to him as he began to read. They were on the second book when he felt her small hand on his arm, leaning over to look at the picture. On the fourth book, her head leaned against his upper arm. He glanced at her and saw her eyes blinking sleepily. He continued reading and was halfway through the book when he got the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him.

He looked up to find Morgan standing in the entryway, with Gatlin asleep on her shoulder. She was staring at McCoy, as if she were seeing him for the first time. He met her gaze openly, then glanced at the little girl beside him as Morgan slowly began to walk toward them.

"Would you hold the book for a minute, Jessica?" he asked, handing it to her. Then turning to Morgan, he held out his arms. "I'll take him."

Morgan stopped in front of him and leaned down, carefully placing the sleeping child in his arms. He couldn't smell any perfume as she leaned over him, but he could smell the clean scent of shampoo as her hair brushed his arm. He settled Gatlin onto his lap and then looked up at Morgan.

She spoke to Jessica. "Hop up and you can sit on my lap."

"Will you finish this book?" she asked Morgan once they were settled.

The little girl leaned back against Morgan as she began to read where McCoy had left off. Before the last page, she was asleep. Morgan laid the book aside and adjusted her into a more comfortable position. She sighed and asked, "What time is it?"

McCoy checked his watch. "A little after eleven." He turned to look at her. "You can borrow my shoulder if you want to go to sleep too."

She glanced at him then rested her chin on the top of Jessica's head. "I'm fine. The Fairchilds should be arriving any time. I'm sorry you've had to be here so long."

"I'm not complaining," he pointed out. He looked down at Gatlin. "You know, you're really good with the kids. You have a lot of patience with them."

"These two are pretty easy to handle." She reached up to rub the back of her neck. "Peter wants me to be here tomorrow when the detectives talk with Leslie."

He nodded. "I'll leave them a message to call you before they do. They're going to bring a sketch artist with them. Hopefully, she can give us a description."

"I didn't ask her anything about it when I saw her. She was pretty out of it."

At the sound of footsteps, Morgan looked up and then sat up a little straighter. An anxious looking couple was coming toward them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild," she said as they came to a stop in front of her and McCoy. "It's good to see you. I'm sorry it had to be under such difficult circumstances."

"It's good to see you again as well, Calea," the man said as his wife sat next to Morgan and took her granddaughter's hand in hers.

"We've been so worried," the woman said. "This whole business with the trial has been so distressing. We're glad Peter has you to help him through."

Noticing the older man looking at McCoy, Morgan said, "Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild, this is Jack McCoy." She paused for a split second. "He's arranged police protection for Leslie and Peter. Someone will be posted at the hotel I've booked for you as well."

The Fairchild's nodded to McCoy as he said "hello".

"I thought you would want to stay close to the hospital," Morgan continued. "The hotel is right down the street."

"We appreciate that," Mr. Fairchild said. "We stopped by Leslie's room and spoke to Peter. He's going to be here in a minute. He wanted to see the children before we left."

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me," Morgan told them as her client walked in.

Fairchild stopped short when he saw McCoy holding his sleeping son. But after exchanging a look with his attorney, he walked over to them.

"I see you got them to sleep," he observed. "I'm surprised. They were pretty wound up earlier."

"They quieted down after we fed them," Morgan informed him as Fairchild bent to take Jessica from her.

After placing his daughter into his father's arms, he turned to McCoy and picked up Gatlin, handing him to his mother.

Morgan and McCoy stood up and followed with Fairchild as the older couple began slowly walking down the hallway.

"There's an extra officer at Leslie's door who says he's supposed to take my parents to their hotel," Fairchild noted.

"He's going to stay with them tonight. I told them to call me if there's anything they need," Morgan replied.

They came to a stop at the door and, after saying 'good-night', Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild followed the officer to the elevator.

Fairchild turned to Morgan. "And what about you? Is someone going to watch your place?"

McCoy spoke up. "I have two officers assigned to her at all times for the next few days."

Fairchild looked at him. "Are you going to see her home tonight?"

"Yes."

"I'll be fine, Peter. You don't have to worry about me," Morgan insisted.

"Someone has to," he retorted a little too sharply.

When she looked down, Fairchild put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. But you had me worried sick today. I just want you to be careful. Will I see you in the morning?"

Morgan nodded. "Jack is going to have the detectives call me before they speak with Leslie."

"All right. Try to get some sleep. You look tired."

"You too. Call me, no matter what, if you need anything."

At Fairchild's nod, Morgan and McCoy left him to return to his wife.

"Thanks for the neutral introduction to the Fairchilds," McCoy said as they waited for the elevator.

Morgan glanced at him. "If I had told them that the man holding their grandson was the D.A. who was prosecuting their son for murder, I don't think they would've been quite so polite."

"I guess I can understand that," he nodded.

Once in the car, they drove most of the way back in silence. Every time McCoy glanced over at Morgan, she was staring out of the window. He wanted to say something to her but he wasn't sure what.

She was the one who finally spoke in a quiet voice. "The day after Peter met Leslie, he came to see me. I had never seen him so excited. When he told me about her, I knew something was different. He said that she had this glow, like she had sunshine on the inside. From the first time I met her, I saw what he meant. I remember when I went in to see her right after Gatlin was born. She had a difficult delivery, but even then she still had that glow." She paused a second and when she continued, her voice was even quieter. "Tonight is the first time I've ever seen her without it. She looked so pale."

"Calea..." McCoy started.

She interrupted him. "You don't have to say it, Jack. I know I should’ve told you about the threats last night. I should have arranged for protection right away."

He shook his head. "That isn't what I was going to say. I was about to remind you that she's going to be all right."

In the darkness, he heard her sigh. "I should've spent today making sure they were all safe."

"You know, it could just as easily have been you."

Morgan’s voice was stronger and filled with frustration. "They won't do anything to me as long as they think I'm going to do what they've asked. What happened to Leslie was only a way of persuading me."

"You can't know that," McCoy said, sounding angrier than he intended. He took a deep breath, then stopped. A frown crossed his face. He glanced over at her. "Can you?"

She didn't answer and she didn't look at him.

"Calea?" He wished it weren't so dark and that he could see her face. "Do you know something about what's happened that you haven't told me?"

Turning to him, she said, "If I knew who was responsible for shooting Leslie, don't you think I'd tell you?"

"Yes, I do. But that isn't what I asked you. I asked if you knew something about this case that you haven't told me."

She looked back out of the window.

His anger and frustration were growing. "How the hell am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what's going on?"

"I've already told you, I don't know who's responsible," she insisted.

"But you do know something you haven't told me. You have to talk to me!"

He gritted his teeth at her silence as they turned in front of her building. He parked in the visitor area and turned off the car.

Turning to her, he took a deep breath and spoke calmly. "Whatever you have to say isn't going to hurt your client. I don't believe he killed his partner anymore. I want to figure out who did kill Carpelli, and I want to help you. You have to trust me."

Morgan looked at him intently, searching his eyes. And he didn't even blink. Whatever it was she was looking for he wanted to give her every opportunity to find.

She looked away and hunched her shoulders against the growing cold. "I know," she agreed quietly.

For a second, he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Then you'll talk to me?"

"I'll tell you what I know."

He opened his door. "Come on. Let's go inside."

After making sure the officers knew Morgan was back, McCoy took her up to her apartment. Once they were safely inside, he helped her off with her coat and hung it with his own by the elevator while she removed her shoes.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, heading for the kitchen.

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

After taking a water bottle out of the refrigerator, she glanced at him hesitantly then walked slowly to the sofa as he followed. She settled into the curved corner, one leg under her and the other knee up. McCoy sat at the end and turned to face her with his arm across the back of the couch.

He watched her as she chewed the inside of her lip. Catching his intense gaze, she shook her head. "It's a long story and it's all so complicated. I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning," he urged gently.

She closed her eyes for a second and propped her elbow on her knee, rubbing the back of her neck.

Then, as if she had come to a decision, she folded her arms on her knee and looked at him.

"The beginning was four years ago, in Chicago. Our firm was approached by a man named Seth Harrison who was a city councilman at the time, moving his way up the political ladder. He wanted us to represent him." She paused for a second, shaking her head. "We were a good solid firm with all the clients we could handle. But this man was offering us the chance of a lifetime. It was an opportunity to be seen in all the right places with all the right people. The contacts would have brought us a level of recognition that we hadn't achieved yet. And that would've brought other opportunities that most of the partners wanted. Michael Lockhardt and Kevin Ryan each wanted a judgeship. Stan Greenberg wanted to go into politics. Harrison was offering everyone a chance to achieve their goals.

"But something about him bothered me. Maybe it was just that I felt we were being pushed, but I decided to do some checking. I went to a detective I knew from my days of working at the station. I respected him and I trusted his opinion. He had been on the force for over thirty years and knew what was going on in the city. He told me he thought Harrison was connected. He didn't have any real proof, only a file consisting mostly of newspaper clippings and general information. But he had one document showing that Harrison had been instrumental in getting some zoning passed that was favorable to some questionable businessmen. It wasn't incriminating in itself, but it was enough to convince this cop that Harrison was doing favors. And it was enough to convince me that we shouldn't do business with him.

"He had given us two weeks to make a decision. The day before the deadline, I told Frank what I had found out and that I was going to vote against accepting Harrison as a client. He told me I didn't have any proof and that I should think about what was best for the firm, for everyone concerned. He said he already knew that the others wanted to accept Harrison's proposal and he agreed with them. He expected me to vote like he did."

She paused and reached for her water, taking a drink before she continued. "But I didn't. At the partners meeting, I told the others how I felt and why. They listened very politely. And when it was put to a vote, the count was four to one. So I went to my office and typed up my resignation. I gave myself three weeks to finish a trial I was in the middle of and put a copy on each partner's desk before leaving for court."

McCoy watched as she began to fidget, chewing her lip. After a minute of silence she got up and went to lean a shoulder against a window, looking out at the city.

"When I got home that evening, Frank was furious. He said if word of my unfounded accusations got out we would all be out of business." She slipped her hands into her pockets and was quiet another minute. "He had to go out later that evening. When he did, I packed a few things and left. A client had an apartment he used when he had business in the city. I had a key so I called and asked if I could stay there for a few days."

McCoy interrupted, "Was that client Peter Fairchild?"

She turned to look at him questioningly.

"You said once that he helped you when you really needed help," he reminded her.

"Yes," she nodded slowly. "It was Peter. He let me stay there for three weeks. The first thing I did was draw up divorce papers and have them delivered to Frank. I didn't tell anyone where I was but my secretary figured it out. She called me a couple of days after I sent the papers over. She said Frank's secretary had taken all the other secretaries out to lunch. After a couple of glasses of champagne, she told them she was celebrating the fact that she and Frank wouldn't have to sneak around anymore. My secretary wanted me to redraw the papers and take him for everything he had. But I didn't want anything from him that I considered to be his, not even a share in our house. I took what I came into the marriage with, my IRA, and a savings account that was made of mostly my contributions. Finding out about the affair didn't change anything. I just wanted out."

McCoy searched her face, trying to determine the feelings behind her flatly delivered statements. But she looked carefully at the floor as she leaned back against the window.

"When the three weeks were up, I went in for the partner's meeting. After I assured everyone that I hadn't changed my mind about leaving, they gave me a check buying out my interest in the firm. I was expecting about a year's salary, as per the partnership agreement. The check was for a little more than twice that amount. I was stunned, but I was sure it was Frank's doing. Kind of his non-admission way of saying 'thanks for not publicly airing the dirty laundry'. So I took the money and I left. Frank and I met with a judge who knew us later that same morning to finalize the divorce. When it was over I took the papers down myself to be recorded. I had already arranged to have my things shipped, so I got on a plane the same day and I haven't been back since. Until Frank walked into court the other day, I hadn't had contact with any of the partners in four years."

Morgan sighed and looked at McCoy, reaching to rub her neck again. When she started again, her voice was no longer emotionless. "He came to tell me that certain people had taken an interest in my case and suggested that it was in everyone's best interest for me to convince Peter to accept a plea. I told him I wouldn't because Peter was innocent. He said he was there as a courtesy and that the next people who approached me on the subject might not be so courteous. I said I still wouldn't do it and that if he was somehow involved in what had happened to Evan, he would have to face the consequences like anyone else. He assured me he wasn't, but that if he was implicated I would be too. That's when he told me about the money. It seems that when I left, he was responsible for convincing the other partners to pay what they did. But the reason he gave them was a lot different than I had imagined. He told them I intended to use the information I had to ruin Harrison and them as well, but that I could be persuaded not to if I was paid enough. And they believed him. After working with them for sixteen years, they still didn't know the kind of person I was. Not one of them asked me if it was true. They wanted what Harrison had to offer so they took Frank's word for it and, in effect, paid me off. And I can't prove any differently."

Pushing herself from the window, she began to pace. "I don't understand anything about this case. I don't know who killed Evan or why. I don't know who's responsible for the threats or for shooting Leslie. I have more questions now than I did when this whole thing started. None of it makes any sense at all."

She stopped in front of the windows, looking at McCoy for his reaction.

He regarded her thoughtfully. "It's obvious your ex-husband at the very least knows who's responsible for the threats, if not for the murder itself. How involved do you think he is?"

Morgan looked at the floor and shrugged, answering quietly, "I don't know."

"But you do think he's involved, don't you?" McCoy was watching her carefully.

She sighed and turned to look out at the street below. "Not everyone would know the lengths I'd go to in order to protect a client, let alone Peter or his family. And not everyone would know that the surest way to get to me is to use them." She paused for a second. "But Frank would know that."

"Is that why you wanted off the case?"

"I thought that if I was no longer representing Peter it might draw attention away from him, at least temporarily, until I could figure it all out. I should've taken what Frank said more seriously. I should've known that if he is involved, they would become the targets. If I had only thought about it, Leslie wouldn't be lying in the hospital tonight."

McCoy heard the catch in her voice. She looked small standing in front of the tall windows. He got up and went to stand beside her. Looking down at her, he put his hand on her shoulder. "You couldn't have known what would happen. You didn't do anything wrong, Calea."

When she looked up at him, her eyes were filled with dejection. He took a step closer, intending to slip his arm around her. But Morgan moved slowly back until his hand fell from her shoulder.

"I've done a lot of things wrong, Jack. Now I have to find a way to keep those things from getting anyone else hurt. Or worse." She turned and walked to the couch, curling into her usual spot, hugging her knees to her chest.

He stood looking at her for a moment before slowly following. But he didn't sit at the end of the sofa this time. He sat closer to her, within arm's reach.

"You're not alone in this anymore. I'll help you."

She propped her elbows on her knees and held her head. "I don't see how you can. I don't see how anyone can help."

He gave her a half smile. "It only looks hopeless now because you're tired. Things will look differently after a good night's sleep. We'll figure it all out," he assured her. "I'll come by in the morning and we'll go to the hospital together. We can talk more then." He stood up and waited for her to do likewise. "If you need anything tonight, call me," he said as they walked to the elevator. "I can be here within a few minutes."

She reached for the button on the wall. "Thanks, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

Before stepping into the elevator he said, "Call me when you get up in the morning and I'll come pick you up."

Morgan nodded.

"Good-night, Calea. Get some sleep."

"Good-night, Jack."

The elevator door closed with a faint thump.

***On his way home, he thought about the things she had told him. What she had said about her ex-husband made him angry, and he was concerned about her safety. But he also felt strangely content. The fact that she had confided in him made him feel that she finally trusted him. So he pushed all the other thoughts out of his head and focused on that one. He decided that, at the moment, it was all that counted.