"Problems, as you call them Jenkins, are not my concern."

The last speaker leaned back in his chair and blew out a thick cloud of cigarette smoke, watching it slowly diffuse. A solid gold nameplate engraved with "Benjamin T. Rothman" sat on the stylish desk in front of him in an office surrounded by ornate walls and twelve foot high ceilings. Various oil paintings and art sculptures added to the room's elegance.

The man sitting behind the desk enjoyed a privileged life. Body massages and manicures regularly showered his agenda, and the tailored suits he wore came imported from Italy. His hair was graying, but meticulously styled and trimmed, and accentuated his tanned facial features. But he had not always been so prosperous.

"Benny" Rothman had been kicked out of his father's house while still in his teens, but quickly caught on to the economic laws of street survival. Starting as a drug courier and numbers runner, he had clawed his way up the syndicate ladder, inch by bloody inch, until achieving his present position. Those within the consortium's inner circle respected him, but while many saw this "respect' as fear, Rothman didn't care how it was interpreted. People did as he ordered; the careful and meticulous way he chose his subordinates guaranteed this. Many had learned it was healthier to work for, rather than against him, and the callous way he punished failure kept the drug lord comfortably high in the syndicate's ranks. But Rothman loathed the times when his subordinates failed him; his position necessitated making money for the consortium. Time spent solving problems was precious—and better spent in more industrious pursuits. Taking note of Jenkins' insinuation, Rothman felt his temper beginning to seethe.

"Sir, I'm sorry to report…we've just lost the Hernandez shipment." Jenkins braced for his boss's reaction, and with good reason. He had seen people shot over less.

"Jenkins, did I just hear you correctly? Are you referring to the shipment I explicitly put you in charge of? "

"Yes sir, that one," Jenkins answered, his voice slightly breaking. "It seems the police were tipped off. They've confiscated the entire shipment, and arrested three of our people."

The explosive sound of Rothman's fist hitting the desk made Jenkins jump. "Are you telling me I've just lost a half million dollar shipment!?" Rothman's face flushed as blood rushed in. "I put you in charge of that order because I thought it was something you could handle. Obviously, it wasn't!" His voice echoed off the walls, magnifying the intensity of his anger.

"Sir! We know who the snitch was. I promise he'll be dead before tomorrow." Jenkins waited breathlessly for Rothman's verdict.

"What kind of bullshit excuse is that? So you knock off some piece of crap. What about my money!?" Rothman was now standing, poised like a bulldog ready to attack.

"Mr. Rothman, we also know the names of two detectives this snitch sang to. I don't think this is the first time these cops have caused us…problems."

Jenkins' heart thumped wildly as he clung to this last chance at redemption. Disposing of cops smart enough to intercept Rothman's drug shipments could be worth a lot of money. If this didn't quell his boss's anger, nothing else would.

"Two cops?" Rothman slowly settled back into his leather chair. Looking at Jenkins with inquiring eyes, he said, "Good ones? Partners?"

"Yes, sir. They're very good, and I do believe they work together."

"Okay—you get rid of that snitch tonight. I want to read about it in the morning's paper. As for the cops, I want them taken out." Rothman's tone sounded smooth, almost casual.

"Yes sir." Jenkins fought the urge to take in some deep breaths, afraid his boss would notice. He hadn't taken many in the last few moments and now his lungs were begging for more oxygen.

"Oh, Jenkins—" The man's heart sank. He had been Rothman's assistant and hired gun for nearly ten years. But now, Jenkins feared it might his turn to be on the wrong end of a barrel. "—I've had a second thought."

"Anything, sir."

"Don't kill those cops right away. Bring one of them to our city dock building, as healthy as you can. Is that clear?" Rothman took a long, last drag on his cigarette, then snuffed out the burning end into a green marble ashtray. The gold pinkie ring on his outstretched finger glittered briefly as it caught a hint of sunlight.

"Of course. Just one?"

"Yes. Where the one goes, the other will want to follow. He won't be interested in anything else until he finds his partner."

Rothman was often in contention with the police, viewing them as another gang intent on taking over his territory. He knew there were good cops and bad. The good ones were the hardest to deal with. They were so judgmental, always seeing things as black or white, never grey. Most possessed an impenetrable bond, formed by the constant need to protect each other's back. But that same bond was also a weakness, and Rothman knew how to exploit it.

Continuing his train of thought, Rothman added, "That should give us time to arrange for another shipment, and for me to decide how I'm going to extract payment. And Jenkins?" Rothman gave him a deathly cold stare, "Don't screw this up."

"No, sir." Jenkins turned and quickly walked out of the office. His superior wouldn't tolerate any more mistakes, even ones he wasn't responsible for.



The young woman stood outside the front door of Rachel Starsky's house, summoning up the courage to knock. Fifteen years ago, she had walked out that same door intending to never return. Several devastating events had precipitated her departure, all occurring within a short period of time—the loss of a father, the absence of an admired brother, and a younger brother slipping into an oblivion of self pity. Wanting to escape the turmoil engulfing the comfortable refuge she'd known as home, she had decided to leave. But in doing so, she'd inadvertently hurt the one person most responsible for saving her from an even earlier hell. Excuses set aside now, she had to see Rachel. She owed nearly two decades of atonement to this woman who'd not only taken her into her home when she was ten years old, but also legally adopted her.

"Breanna! Oh, my goodness, it's you!"

Bree burst into tears the moment Rachel recognized her and threw open the screen door to grab and embrace the prodigal daughter. She hadn't expected the compassion Rachel immediately showered on her, and felt relieved that she still had family who loved her. Once inside the warm home, Bree apologized profusely for all the hurt and heartache she caused when she left. She then spent hours describing to her mother how life had slowly taught her the importance of family and unconditional love. She also desperately wanted to know how her two brothers were doing.

Sitting at the kitchen table, talking well into the night, Rachel recounted everything she knew of her sons' lives. Sadly, nothing about Nicky's situation really surprised Bree, but she was amazed at David's story. Somewhat relieved she'd never known he had fought in Vietnam, she was shocked to hear he was now a police detective in California. Davey, what were you thinking? Dad was a cop and he got shot dead, practically on our doorstep! Why on earth would you want to go and do the same thing?

Bree picked up a photograph, one of many lying scattered on the table that Rachel had gathered earlier to show her. This one showed two men standing together on the beach. Bree instantly recognized her brother's lopsided smile. David looked well, and happy. A different person than when she had last seen him, hurt and angry at the world, still grieving over their father's death.

"Bree? Breanna!" Rachel could tell that her daughter hadn't heard anything she'd said.

"What? Oh, I'm sorry, Mom. I just wandered off. What were you saying?" Bree hoped the woman hadn't turned into a mind reader.

"You never were a good liar, little one." Rachel said in a gently scolding manner. "It's about Davey being a cop, yes?"

Bree sighed, hesitating a moment. Thoughts of times better left forgotten churned around in her head. "It's just that after what happened to Pop, I can't believe he would want to be one. Doesn't he realize how dangerous it can be?"

"Davey loved his papa, your father. He always wanted to make him proud. Your father gave his life—"

"Pop didn't give his life away, it was taken from him!" snapped Bree. Rachel may have chosen to live in denial, but there was no way she was going to.

Seeing her child's hurt still festering, Rachel carefully worded her response. "Bree, this pain, it serves no purpose. We cannot change the past. Your father loved what he did. He realized every day he was out there working, he was doing something good. He loved each one of you, and knew this was how he could make you feel safe and happy."

"I know what you're saying, Mom, but why can't Davey do something else? There's plenty of jobs where he can help people and not have to risk his life every day to do it." Bree angrily pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. Trying to cool off, she walked over to the counter and poured a cup of coffee.

"I felt much the same way when I first married your papa," Rachel said, trying to empathize. "I can't answer your questions. But this job, it's a calling and needs a special person. Davey is special. He's a good cop. You know, he has a good partner, too. Someone who loves and cares about him very much."

Bree's jaw dropped slightly. "Are you saying Davey is gay?"

Rachel let out a laugh. "No, no, little angel! I don't mean like that. His partner though, he would do anything to keep Davey safe, and your brother feels the same way about him."

Not entirely convinced, Bree asked, "So what's the name of this guardian angel?"

"Ken. Ken Hutchinson. And you are probably closer to the truth than you realize."

"What do you mean?" Bree knew her mom could exaggerate at times, but Ken Hutchinson sounded too good to be true.

"A few years ago, Ken called me. Davey was in the hospital because someone had tried to poison him."

Bree let out a small gasp; this wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"When Ken found the scum who did it, Davey killed the man, even though he was the only one who knew what was in the poison. So why did he do this? I tell you. It was because that snake was ready to shoot Ken! Phewpt! I spit on that coward's grave!" Rachel's tone had turned livid, but then softened when she added, "So, you see? Davey cared about him that much."

"Oh, Mom! So, was the poison deadly? I mean, how did he survive?"

"Poor Davey—he got very sick. But Ken found more of the awful stuff in time so the doctors could give Davey an antidote." Rachel visibly shuddered. "It still makes my stomach turn to think about it."

"That's…an incredible story." Bree could feel her stomach turning also. Yeah Mom, Davey's special. Thinking for a long moment, she asked, "So Ken would do the same for Davey?"

"Yes! In a heartbeat!" Rachel's face took on a pensive look. "I think sometimes, Davey doesn't tell me everything, so I don't worry about him. Oh, if he only knew!"

Looking through more pictures, Bree compared the two partners. Her brother, with his dark brown, softly curled hair, tanned skin and strong facial features, and Ken with his straight blond hair, gentle Nordic looks and fairer skin. They seemed on the surface a very unlikely duo, but from the stories Rachel had told that evening, that assumption was far from the truth.

"You know, malekh, you should go see your brother."

"Davey? In California?" Bree felt uneasy about Rachel's suggestion. How could she expect Davey to understand her absence after all this time? It had taken every bit of strength to seek absolution from Rachel. But mothers were genetically wired for that; they always loved their children, no matter what. Davey didn't have that obligation. He could just as easily tell her to go to hell.

"What is it, my little one? You don't think your brother would be happy to see you?"

"I don't know, Mom. Davey…well, he may not be as understanding as you."

"Phooey! You don't know your brother! He is not the same boy you knew twenty years ago. He is a man. A fine man, and with a big heart! If he knew you were here, he would jump on the first plane just to come see you." Leaning across the table, Rachel continued. "You already know this. Go. Go and see him. Talk. You will see. Here." She grabbed her purse from off of the kitchen counter. Reaching inside, she pulled out her wallet and slipped a checkbook from its thick center.

"Mom! No! What are you doing? I can't take that!" Bree tried taking the pen out of her mother's hand, but Rachel just scooted back in her chair.

"Who are you to tell her mother what she can and can't do?!" After signing the check, she tried to hand it to her daughter, who refused to touch it. Rachel laid it on the table, and took both of Bree's hands into hers, staring lovingly into her eyes. "You don't know how happy you made me tonight. I always prayed for you, that you were well and safe. I know you think that Davey would not want to see you, but you are wrong Bree. Please trust me on this." Picking the check up, she said, "Here. You take this to the bank tomorrow, and you buy a ticket and go see your brother."

"But what about Nicky? Shouldn't I see him, too?"

"Ah, Nicky. Yes, he calls now and then. Mother's Day, or when he needs money. He never tells me where he lives, what he does. I guess I am happy he remembers me at all. You know, Nicky blames Davey for leaving, but I was the one who sent him away." Rachel cast her eyes down. It wasn't hard to see the pain hidden behind those words. "So, I take what Nicky gives me. Even though I wish he would just call a little more often, yes?"

"Mom…I'm sure he loves you." Bree cringed inside. Apparently, Nicky hadn't changed much, but then who was she to judge? At least he hadn't waited fifteen years to call.

"Oh, he loves his momma. But he loves too many things that can't love him back. Nicky can wait. Go see Davey, yes?" The pleading look on Rachel's face and her twinkling eyes were too much to resist.

"Okay, Mom, you win. But promise me you won't call him first and tell him I'm coming." Emphasizing her point, Bree pointed her finger at Rachel.

"Cross my heart and hope not to cry! Oh, my little bird, you will see. Then you can tell me later how your momma, she was right. Yes?"

"Yes, momma."



The police squad room was bustling with activity, uncommon for so late in the morning. A successful bust around dawn had resulted in the confiscation of a large cocaine shipment and numerous personnel had been called in to help. Starsky and Hutch were the lead investigators in the arrest and now sat basking in the good graces of not only their superior, Captain Dobey, but the mayor and commissioner as well. Unfortunately, they were also sitting in front of typewriters, trying to produce the mound of paperwork needed for when the case eventually went to trail. But the two partners could cherish one fact; at least today the chance of an ass-chewing from their boss was slim.

"Starsky?" Hutch had watched his partner gobble down two donuts and start on a third in the last five minutes. He was growing tired of sweeping powdered sugar off of his paperwork.

"Ummph?" Starsky mumbled, floury mix still stuck in his mouth.

As one more bit of powdery glob landed on his report, Hutch had enough. "Starsky! Quit dropping food all over the place! And go wash that stuff off your mouth. You look like you've been sampling the evidence."

"Hey!" As Starsky finished gobbling down the last morsels, he wiped his mouth off with his sleeve, then added, "I'll have you know this is the first thing I've eaten since five o'clock this morning, which was the exact time you woke me up saying that shipment was coming in. You know I can't function without sugar."

Dryly, Hutch said, "Starsk, your body's already a walking candy machine. If it had any more sugar, you could package it into five pound bags and sell it in a grocery store. Why can't you eat a real breakfast?"

"I wanted to stop and eat before we came back here, but you said you weren't hungry."

"You were ready to pull through the drive-thru at McDonald's! That's not my idea of breakfast, Starsky."

"Well, the day they put in fast food restaurants serving desiccated liver and seaweed shakes, that's when this partnership of ours is gonna have to end, buddy. Until then, you can either learn to eat real food like the rest of us, or don't blame me when my stomach gets hungry."

Hutch knew there was no winning over Starsky's logic, so he gave him one last dirty look and went back to typing.

As both detectives settled back into finishing up their reports, the desk sergeant stuck his head into the squad room from the hallway.

"Starsky!"

"Yo, that's me," he answered, not looking up from the typewriter.

"You got someone out here who wants to see you."

Hutch glanced up, but Starsky remained focused on his report.

"Yeah, who is it?"

"I dunno. Some gal."

That got the brunet's attention. "Yeah? She give you a name?"

"Starsky."

Starsky wasn't sure if he had missed a question, or if the sergeant was just repeating his name. Confused, he glanced over at Hutch. Suddenly, his face lit up. Turning back to the sergeant, he eagerly asked, "Is she about five foot five, around sixty years old, with broad hips and carrying a plateful of falafel and knishes?"

"No—she's closer to your age, about five foot seven and her hips don't look anything like a sixty-year-old's!"

Hutch noticed Starsky still looked puzzled, as if he were trying to come up with a name or a face before going out to meet the mysterious visitor. Suddenly, his partner's perplexed expression vanished and Hutch wasn't sure if the excited look that replaced it was one of impending doom or extreme happiness. Starsky shot up from his chair and grabbed the jacket hanging off the back of it. "Oh, my God! Is it her!?"

"Starsky? Who…" Hutch didn't have a chance to finish his question. His partner had raced out of the squad room and he had no other choice but to follow him.

Starsky ran a short distance down the hall, struggling to slip his jacket on while trying not to plow into anyone. He turned off into the main lobby, where a reception area sat tucked away close to the elevator doorways. The visitor, hearing the charging footsteps approaching, turned towards the noise. When her eyes met his, Starsky suddenly froze at the lobby's entrance. Recognition took only a second.

Hutch arrived right behind his partner, just in time to see Starsky and the woman collide and lock together, reacting as though each had found a long lost friend. Hutch guessed the woman was a little younger than him. Her blondish-brown, shoulder-length hair was feathered and curled slightly around her face. Blue-green eyes peeked out from thick, dark lashes and her pert features reminded him of Terri, Starsky's fiancée who had died two years before. Visible even from beneath the blue jeans and loose fitting top, her athletic frame only added to her striking features. As the pair's embrace continued, Hutch patiently waited for his presence to be acknowledged, increasingly convinced that Starsky's explanation was going to be one interesting story.

"Bree….I can't believe it's you!" Starsky pulled back, but kept holding on with both hands. "Have you been okay?" Glancing at her from head to foot, he added, "You look terrific, and very grown up!"

"Yes, I've been fine, and you look really good too. I know it's been a long time Davey…" Suddenly her composure broke, and her expression turned sorrowful. "I'm so sorry I never tried to get a hold of you." Her eyes began to tear up. "But I was so angry back then. I just felt abandoned, especially after you left for California."

Starsky's head bowed a little with Bree's last comment. The last time he heard a similar accusation was when his brother Nicky came to visit, blaming his criminal actions on Starsky's absence.

As soon as Bree saw David's reaction, she took a hold of his face in both hands. "Davey…I'm not blaming you. I'm not like Nicky." Starsky jerked his head up and looked at her questioningly. Bree sensed his tension. "Look, the last thing I wanted to do here was get off on the wrong foot. I went to the house, Davey, and saw Rachel. She was so happy to see me. We talked for hours, but I really needed to come see you. I had to see you."

"Hey. I'm glad you're here." Starsky returned her pleading gaze with one of equal intensity. After a long moment, they dove back into a locked embrace.

"Eh-hem!" Hutch felt it was time someone introduced them; he was becoming more intrigued by this woman with each passing second.

The couple slowly separated and turned to face Hutch. Starsky said, "Bree, I want you to meet my partner…Ken Hutchinson."

Hutch stepped closer; taking a hold of Bree's extended hand, he flashed a smile. "Very pleased to meet you."

Bree had been captivated by his handsome features while looking through the photographs at Rachel's. Seeing him now in person, with his brilliant cobalt eyes, he looked even more attractive. "You must be Hutch. Rachel had a lot of nice things to say about you."

"Well, she's a sweet lady. I'll have to thank her next time we talk." Hutch still held onto Bree's hand, not wanting to let go.

Starsky eyed his partner's actions with amused interest. "Yeah, well Mom always did like you best, blondie."

"Starsky?" Hutch said as coolly as he could, still gazing into Bree's eyes.

"Yeah?"

"You gonna tell me who this lovely lady is?" Hutch now gently raised Bree's hand up to his mouth and gave it a soft kiss.

Starsky, feeling a need to intervene, took hold of Bree's hand and pulled it smoothly out of Hutch's grasp. "Hutch, this is Breanna Starsky. She's my sister."

Hutch felt like a boy just caught with his hand up a girl's dress. " Your sister!? Starsk, you never told me you had a sister!"

Before her brother could explain, Bree jumped in. "I can probably tell you why. I left home not too long after Dave moved to California, and I haven't been in touch with my family for a long time. But that's mainly why I'm here, trying to play catch up." Turning back to her brother, Bree added, "I hoped by coming here around noon, I could catch you at a good time. I think "we need to talk' is an understatement, but honestly, I wasn't sure what your reaction would be."

Starsky looked at her as intently as he could. "You're my sister—that's called "family'. You need me, you just have to ask."

"Well, I think I'll grab a bite to eat here at the station," Hutch said, breaking in on them. "Someone needs to finish those reports before Dobey blows a gasket." Turning to Bree, Hutch half whispered, "Make sure he takes you someplace that doesn't think "green vegetables' is a dirty word."

"Hey! I heard that! Actually, I was thinking of going to The Pits."

Bree had to laugh at what she thought was possibly the worst name for a restaurant, drawing rolled eyes from Starsky. Catching her breath, she said, "Hutch, please, don't back out on my account. Come with us."

"Tell you what. You guys go have a nice long lunch. Unless you've got other plans, let's all get together for dinner tonight, and I'll pick the restaurant." Hutch pointed his finger at Starsky and said, "And I've got you covered in case lunch runs a little late." With that, Hutch winked at the two and headed back towards the squad room.

Boy, not only is he good looking, but he's too good to believe. Bree slipped her right arm around Starsky's waist and lightly took hold. "So, you want to take me out to "the pits,' huh? Well, I guess beggars can't be choosers."

"Hey, trust me. It's a great place. A really good friend of ours runs it. His name's Huggy Bear. I think you'll like him."

"Huggy Bear? That's his real name?" Bree was starting to realize this thing about a "California lifestyle' probably had some validity.

"No, but it's what everyone calls him. C'mon! I've got to show you my car!"

Once outside, the two siblings walked through the parking lot reserved for police vehicles. Bree was surprised to see cars of all kinds sitting in the lot. When David stopped in front of the Torino, and began digging keys out of his front pants pocket, Bree wasn't sure what to say.

"Davey?"

"Yeah?" Starsky answered with a big toothy grin, looking every bit like a proud father showing off his firstborn son.

"This is your car?"

"Yeah!"

"But it's red."

" Candy-apple red." Starsky's emphasis made him sound like a swooning lover.

"And it's got a big, white stripe on it."

"A racing stripe. Gives it a sense of…style." He flared both arms out from his body, mimicking the horizontal contour of the stripe.

"And you're an undercover cop? Jeez, how do you sneak up on anybody in this?" Bree propped both hands on her hips. "Why am I asking that? You probably just stick some lights on it somewhere and blast your siren, right?"

"That's exactly what we do!" Starsky opened the passenger door and ducked into the car. Pushing the button on the glove box, he reached in and grabbed a red, teardrop emergency light, dragging it out along with its attached power cord. "Care to see a demonstration?"

"Oh, you've got to be kiddin'!" Bree glanced down at her brother and then behind him as she scanned the rest of the car's interior. Starsky showed her the police radio mounted on the transmission hump along with various compartments that contained extra handcuffs, hidden keys and even a backup handgun. "Wow, I have to admit, I'd never guess this was a cop car." Seeing the pride in his eyes, Bree couldn't resist boosting his ego a little more. "Well, ya gonna take me somewhere in this rocket of yours, or are we walkin'?"

"Jump in, sis!"

After Bree got in, Starsky closed her door and raced around the Torino before hopping into the driver's seat. Turning the ignition on and revving the engine, he glanced over at her with a devilish look on his face.

Smiling, she said temptingly, "Ya gonna peel out now too? Someone might give you a ticket."

"Nah," Starsky drawled, putting the car into drive. "I'm the law in this here town." With that, he punched the car's accelerator, producing a sharp tire squeal just long enough to leave a pair of blackened marks etched on the asphalt, hovered over by a whitish-grey exhaust cloud.

What escaped the pair's attention was the dark green Oldsmobile parked across the street, where two sets of eyes had been watching for the Torino's occupants to return. The two men hunched down slightly as the Ford sped past them. As they regained their positions, the driver started the engine and pulled the Olds out into traffic, intent on tailing their target.

"So this is who we're supposed to follow?" the passenger asked. "Might as well stick a big flashing arrow on the roof."

"Yeah, ain't it a trip?" The driver snorted. "Like you could really lose somethin' painted up like that. You'd have to be pretty blind."

"No kiddin'. So who's the girl? I thought these were supposed to be two guys."

"Dunno. My guess is she's a girlfriend. Anyway, don't seem to matter much. Jenkins told me to just grab one of 'em, so it might as well be this one."

"What's your plan if she's around when we snag him? I don't think we should be bringing two people when the boss is only expecting one." The passenger, Eddie Lapentz, was a recent hire of Rothman's and not fully at ease with his status in the organization. He'd witnessed brutal retributions doled out to those who didn't follow orders, and had no intention of becoming an example.

"Not sure yet." Frankie Suko, the driver, was a more senior employee. It wasn't often he got sent out on jobs like this, where he only needed to 'stuff-n-bag' a live snitch or rival syndicate member and deliver them to a superior. His expertise lay in getting uncooperative people to talk. While Jenkins hadn't said so, Suko felt this was one job with a lot at stake. He thought about the bust earlier that day on the shipment Jenkins had been in charge of. Yeah, the man probably couldn't afford any more mistakes.

Suko continued. "I'm thinkin' we'll just keep tailin' him until he gets home. If she's still there…"

After a long pause, Lapentz asked, "What? If she's still there, what?"

"Maybe if she is there, we can use her to make grabbin' him go a lot smoother—ya follow my thinking?" Suko glanced over to his partner.

"Yeah, you're right. He ain't gonna go easy. Didn't you say something about the boss wanting him in one piece?"

"Yeah, I think 'healthy' was the term. If we do end up snaggin' her, we just dump her off somewhere so she won't be an issue."

"Sounds good to me." 


CHAPTER 2


"Solid stone is just sand and water,
Sand and water, and a million years gone by." Beth Chapman


As the Torino smoothly threaded through the midday traffic, Bree asked her brother to tell her more about Huggy. She'd never known anyone before with such a distinctive nickname.

"Huggy's been a pretty cool dude. Started out as a snitch—still is, I guess—but me and Hutch don't think of him like that. He's actually saved our butts a few times, and if there's anything happening on the street, he knows about it."

"So how'd you first meet him?" Bree asked, resting her elbow on the door and cupping her hand to catch the wind streaming past the open window.

"I busted him, back when I was just a rookie, running around like a chicken waitin' to get my head blown off." Bree shot him an uncomfortable glare. Starsky bowed his head, looking at her over the top of his sunglasses. "I meant I was still a little green. Anyway, caught Huggy holdin' some hot merchandise, enough for a little time in the joint. The thought of going to jail got him rethinking his options, so he offered me some info on a robbery suspect. I took him up on it, got a good collar, and we've been doin' business ever since."

"Well, I guess that's one way to get to know someone." Bree wasn't sure what she thought about snitches, but since her brother seemed to admire Huggy, she wanted to meet him first before coming to any conclusions.

Starsky steered the Torino into the alley and drove halfway down its length, parking in back of The Pits. He got out of the car, and shuffled over to Bree's side, opening her door like a professional valet. She acknowledged the act with a smile and took hold of his extended arm as he helped her out. They then entered the bar through a back door topped by a large exit sign.

As Starsky and Bree came in, Huggy was definitely up to his neck attending to the lively lunch crowd. Seeing Starsky, though, he nodded towards a booth that had just been emptied of its last occupants. As the two siblings settled into the wooden seats, Huggy came strutting over, his eyes locked on Bree.

"My, my, my and what have we here? Now Starsky, where did you find this lovely lady? And why is she here with the likes of you?"

Bree took her first look at Huggy. While she didn't think he was particularly handsome, his deep brown eyes looked kind and inviting.

"Huggy, this is my sister, Breanna."

Huggy's jaw dropped open, but Bree was getting accustomed to surprised looks concerning her identity.

"Now Starsky, didn't anybody tell you that only us soul people can refer to just anybody as a "brother' or "sister'?" Huggy slid into the booth next to Bree. "Your wish today, is my pleasure, and I would treasure any chance to make you a repeat customer in my fine establishment."

Bree groaned inwardly at his obvious attempts at flirtation, but she did like Huggy's open, flamboyant nature and felt comfortable in his presence .

"Huggy," Starsky said dryly.

"Uh-hum?" Huggy still had his eyes glued on Bree.

Starsky took hold of Huggy's arm and squeezed it. "Huggy, she really is my sister."

Huggy's eyes opened wide. "Now you're pullin' my leg. There's no way something this beautiful can be related to you!"

Starsky sank back in his seat, feigning a hurt look. Huggy glanced at his reaction, then back at Bree. She smiled broadly at him, shaking her head affirmatively several times.

"So he's not lying! For real? You're his sister?"

"'Fraid so. Dave's parents adopted me when I was ten."

"Well I'd never of believed it unless I'd seen it with my own eyes; Curly's got himself a sister."

"Curly?" Bree glanced at David. "Oh, I get it! That's cute, Huggy."

"Yeah, just one of his many talents…colorful language." Starsky said sarcastically. "Which, speaking of talents, how about takin' our orders there, garçєon?"

"Your wish is my command," Huggy said smoothly, batting his eyes briefly. "And what does the Madame wish to have?"

"Well, what do you recommend?"

"Oh, don't ask him that, we'll be here all day." Starsky said with a groan. Turning to Bree, he asked, "You like burgers?" Instantly he felt embarrassed at not knowing his sister's preferences, but she ended up ordering the same burger plate he usually did. The only difference was that hers wasn't a double.

After Huggy left with their orders, Bree glanced around the place. It typified most bars, with a pool table off to one side, some pinball machines against another wall, and several tables set in the center, all nearly full with hungry patrons. Unlike the name would have implied, its appearance was decent and none of the clientele looked remotely shady. "This is a nice place." she told Starsky.

"Yeah, Huggy runs a decent joint here." Starsky suddenly felt a bit uneasy, not exactly sure how to proceed with their conversation. "So, you married?"

"No, I've stayed single. Seems to be less complicated that way. You?"

"Nah, came close once," Starsky said, thinking of Terri. It had been almost two years now, since she had died. "One of these days though."

"I know there's probably a lot you'd like to know, like what I've been doing for all these years." For the first time, Bree's tone turned serious.

"If you want to talk about it, sure." Before Bree could continue, Starsky added, "But I want you to know, that when I last saw you, I was still a kid. I should've thought about how leaving was gonna to affect you an' Nick." Hesitating briefly, he said, "Just sayin', if there's any blame here—"

"Davey, you didn't leave. Mom sent you away, you know that. Maybe things might've turned out different if you'd stayed, but to tell you the truth, when Pop was shot—" Noticing the two rings on his pinky finger, Bree thought she recognized the silver one and asked, "Is that Pop's signet ring?" When he nodded, she said, "I remember when he gave that to you."

Starsky slowly spun the ring on his finger with his right hand, feeling the engraved pattern. Bree remembered how he had always loved that ring. When he'd gotten it on his thirteenth birthday, the ring was too big for his finger, so he had worn it on a necklace. She was glad to see him actually wearing it now, knowing it served as a daily reminder of Pop's love. Softly continuing, Bree said, "When we lost him, Davey, that was it; our lives were never going to be the same. I'm not using it as an excuse, but just saying we had no control over it."

"You really sure about that? I mean, if I hadn't had this attitude of "just screw it, if that's how life's gonna be, then the world can kiss my ass...'" He didn't finish his sentence. As his demeanor changed, he brought an arm up and rested his chin on top of a clenched fist. "Maybe I could've gotten along better with Mom." he murmured , but there had been another reason for his rebelliousness. H e breathed out a sigh, and sat back in his seat. Clasping both hands together on the table, he said, "I haven't forgotten what happened when Dickie took me—" Bree gave him a look that could have burned through metal. Seeing her angry glare, he paused, then tried to continue. "That monster should've—"

"Don't! Don't say another word!" Bree's voice was tight, every word slicing through the stale air. "That belongs in the past, okay? Just let it go, Dave… let it go."

Starsky still felt the urge to explain, but Bree's reactions clearly indicated the matter was closed. He closed both eyes briefly, acknowledging her request with a smile, and then glanced out towards the bar.

Seeing his reaction, Bree said, "Davey, Mom told me something the other day. She said we can't change the past, that what's done is done and it's silly to waste your energy worrying about something you have no control over."

"Yeah, Mom's always right; I guess it doesn't do any good ." Starsky unclasped his hands. "Sorry I got off the subject—you were talking about what you've been up to?"

"Yeah," Bree said, collecting her thoughts. "I'm not sure what you know, but after you left it just didn't feel like home anymore. Nicky, he tried to look up to me, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. I guess you've seen him recently?" Starsky shook his head. "Yeah, well, can't really blame him for how he turned out. Hell, I wasn't much better. Started hanging out with anyone who'd take me in. Eventually I just wanted to go back home, but I thought Mom would slam the door in my face if I tried."

"Bree, you should've known she'd never have done that." Starsky reached over and held onto her hand.

"Yeah, but at that age you think you know everything, and boy did I ever! So, I found work here and there, finally got my GED. Now here I am, trying to pull my life together and see if I still have a family." Well, at least most of what I told him was the truth.

"Hey, you'll always have a family." Starsky squeezed her hand firmly.

"You mean as long as you or Mom are around." Bree wasn't holding her breath where Nicky was concerned.

"Well, don't count Nicky out. Who knows, maybe he'll be the one that keeps the family name going on."

Surprised David would say that, she asked, "What're you saying, that you don't think you'd ever start a family?" Yeah, like you might get shot tomorrow...

"No, I mean probably not anytime soon. I'd like to have kids, some day…with the right person." Starsky's thoughts drifted back to Terri again. If there had ever been someone he'd wanted children with, it was her.

"Sounds like you've got someone in mind, maybe?"

Starsky took a moment before answering. "There is…was. Long story. Maybe some other time?"

The sad look on his face told Bree that, whoever this woman was, she had been exceptionally close to his heart.

Replying softly, she said, "That's okay…when you're ready." Before Bree could launch into another topic, Huggy arrived at the table with their food.

"Here you go, two burgers a la Huggy! If you two don't need anything else, I have other customers demanding my presence."

"Nah, this is great, Hug. Thanks." Starsky wasted no time grabbing a handful of hot french fries off his plate.

"Davey? Do you like being a cop?" Bree knew the question was a little forward, but she couldn't think of any other way to ask.

Starsky was surprised at the sudden change of subject. Stuck for a moment with a mouthful of fries, he said, "Shur "a like bein' a "op." Gulping the warm mass down, he continued. "What brought that up?"

"I dunno, just seems like a dangerous job." Bree picked a solitary fry up off of her plate and held it suspended in front of her mouth.

"Well, it is, but not all the time. We do other stuff."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Catchin' bank robbers, serial killers, people stealing little ol' ladies' purses." Starsky winked and then started in on his hamburger.

"Oh, that's real funny. You've got a weird sense of humor, big brother."

Starsky flashed one of his crooked smiles. "Yeah, "suppose you're right. But I've got Hutch; he keeps me in one piece."

Oh, really? "Yeah, he seems like the type of guy that can take care of both of you and then some " Bree said, hoping to get a rise out of him.

"Hey! I taught him everything he knows! I've had to save his butt plenty of times. But yeah…he does a good job of watchin' my back."

His attitude softened as the last remark trailed off, and a faraway look settled in his eyes. Bree swore she could hear him thinking out loud. It surprised her how easily she could read him. Maybe those few short years we spent together were responsible, or could it be he just displays his emotions so easily?

Reclaiming his attention, Bree asked, "So, what if Ken—Hutch—hey, what should I call him?"

"Hutch is fine."

"Okay, Hutch. By the way, how come you don't call each other by your first names?" Bree was curious about this strange protocol between the two men.

Starsky thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. I guess it's just what we've always called ourselves. It's what all the instructors do at the police academy. Would just sound weird if we used our first names."

"I see. So anyway, what if Hutch quit for some reason? Would ya still keep being a cop?"

"Never really thought about it." Starsky knew that was a lie. He was sure both of them thought about the fragility of their partnership often. Not that it would end by their choosing, but most likely from one of numerous other possibilities, none of which were pleasant to think about. "Guess we just keep showin' up for work every day and seein' what happens."

"So, Ken likes to be called "Hutch.' What should I call you? I mean, "Davey's' not very macho, and I can't call you "Starsky.'" Bree made the last name sound like a childish nickname. Even if everyone else in his life called him that, there was no way she could.

Starsky gave her a quick smirk. "You call me whatever you like, as long as it's something appropriate in mixed company."

Bree had to chuckle. Her brother always did have a unique sense of humor. "Okay, maybe I'll try to stick with "Dave.' That doesn't sound too childish, huh?"

"'Dave' is fine, schweetheart."

Bree popped both eyes open. "Was that supposed to be Bogey? Sounded kinda lame if you ask me."

"It wasn't lame; I've been told I do a good impersonation of him."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't believe everything someone tells you, huh?"

Each looked at the other and broke out giggling. They spent the rest of the lunch hour getting reacquainted, talking about favorite foods, music, and what the partners liked doing in their spare time. After finishing their meals, Bree offered to pay, but Starsky refused. "You're the visiting team here, home team always pays." He pulled some bills from his wallet and stuffed the money under his plate. "By the way, where are you staying…or I should ask how long are you staying?"

"I got a room at the Holiday Inn. Wasn't sure of the reception I'd get, so I kept my options open."

"That mean no one's expecting ya back home?" Seeing Bree shake her head, he asked, "You got time off work?"

"Let's just say I'm in between jobs at the moment," Bree replied, hoping he wouldn't press her on the subject.

"Well, I'd hate for you to spend money on a hotel. Why not stay at my place?" he asked. "It's not the Ritz, but I've got hot running water and indoor plumbing."

"Oh, I couldn't put you out like that. It's okay, the hotel isn't that expensive." Bree actually hoped he would press her on this.

"No way. Think about what Mom would say if I didn't offer to put you up. C'mon, we'll go grab your stuff then head out to my place."

Bree quietly let out a deep breath. "Thanks bro'."

As they left Huggy's, both were still deeply engaged in conversation. On any other day, either Starsky or his partner might have noticed the immaculate Oldsmobile parked crookedly at the end of the lane, looking out of place among the other vehicles parked there, all junkers. But today, Starsky was oblivious to his surroundings, giving Bree his full attention. As they took off towards the motel, his concentration was focused on their plans for the evening, instead of the green sedan following indiscreetly behind the Torino.



"Hutchinson!!" Hutch was so thoroughly engrossed with his report from the drug bust that Captain Dobey's shout actually startled him. The man's size only added to his lung capacity, which afforded his voice the ability to occasionally be heard on adjoining floors.

"Yes, Captain?" Hutch had a good idea what his supervisor was about to ask, but it never hurt to play dumb.

"Where's your report from this morning?" Dobey took a quick glance around the squad room. "And where's that partner of yours!?"

"Well, ah, I'm still working on that, Capt'n, and uh, Starsky's at lunch," Hutch replied casually, hoping his lame response would go by unchallenged.

"Starsky's at lunch? It's almost two-thirty! Instead of making excuses for him, you should be grabbing him by the shirt collar and draggin' his butt in here to help you. Those reports should have been done hours ago!" Dobey shook a thick finger at the detective. "You've got one hour to get that paperwork on my desk. Everyone else is done with theirs, so I suggest you either start typing faster, or get that freeloading partner in here now!"

"Well, we did do most of the work on this case." Hutch raised beseeching eyes to Dobey, seeking a reprieve.

Ignoring the gesture, Dobey said, "Look, don't tell me something I already know—One hour!" Storming back into his office, Dobey slammed the door behind him.

Hutch knew he'd need some help meeting the deadline. He picked up the phone and called dispatch asking them to patch him through to Starsky.

"So Dobey's blowing a gasket, huh?" Starsky was using the Motorola's mike in the Torino.

"Yeah, I think he's serious. How quick can you get back here?"

"Just pulling into my driveway to drop off Bree. About fifteen minutes?"

"Make it five and I'll buy dinner tonight." Hutch glanced up at the clock in the squad room; his hour was going by quickly.

"Okay, but I don't wanna hear any complaints about my driving."

"Just get back here as soon as you can, and don't cause any accidents either!" Hutch hung up the phone and went back to his two-fingered typing.

After parking in front of his apartment, Starsky took Bree's luggage inside and gave her a quick tour of his place. "Just make yourself at home, okay? Shouldn't take me too long to finish up at the precinct. If the phone rings, answer it; it might be me." Starsky had been a cop long enough to know he could never guarantee someone when he'd be off work.

"No problem. I'll see you when you get back." She followed him outside to the landing where he gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. He then bounded down the stairs, and jumped into the Torino.

As the Ford peeled out of the driveway and left, the green Oldsmobile parked across the street remained. The two observers sitting inside waited another ten minutes, then started up the sedan and slowly drove away.

"Well, that didn't take too long." Suko said, relieved. "I was startin' to get hungry."

"Yeah, at least we know where this one lives," Lapentz replied, glad to be moving again. Like his partner, he was getting hungry and was tired of sitting in the car. "I think you're right about the chick, she must be his girlfriend."

"No, I don't think so."

"What's changed your mind?"

"If she was his girlfriend, why was she stayin' at the motel? And did ya notice how he acted before he took off? He didn't kiss her like a lover, more like—a sister!" Suko knew he had something.

"Well, isn't that nice to know?" Lapentz leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a smile of satisfaction.

"Yeah, exactly."



Starsky slid the Torino, locking all four brakes, the last few feet before coming to a stop in an open parking space. Hopping out of the car, he jogged up the steps into the precinct and made his way to the fifth floor.

Seeing his partner busting through the squad room door was a welcome sight for Hutch, but it had taken Starsky over ten minutes to arrive.

"Buddy, I'm glad to see ya, but my dinner offer was based on you getting here in five minutes. Sorry, but you didn't make it."

"What?" Starsky glanced up at the clock, seeing what he wanted to, but knowing his partner was right. "I made it here in plenty of time! You're not welshin' out of your bet, Hutch."

Convinced he'd lose the extra manpower if he pressed the issue, Hutch conceded. "Okay, fine. Just help me get these reports done so Dobey doesn't come back out here again."

"He a little pissed?"

"Yeah, that's putting it mildly. How'd your lunch go?"

"Great! Ya know, she was probably the last person I ever expected to see again. I stopped askin' Mom about her years ago. Could tell it was a sore subject." Starsky settled into his seat and fed a form into the typewriter. "I've always thought about her…where she was, what she was doin'. It feels good having her around again—you can never have too much family." Starsky glanced over at Hutch, hoping to convey he considered him in the same respect.

Hutch returned his partner's look. Yeah, buddy, you deserve another sibling. God only knows that brother of yours doesn't deserve your love, or your respect. I hope Bree is different. "I'm happy for you, buddy. Any idea where we're going tonight?"

"Oh shit! I didn't ask her what she felt like eating. I could call her."

"No, just hold off. We gotta get this stuff done first."

"Yeah, you're right." Starsky's dejected tone mirrored his opinion of paperwork. Looking at the paper in the typewriter, he said, "Ya think I could just say "I came, I saw, I kicked ass, took names, threw some people in jail,' and call it good?" He eagerly glanced over at Hutch, awaiting his response.

Rolling his eyes, Hutch flatly said, "Starsky—just type."



It took until four o'clock before both detectives were finished with their reports. Dobey had briefly growled at them when the sheets were laid in his inbox, but his anger had subsided substantially from an hour ago. The two quickly hurried out of the office, heading straight for the parking lot. Once back at the Torino, they could sign themselves out for the day.

"Zebra 3 to control." Hutch had the mike clutched in his hand.

"Zebra 3 go ahead."

"Show us 10-10, 10-42 for the day."

"Roger Zebra 3. Have a good night."

"Turn that damned thing off. I don't even wanna know about any calls between here and home," Starsky said. He'd lost count of all the times last minute calls had ruined a planned evening. To make his point, he gunned the Ford out of the lot and onto the boulevard.

"So what time do you want me to drop by?" Hutch asked. How much time do I have to relax before coming over?

"I don't know, maybe seven?" Not sure when she eats dinner, could be early, could be late. "By the way, if she don't got a preference, where do you wanna eat?"

"Doesn't matter. We could be gentlemen and just let her choose." As long as her taste in food doesn't match yours, I'll be thrilled.

"What if she likes weird food?" I don't think I could sit there and eat something I can't identify.

"Ah, c'mon Starsky. A little culture would do you good." You know, there are different food groups out there, besides donuts and pizza.

"Hey, I'm all for culture." Just so long as it doesn't crawl around in my plate and tastes better with ketchup on it.

"Well, I suppose we'll find out." Bree, please don't be let me live to regret this.

When the Torino pulled up in front of Venice Place, Hutch got out and closed the car door. Sticking his head back inside, he said, "I'll be over about six-thirty. Sound okay?"

"Sure. And Hutch? Keep your paws off my sister tonight." Although Starsky's tone was light, there was a thread of seriousness woven into his words.

"Hey, buddy, she's a big girl!" With that Hutch turned quickly away, hiding the smile he had on his face.

"Hutch!" Starsky yelled as loud as he could. "I mean it!"

Hutch halfway turned back around, raising one arm up over his head, and giving his partner a quick flick of his hand. Yeah, I got you buddy. Starsky shot him a villainous look and stomped on the accelerator.



Bree was glad to have some time to browse around her brother's apartment. She wasn't a snoop, but knew she could learn volumes about someone by seeing what things they chose to possess, and what they displayed out in the open.

After Dave left, Bree had unpacked her things and settled into the bedroom. If she had known her brother's place contained only one bed, she would have insisted on staying at the motel. Though he had been adamant, she felt bad about him sleeping on the couch. Rachel was right—his heart was as big as the ocean. Looking around the bedroom and then strolling out to the living room, Bree took in all the things that made up David's life. The unfinished two-foot model of a clipper ship sitting beside a bookcase drew her attention. The amount of detail in the rigging and sails amazed her, and she wondered how anyone could have the patience to do such intricate work.

The pictures near the top of the bookcase also caught her eye, especially one of a woman who resembled Bree in some ways, namely how her hair was cut, and the upturned nose. Standing out among the pictures of Hutch, Rachel and Nicky, this was the only one of a young woman. Bree thought back to their conversation at Huggy's and wondered if this was the one David didn't want to talk about. If they had broken up, then why keep her picture around? Was her brother one to carry a torch? She didn't think so. Oh, of course. The look on David's face said it all. She must have died. Staring into Terri's picture, Bree sensed the heartbreak clearly. She put the frame back on the shelf, but not until hearing a voice inside her head…'Take care of him.' Although not surprised she was hearing strange voices, she was taken aback at how clearly the message sounded.

As she had gotten older, Bree realized she had a special talent. Many times, when her mind was clear, she could hear quiet mumblings of voices. Usually the words were indistinct and hard to understand, as if listening to a conversation from another room. Occasionally, out in public, she could swear she was seeing what appeared to be cloudy halos around certain people. Sometimes the opaque mists were colorful, other times just a bluish haze.

Once, while standing in line at the grocery store, a middle-aged woman was in front of her. Although Bree could see her mouth wasn't moving, she distinctly heard a female voice say, "Tell her Maddy is well and the ring is under the dresser.' Since there was no one behind her, and this woman was the only other female in line, Bree thought she'd take a chance.

"Excuse me, but did you just say something?" Bree asked her.

"No, I didn't." The woman seemed a bit surprised.

"Uh, is your name "Maddy' by any chance?"

The woman looked as if she had seen a ghost. "Maddy? Maddy's my sister—do I know you?"

"No…" Bree didn't know if testing her theory was such a good idea. "I just thought I heard a woman talking, calling herself Maddy." Bree felt a little stupid, but since she was a stranger to this woman, the worst Bree could expect was that the woman would think she was nuts. Deciding to commit herself, she said, "Please don't think I'm crazy, but I just heard a woman tell me her name was Maddy and she said "the ring is under the dresser.' I'm wondering if that means anything to you."

Tears began to well up in the woman's eyes, but then her expression changed into more of a beseeching look. "Maddy was my sister. She died two months ago." Oh, that's just great Bree, you just ruined her day—dumb ass! "You said something about a ring being under a dresser?"

Sheepishly, Bree answered, "Yeah, that's what I heard…I'm sorry, it's just that…"

The woman cut Bree off before she could finish. "No! That's really what you heard? My goodness, I've got to get home—I've been looking for that ring for a month! It's the only thing I have left from her and she loved that ring. I had it on a necklace because it's too little for me to wear, but it slipped off my neck somewhere at home. My word, I've looked everywhere except underneath my dresser!"

A half hour after leaving the grocery store, Bree got a phone call at her house. It was Maddy's sister. She had gotten Bree's phone number before going home, and was calling to say she had found the ring right where Bree said it would be. After that encounter, Bree didn't test her theories anymore. If dead people wanted to relay messages to their loved ones, she decided, they'd have to find someone else to do it. But she still viewed her talent as a unique gift, just one she chose not to share.

Looking back at the woman's picture in Dave's apartment, Bree ran her fingers around the decorative frame, feeling its etched design. She wanted to hear more from this particular spirit. So, who are you? What's your name? Bree tried hard to listen, but there was no reply. C'mon, I heard you. My name's Bree. I'm David's sister…I love him too. Still nothing. Hey! I didn't call you, you called me! Silence. Great—when I want this thing to work, it doesn't.

Giving up, Bree turned away from the bookcase and started walking to another part of the room. "Tell him to be careful." Bree spun around, convinced she would see the person standing right behind her—the voice had been that real. Seeing no one, she yelled, "Who are you?" Nothing. Great! "Hey bro', ya know you got dead people around the house?" Okay, if you don't want to talk to me, fine! Bree felt her attitude change. Yeah, all right. I'll tell him, but a little more information would be nice!

Feeling a bit skittish now, Bree turned the TV on so she could be sure of the origins of any more voices she heard.



An hour later, Bree heard footsteps coming up the stairs and then the front door opening.

"Hey, it's me!" Starsky sounded glad to be home.

"Hi, me."

Seeing Bree lying on the couch, wrapped in a bluish-green knitted afghan and looking very comfortable, Starsky asked, "Been doin' okay? You warm enough?"

"Oh sure, just stretching out a bit. You know, this couch is really comfortable. You sure you want to give up your bed? I could easily sack out on this."

"Nope. Visiting team gets the bed." Starsky slipped his leather jacket off and hung it on the coat rack by the door. "Thought about what you'd like to eat for dinner tonight?"
As Bree sat up and glanced over at her brother, she noticed the shoulder holster strapped to his chest. Earlier, when she'd hugged him, she had felt the hard form underneath his jacket. Seeing the weapon now, she felt an unease flare-up in her stomach. She knew David could take care of himself; she just hated seeing the gun. I don't know how you can do this job, Davey. I've missed seeing you for so long, damn it! I couldn't take it if I lost you now.

"Hey, Bree? Did ya hear me?"

"Huh?"

"I said, where'd ya like to go eat tonight?"

"Oh, I don't really have a preference. Where do you guys usually go out?" Bree could eat just about anything. Just as long as it doesn't crawl around my plate and tastes better with ketchup on it.

"Well, mostly Hutch and I like Italian or Chinese. We're pretty flexible though," Starsky answered, hoping one of those choices would appeal to her.
"Italian sounds good."

"Yeah? Okay, Italian it is." Having rid himself of the jacket and holster, Starsky unbuttoned his blue cotton shirt halfway and pulled it out of his pants. As he walked over to the couch, Bree folded her legs up from under the afghan creating an area big enough for him to plop down. "What ya watchin'?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing really. Just wanted some background noise." Yeah bro', because you got some awful noisy ghosts around here. "Anything exciting happen at work?"

"No. Just a lot of paperwork. We handled a pretty good drug bust this morning. Took a lot of cocaine off the streets."

"Wow, really? Sounds exciting." Bree hoped her faked enthusiasm wasn't noticeable. She was proud of her brother, but didn't like the constant reminders of his hazardous profession. Still, his tone of voice hadn't sounded very enthused. Reaching over to run a finger through a curled lock of hair on his forehead, Bree noticed he looked more tired than before. "You look kinda beat. You feelin' okay?"

Starsky already had his head leaned back on the couch, and both eyes closed, but with a contented smile on his face. "No, I'm fine. Just been up since blondie woke me at five this morning."

Blondie? Oh duh, Hutch. "You've been up since five?" Bree swung her hand out and sharply clipped the side of his shoulder.

The action brought his upper body off of the cushion. "Ow! What'd ya do that for?"

"Sorry." She had really wanted to smack him upside his head. "Why didn't you tell me you'd been up since dawn? Here you are taking me out and you're exhausted!"

"I'm not exhausted! And I'll have you know, I don't do anything I don't want to." Starsky's voice lowered, becoming more soothing. "I'm a big boy now, and I want to go out with you and my partner tonight and have as much fun as I can possibly stand…so there!"

Bree still felt like a jerk. "Okay, since you put it that way. I hope you're just not doing this on my account."

"Of course I'm doing this for you." Starsky reached over and playfully grasped Bree's nose between his middle and index fingers, gently shaking it back and forth. "Haven't seen that cute little face of yours in a very, very long time." Guiding the same hand over to the side of her face, he cupped her cheek and jaw. Bree turned her head slightly and gave the palm a quick peck. Gazing through half-opened lids, Starsky murmured, "'S good to see you again, sis—it's been a long time."

"Right back at cha, bro'."



CHAPTER 3


"Bring on the wonder, bring on the song,
I've pushed you down deep in my soul for too long" Susan Enan



When Hutch arrived at Starsky's, he knocked on the front door, expecting an immediate answer. When none came, he knocked a little harder, but still got no response. Trying the doorknob, he found it unlocked. Keeping his other hand on the Colt revolver underneath his jacket, he quietly rotated the handle and pushed the door open.

Scanning the living room, he noticed the television was on, but there were no other signs of activity. Taking a few exploratory steps into the apartment, Hutch noticed two figures lying on the couch—sound asleep. Bree was on her back, stretched out along the full length of the mattress, her slumbering head propped up and tucked into one cushioned corner. Starsky was lying halfway on top of her, concealing what the afghan couldn't of her upper body. His back lay against her front, the head of soft curls resting on her chest. Her upper arms cradled his neck and her forearms rested underneath his with both hands clasped together on top of his stomach.

Deciding against waking either up while he was standing over them, Hutch walked back to the entrance and stepped outside, partially closing the door behind him. Knocking louder this time and announcing himself, he reentered the living room—and watched the sleepy twosome shake the cobwebs out of their heads.

"Oh shit, what time is it?" Starsky asked, trying to rise up off the couch without jabbing Bree in the process.

"It's only six-thirty. You guys look real cute together," Hutch said, choking back a giggle.

"Did I fall asleep?" Bree realized her brother had been lying on top of her and wondered what Hutch might have thought about their compromising position.

"Yeah, we both did." Starsky buttoned up the rest of shirt and tucked it back inside of his pants. Turning to Hutch, he asked, "Wanna beer before we go?"

"Sure. You go ahead and finish getting…dressed. I can help myself."

Starsky bristled at Hutch's inference, responding with a dirty stare. Bree took the chance to excuse herself and headed to the bathroom, worried how her appearance was going to look in the mirror.

After retrieving a beer from the refrigerator, Hutch came back into the living room and watched his partner strapping his holster on. "You decide where we're going to eat?"

"Yeah. Bree said she'd like some Italian; that sound okay?" Slipping into his jacket, Starsky avoided eye contact.

Hutch noticed his partner's unease and didn't want it continuing through dinner. With Bree still out of earshot, he moved closer to Starsky and waited until his partner's eyes met his. "Hey, I was just joking. If I said something wrong, I didn't mean it."

"She's my sister, Hutch." Starsky's voice was quiet, but the hurt showed. "Maybe I knew you were just kiddin', but what about how she probably took it? Huh? Did ya think about that?"

"Okay, okay…point taken. I'm sorry. I promise to be a good boy for the rest of the evening." The softer look emanating from Starsky's eyes told Hutch he was sliding back into his partner's good graces. "I'll even throw in dessert. Am I forgiven?"

"Hardly." Starsky flashed a quick grin. "But it's a start."



After enjoying piles of linguini and fettuccine alfredo at a neighboring restaurant, the trio headed out to "Fever,' a local discotheque. As she strolled into the club, flanked by two handsome men, Bree felt in girl heaven—the envious stares from other female patrons were hard to miss. Hearing the pulsating music, she immediately fell into the party atmosphere, and asked her brother for the first dance.

Bree was impressed by his dancing ability, but remembering Hutch's earlier comment, she felt awkward paired up with him. When Hutch asked her to dance on the next song, Bree gladly accepted. They stayed partners for the rest of the evening. It proved favorable as Starsky's attention was soon captured by a lively brunette wearing red hot pants and a revealing spaghetti strap top. And while Hutch's dancing skills lagged behind his partner's, Bree found him to be a quick learner. She soon had him performing The Bump and The Electric Slide flawlessly.

She added this to the list of things she admired about Hutch, along with his good looks and charm. But above all, she loved the idea of him being her brother's protector—someone who would risk his life to save Starsky's. She had to adore a man willing to do that.

Hutch had similarly been drawn to Bree. From the moment he saw her at the precinct, instinct told him she possessed more than pretty features and a sweet sensuality. Now having felt her smooth curves on the dance floor, he was beginning to crave a more intimate setting where he could be alone with her. Hutch wondered if she held the same desire.

After a few hours spent at the club, all three were looking for quieter options. When Bree excused herself to visit the ladies' room, Hutch pulled his partner over.

"Hey, Starsk, you think I could get in some time alone with Bree before calling it a night? I promise, no pawing." Hutch was longing for a chance just to get to know Bree better, but he needed Starsky's blessing. While thoughts of more personal contact than dancing played in his mind, he had no intention of getting too fresh; the payback from big brother would be hell.

"Hutch, who do you think you're talkin' to? She's my sister…I've gotta protect her from potential gropers." Starsky knew Hutch would never take advantage of any woman. Still, while his resolve about certain things could be swayed after a few drinks, this wasn't going to be one of them.

"Hey! I'm not asking to sleep with her, just spend some time. C'mon partner. Don't you trust me?"

"Sure I trust you. With me, not her." Starsky examined the pleading look in Hutch's face. He had watched the pair all evening, especially since they'd been at the club, and could see Bree was attracted to his partner. "Okay I give—but—she gives you any sign she's not comfortable, you'd better notice it, and fast!" He pointed a finger at Hutch's face, then jabbed it lightly into his chest.

"Sure, buddy." Hutch grabbed Starsky's arm and gave it a quick squeeze.

When Bree returned, the two partners strolled up to her. Putting an arm around her shoulders, Starsky asked, "Hey sis, you got anymore energy left in ya?"

"Sure! What ya got in mind?" she said eagerly. So far she was having fun and was prepared to go as long as the guys wanted to.

"Well, I've got stuff to do before goin' back to work tomorrow. Boring stuff." He paused, noting the disappointment on her face. "But the ocean's nice to see at night, especially when the moon's out, and I bet Hutch here would love to show ya…that is, if you want to go." Starsky emphasized the last few words. Bree needed to know she could decline if she wanted to.

Bree saw right away it was a charade, but she wasn't going to let on. "Sure, that'd be great! I've never seen the Pacific Ocean before." It sounded like the perfect way to end the night, and she hoped she knew which one had come up with the idea.

"Well, I guess that's that." When Hutch flashed a satisfied grin over at Starsky, Bree had her answer.

"Okay, we'll stop at the apartment so Hutch can drop me off and then take you down to the beach." Looking sternly at the blond, Starsky asked, "Just how long do you think you'll be gone?"

"Oh, about an hour?" An hour Starsky, c'mon! I promise it won't be longer.

"Okay." Turning back to Bree, Starsky added, "I don't trust "im with my car for that long."

"Starsky, I don't even like your car!" griped Hutch.

"That's what I'm talkin' about! You'd probably strip it for parts and leave it abandoned in some junkyard."

"Well, it should fit right in…"

"Oh, knock it off! You two ready to blow this joint?" huffed Starsky.

Slipping in between the two men, Bree linked her arms with theirs. Steering them towards the front door, she said, "C'mon, boys. This gal wants to hit the beach."



The trio piled into the Torino and headed to Starsky's apartment. Once there, he relinquished the driver's seat to Hutch, giving him one last "you'd better keep your hands where they belong' look. Hutch returned the glare with a coy smile, and backed the Torino out of the driveway. Starsky wasn't sure if he had seen Bree sliding closer towards Hutch on the seat or not, but decided to let it go. Standing in the driveway for a few moments, he watched the Torino until it drove down the hill and was out of sight, then climbed the stairs to his apartment

A few houses away, the green Oldsmobile sat parked in the shadows with two figures sitting inside. Waiting.

"Oh, this is just too perfect," Suko said, from his spot behind the driver's wheel. "Where the hell is Vinetti? He was supposed to be here an hour ago!" Suko strongly believed in the power of numbers, and three was always better than two when their victims were capable of putting up a decent fight.

"I dunno, but this would be an easy snatch right now." Lapentz was getting itchy, also wondering about their third cohort. "Vinetti's never been late before…maybe something's happened."

"If he ain't here in fifteen minutes, we're going in." Suko said, tersely. "I'm not lettin' this opportunity go by."

At that moment, another sedan appeared on the road, driving slowly. It passed them, pulled over to the curb and parked. A lone figure got out and quickly walked back to the Oldsmobile.

Suko recognized Lou Vinetti immediately, mainly from his enormous barrel-shaped frame and the fact the man had no neck. As soon as the other manwas within earshot, Suko growled, "Where the hell you been!? You should've had your butt down here an hour ago!"

"Oh kiss my ass, Suko." Vinetti snarled, unfazed by the reception. He had worked with the driver for a long time, and knew Suko got anxious on jobs like this—his craving for hurting people was like an addiction, and clearly he hadn't had a fix in a long time. "Been a change in plans," he added, his voice tinged with reluctance.

"What the fuck?! We're all set here! That son of a bitch is up in his apartment right now, and all by himself! This better be good, Vinetti, damn good!"

"Well, if you'd shut that mouth of yours, I'd tell ya. That greasy snitch slipped outta Tony's hands and now they can't find 'im."

"Oh, you've gotta be shittin' me! What's up with that jamoke brother of yours? He can't seem to do anything fuckin' right!" Suko detested Vinetti's younger sibling—the kid was lazy and had been snorting way too much coke lately, making his job performance grow progressively worse.

"Tony's my problem, okay? I'll have a talk with him later…get his ass straightened out."

"You'd better have more than a "talk'; no way Rothman's gonna let him off this time."

"Rothman don't have to know shit. That's why I'm here." Quietly, Vinetti added, "I need your help to go grab the snitch."

"Are you serious? What kind of dumb fuck you think I am? My job's sittin' up there in his apartment right now, probably wonderin' why I ain't up there grabbin' him. You're a real piece of shit, Vinetti!"

"Look! Just come help me find this turkey so's we can be done with him. Then I promise, we'll come back here and grab this asshole, too."

Suko took a deep breath, then said, "I tell you what, Lou. I'm gonna do you this one favor. But you know what, you motherfucker? I'm gonna be taking it out on your brother! His ass is mine tonight!"

"Yeah, yeah sure. Kid probably needs a good beatin'. C'mon, follow me down to 5th and Harding. We think he's just hidin' in one of the abandoned buildings down there." With that, Vinetti walked back to his car and got in.

Suko turned to Lapentz, making no attempt to hide the look of anger on his face.

"Tony sure knows how to fuck things up," Lapentz grumbled .

"Yeah, well I look at it this way. Beatin' up that son of a bitch tonight is gonna feel real good." Suko took one more look at the lighted windows of the cop's apartment. "Guess we'll have to come back tomorrow and hit this again. Shit! Never seems to fail—perfect time and place, all for nothin'!"

"We ain't comin' back tonight?" Lapentz asked.

"No. By the time we find that snitch and get rid of him, I'm sure this asshole's company will be back. Besides, I don't want to feel rushed once I get my hands on Tony."

"Yeah, I might want to take out a few frustrations on him too."



Hutch pulled the Torino into theempty parking lot and selected a spot that faced out to the ocean. The nearly full moon was high in the sky, reflecting a glimmering white line that stretched out to the horizon, slightly broken by the cresting waves. The lapping of seawater curling onto the beach could be heard off in the distance. Bree thought it was one of the most beautiful sights she had ever seen.

"Care to take a walk?" Hutch softly asked. His right arm reached around her shoulders and cradled her body up against his. She folded her arms, cuddling her stomach. Nudging her head in towards his neck, she used his shoulder as a pillow. Hutch breathed in her sweet smell. He folded his arm and began to delicately comb his fingers through her hair, gently placing it behind her ear while stroking her head with each pass. He then leaned forward, turning his head towards hers. Bree returned his gaze, her eyes glistening in the available light. Her arms climbed slowly upwards until they found and encircled his neck.

Pausing for a second, Hutch brought his hand up to the side of her face, then slid it gently towards the back of her neck. Bree signaled her permission by slowly shutting her eyes. Closing his, he moved slowly towards her and parted his lips. The warmth of her soft mouth melding together with his was tantalizing. Her response felt tender, imploring a delicate touch. After a few moments, Hutch brought his hand down towards her breast, delicately brushing his palm over her nipple. Bree's back arched slightly and her arms began to slowly travel from his shoulders downward along his chest.

"Bree." Hutch pulled back from her and sat back against the driver's seat. The blood pounding through his head, and other parts of his anatomy, needed a few seconds to expend its force. He wanted to explore her more, but thoughts of a certain curly brunet's warning streaked through his mind . While not saying anything, Bree seemed to understand as she placed her hand on his thigh and squeezed. Had they gone further, Hutch could have never gotten back inside the Torino with Starsky again.

"Are you okay?" Bree asked. She hadn't intended for their passion to explode so quickly, but there was no doubt the attraction was mutual.

Taking a deep breath, Hutch said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Bree, I'm sorry. It's not you, you're amazing, but—"

"I know. David's my brother, and you're his partner. Maybe this isn't the right time and place." Unsure of her own sincerity, Bree glanced out through the windshield; the moonlight was still dancing tantalizingly on the ocean waves. "Didn't you say something about talking a walk?"

Hutch gave her a quick kiss on the forehead, then stepped out of the car, holding the door open until she scooted out. They walked slowly along the beach, holding each other's hands. Bree stopped and slipped her shoes off—she liked the way the soft sand grains tickled her feet. Hutch asked about her childhood, curious to know how she had ended up adopted by Starsky's parents.

"Well, I didn't have what you could call a "functional' family. I never knew my Dad—I mean, I kinda remember him, but he left when I was nine. My Mom, she didn't have any job skills. The only thing she could do was…well, entertain men."

Bree didn't want to elaborate—her childhood memories were always painful. Being adopted by Rachel had eased the hurt, but she was forever tied to her early years. Glancing at Hutch, she was relieved to see him give her an understanding smile.

"Anyway, wasn't too long before she started drinking and taking any drug she could find. Most nights, she never made it home, and I'd just sit there waiting—and hungry. I went to school, only so I could get something to eat." She paused, allowing more pleasant memories to come back. "David and I were in the same class. He was the only one that would even talk to me. The other kids made fun, mostly of my clothes. I only had just a couple of things to wear. Then one day, he brought me to his house…" Bree laughed a little "…kinda like a found puppy. Rachel took one look at me and threw me in the bathtub. She scrubbed me so hard, trying to get all the dirt off. I remember when Pop came home that night, Rachel told him there was no way in hell she was gonna let me go back home. Guess they didn't have a hard time convincing the court I was better off with them. Anyway, that's about it."

"So what made you leave home, when you got older? I know Rachel sent Starsky out here when he was fourteen. He told me today that you left when you were about the same age."

"Stupidity. After Pop got shot, it just seemed like everything went to hell. I'd already had my share of that, so I went lookin' for something better. Turned out, what I found was even worse, but by then it just didn't matter. Took a long time before I figured things out. That's why I'm here. I had to see David—tell him what a jerk I've been."

Hutch walked on , stunned by Bree's revelation. He knew Starsky's life story, and had never understood how someone dealt with a life devoid of security—how a kid handled being made to move cross country to live with relatives, when his own family was still mostly intact. Hearing Bree's story really made his head spin.

Bree was surprised at his demeanor. Surely he'd heard similar tales while working as a cop. She wondered how much of her brother's story Hutch really knew. From his reaction so far, Bree didn't think he knew all the family secrets. Either David hadn't told him, or figured Hutch didn't need to know. Either way, it was understandable. Until recently, Bree hadn't dwelt much on the past, except for one particular memory.

With their hour ending, the two walked back to the Torino. Hutch was the first to notice the police car speeding into the parking lot. Bree clamped hard onto his hand, feeling a rush of panic. As the vehicle braked hard and stopped beside the Ford, an officer got out and trotted over to the couple. Bree's throat tightened as she feared this intrusion meant something terrible had occurred to David.

"Sergeant Hutchinson?" the officer asked.

"Yeah, what's going on?" Hutch's voice was tight.

"Sergeant Starsky asked us to try and locate you about half an hour ago. Sorry it took us so long, but he needs you to come back to his apartment immediately. There's been a call concerning…" the officer stopped, looking at Bree, and noticeably changed his delivery, "…police business."

Hutch instantly knew his night was far from being over. "Okay, let him know I'm on my way."

Bree eased her grip on Hutch, relieved the news didn't involve David, but couldn't understand why someone already on duty couldn't handle the call. Once in the car, Hutch offered a sketchy explanation.

"Unfortunately, this is our job . Whatever happened had to be important; there's no way Starsky would agree to come back on duty otherwise."

That eased Bree's mind a little—she had been thinking the two detectives were on twenty-four hour call. "Guess the phrase "fulltime job' has to take on a new meaning with you," she said. Hutch smiled contritely at her and, with that, Bree settled her head on his shoulder as he drove back to the apartment.

When they arrived, Starsky filled his partner in on the call he had received from the precinct. "Doesn't sound good, Hutch. Someone called in about hearing gunshots over by the warehouses on Harding. They found Ronny Malcolm dead. Shot once in the back, three times in the head."

"Who's Ronny Malcolm?" Bree asked.

"He was our snitch on the drug bust earlier today." Looking at Hutch, Starsky added, "Sounds like he was executed by professionals. I told the Lieutenant we'd go over to the scene as soon as I could round you up. Sorry, Bree, but we're going to have to go. Think you'll be okay here?"

Sure, Davey. Me and the ghosts, we'll have a great time. "Yeah, don't worry about me. I'll be fine—you go and do your thing."

Turning to Hutch, Starsky asked if he was ready. Hutch nodded and started towards the door. Looking at Bree, Starsky said, "Hey, make sure you lock this door when we leave, okay? And don't answer it for anyone except me."

Her brother's intense tone made Bree feel a little apprehensive, but she said firmly, "Hey, I might be your sister, but I'm not an idiot." She got a weak smile out of him, just before the two partners headed out the door. Well, bro', what are you not telling me? And is it going to come knocking at the door when you're not here?

The apartment grew very quiet. Bree turned on the television, the only thing at hand to chase the silence away. She walked over to the bookcase, and glanced at the girl's picture again. She picked it up off the shelf and held it to her chest. Trying to free her mind, yet concentrate at the same time, Bree begged for anything to come to her. She walked to the couch and sat down, gently rocking back and forth. C'mon, I know you know something. Tell me! He's my brother; I need to know. Please, he can't hear you, but I can. I can't help unless you tell me!

Tuning out the television, Bree let her mind empty. This was always the hardest part. Knowing something could come at any time, but trying to convince her psyche it wasn't going to. Her thoughts finally stilled, floating in mental silence.

"He's going to need you. Like he did before.'

Bree shot up off the couch, dropping the picture on the floor, breaking the glass. She quickly glanced all around the living room, convinced someone had to be standing right there. She should have been thinking how she was going to explain the broken picture to David. What terrified her, though, was how the voice had known about her past.



Starsky and Hutch walked wearily into the squad room. It was almost one o'clock and both had been out at the murder scene for almost an hour. The night Lieutenant noticed them come in and walked out of his office to join them.

"Well, boys, what's the verdict?" Lieutenant Greer was used to seeing tired officers on the night shift, but these two looked as if they had been up for days.

" Definitely a professional hit. Someone must've figured Malcolm tipped us off about the shipment. What we can't figure out is who and how—puts a gigantic kink in our case against Rothman," Starsky said, exhaustion etched deeply in his face. "Without Malcolm's testimony, we're completely dead in the water."

Starsky looked up at the clock; in just four short hours, he and Hutch would have been up for twenty-four hours straight.

His action didn't escape Greer. "Look, you two have been working on this damn case since yesterday morning. Go home. I'll fill Dobey in when he comes on duty. I'm also going to tell him I told you guys not to be back here until ten o'clock. So get your asses out of here. That's an order!"

"Thanks, Lieutenant," they answered almost simultaneously.

"Well, he's right. Not much more we can do tonight anyway." Hutch looked over at his partner, not sure whether he heard him or not. "Starsk? You ready?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm comin'."

Starsky drove them to his apartment, neither saying very much, each thinking about the case. After the Torino came to a stop in the driveway, Hutch got in his car and took off for home, barely saying goodnight.

Starsky climbed the stairs and unlocked the front door, announcing himself as he entered. Bree was still awake on the couch, watching an old black and white movie, but she glanced over at him. Seeing him so tired worried her.

"Hey, sorry it took me so long to get back home. Were you okay here by yourself?" he asked.

"Yeah, everything's been fine." Bree decided the news about the picture could wait until tomorrow. "David, you look like hell. There's no way I'm letting you sleep on the couch." He seemed about to object, but Bree cut him off before the first word left his mouth. "No, don't even think about it. I'm not the one who's been up for twenty-four hours. You're sleeping in your own bed tonight and that's that. If you don't, I'm calling a cab and going back to the motel. Capisce?"

Starsky was too tired to argue with her. He walked over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Thanks, I think. You can change your mind at any time."

"Forget it! Go to bed, and good night." After turning the television volume down, Bree settled back on the couch, pulling the afghan over her and fluffing the one pillow she had grabbed from David's bed. Snuggling under the covers, she watched the love scene playing out on the screen. She thought back to what had occurred earlier that night in the Torino, smiling at the warm memories.



Bree woke up at eight o'clock. Not sure what time David planned to go back to work, she nonetheless set about quietly fixing breakfast. If she knew her brother, the smell of cooking would have him in the kitchen long before anything she fixed had turned cold.

By eight-thirty, the aroma of frying bacon and coffee brewing had seeped into the bedroom, attacking Starsky's senses and waking up his stomach.

Bree couldn't help but giggle at his appearance when he emerged from the bedroom like a bear coming out of hibernation. She could only hope he had gotten some quality sleep.

"Boy, whatever you're cookin' up there, sis, sure smells good," Starsky said, running both hands over his face and through the tangled mess of curls on top of his head.

"Hey, good mornin', sunshine." Bree was already pouring him a cup of coffee. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Yeah, I was out as soon as my head touched the pillow." Starsky tried to pick up a piece of bacon still sizzling in the frying pan, but Bree whacked his hand before he could grab it.

"Hey, hand's off! It's not done yet. You still look exhausted—I hope I didn't wake you up too soon."

"No, this is fine" he said, taking a sip of coffee. "I'm glad you did get up. Gives me enough time to eat and get dressed without having to run around like crazy."

"That's good." Bree took the frying pan off the stove and slid the bacon and fried eggs into a serving plate. Bringing it to the table, she casually asked, "I was wondering, you think you might be able to come home for lunch?"

"Yeah, probably. Wouldn't you rather go out with Hutch and me?"

"Sure, but there's something I'd like to talk to you about…something I'd rather not say in front of Hutch."

The last sentence got Starsky's attention. "Something happen last night between you two?"

"Huh? No! Nothing happened last night." Bree sensed the protective brother attitude kicking in. Seeing a doubtful look on his face, she reiterated, "I'm serious. Hutch was a perfect gentleman." Well, not exactly, but you won't hear me complaining. "No, this is something that needs to stay between us."

Starsky set the coffee mug down and stood directly in front of Bree. "Sounds like you need to tell me now. What's going on?"

"No, it's…it can wait David, really. I didn't mean to sound all dramatic. If you can't make it for lunch, it'll wait "til this evening."

"I'll be here. What time?"

"Why don't you just give me a call when you'll have some time to grab a bite? I've got no plans." Yeah, me and the ghosts still have plenty of unfinished business.

"Okay, it's a date."

Before leaving the apartment, Starsky called Hutch and let him know he was on his way to pick him up. Driving to the station, they ran through various scenarios of how one of their best informants had ended up with three bullets in his brain. Nothing was making sense. They had gone to extreme measures in meeting with him so that no one would know he'd been the one feeding information to them. A side trip over to Huggy's also failed to produce any new leads. Huggy had mentioned the word on the street was unusually hush-hush, and no one was saying anything—they didn't need to read the morning newspaper to tell them what was going on in the neighborhood—an execution-style killing had everyone scared.



When Rothman came into the office, Jenkins stood ready with the morning's copy of the Bay City Chronicle. The story had made the front page, something Rothman took as being quite amusing considering the snitch had never achieved anything worthwhile during his short time on earth. The only reason he made headlines was the way he was killed.

"Well, seems like Suko has earned a bonus this time. Did he bring the cop in, too?" Rothman sipped at the hot Earl Grey tea Jenkins had prepared for him.

"No, they had a hard enough time taking care of this snitch. By the time they were done and got to the cop's apartment, he had company. Suko decided it was best to wait, so they're going back tonight." Jenkins steadied himself for any reaction, good or bad, from his boss.

"Oh, is that right?" Rothman took another sip from the tea cup, keeping his eyes locked on Jenkins. After a very long pause, he said, "Jenkins, I trust there will be a certain detective from the Bay City Police Department at my disposal by tomorrow morning. If not, I hope that your affairs are in order. Is there anything about what I've just said that you don't understand?"

"No, sir. It was very clear."

Rothman set the tea cup down on its saucer, and folded the newspaper so only the headline showed. Looking back at Jenkins, he said, "I need to speak to Suko, right away."

"Yes, sir." Following the order, Jenkins walked out of the office and into the lobby. Picking up the phone on his desk, he called a private number. "Yeah, this is Jenkins. Tell Suko Rothman wants to see him right away…I don't have a fuckin' clue, just tell him to get his ass in here now." Hanging up the phone, Jenkins had a bad feeling Rothman already knew what really happened last night.

Twenty minutes later, Suko knocked on the office door, making sure Rothman acknowledged him before stepping inside. Normally he never made it a habit to speak directly to his boss; communication was handled through Jenkins. He wondered if Rothman had changed his mind about grabbing the cop.

"Good morning, Suko. Have a seat." Rothman was standing behind his desk, glancing out the window. "Would you care for some coffee, or a croissant perhaps?"

"No, sir. I had my breakfast." Suko sat down in one of the leather upholstered chairs in front of the desk.

Turning away from the window, Rothman took a long drag from the cigarette he was holding. Looking at Suko, he said, "Tell me about last night. What happened with that snitch?"

Suko's heart skipped a beat and he took a hard swallow. He hated being the one required to explain things when they didn't go according to plan. He'd told Jenkins about Tony's screw up, but doubted the subordinate had mentioned anything about it to Rothman. Suko knew his boss was asking for a reason, and he valued his life too much not to tell him the truth.

"Tony got sloppy. He had the guy, but let him get away before he plugged "im. Me and Eddie were sitting on the cop, waitin' for Lou to get there. When he did show, he said he needed us to help him grab the snitch. Being's that you wanted the SOB dead by mornin', I pulled off the cop and went with Lou. But I assure you, Mr. Rothman, I beat the crap out of Tony once we finished the job." Suko leaned back in his chair, waiting for his boss to respond.

Rothman sat down and took another drag from his cigarette. Exhaling the smoke, he asked, "If you hadn't been interrupted, would that cop be here now?"

"No doubt in my mind, he'd be here."

Putting the cigarette out, Rothman opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a checkbook ledger. He wrote out a check and, after signing it, handed it to Suko. "This is for making the front page in this morning's paper. I trust you will find that an adequate bonus."

Suko looked at the check. He was surprised to see the five thousand dollar amount, but before he could offer thanks, Rothman continued.

"There is another job I want you to do, before finishing the one from last night—I need to be assured Tony doesn't ever cause a problem like this again." Suko gazed at Rothman with a look of disbelief. "If you think Vinetti will get in your way, I'll be happy to explain things to him."

Suko stared at the check again. He understood now why the amount was so high. "No. He won't be a problem." Although Suko didn't care much for Tony, he did respect Lou. They had worked together for over ten years. He didn't like the idea of having to kill Vinetti's brother, but he couldn't disobey an order from Rothman. Folding the check and putting it in his pocket, Suko got up from the chair. "Are we done here?" he asked.

"Yes. That's all."

With that, Suko walked out of the office, stopping when he encountered Jenkins in the lobby.

"You tell Rothman about what happened last night?" Suko wanted to hit someone, and he was hoping it could be Jenkins.

"No! I swear! When he came in this morning, the only thing he asked me was if you'd brought the cop in. I told him you had some problems taking care of the snitch and once you got back to the apartment, things were too hot, so you decided to go back tonight."

"Jenkins! You're the dumbest asshole I know. At least Tony can blame his stupidity on drugs. If I had my choice, I'd rather be taking your sorry ass out today instead of his."

Stunned, Jenkins gaped at Suko. "That's what he wants you to do?"

"Yeah, that a big surprise to you? Next time, keep your damn mouth shut! Now call Lou, I've gotta talk to him." Suko watched as Jenkins dialed the number. He needed to get this over with, but he owed it to Vinetti to let him know what Rothman wanted done.



After hitting the street and checking with a few more snitches, Starsky and Hutch had come up with nothing new. Everyone was very quiet, just like Huggy had said. Obviously, no one felt their lives were worth exchanging a few bits of information for. The mood inside the Torino was even quieter. Both detectives knew what this would do to the case. As if to confirm their fears, a call came over the Motorola.

"Control to Zebra 3, come in please."

"Zebra 3, go ahead." Hutch glanced over at his partner.

Starsky didn't have to say a word. Yeah, I know. The ball's about to drop.

"Zebra 3, Captain Dobey requests you meet him in his office immediately."

"We copy, Control." Hutch hung the mike up. "Well, any guesses as to what that's going to be about?"

"Nope. Question is, what're we gonna do about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe this is one we're gonna have to let go."

"Hutch, I can't believe you just said that. You want Malcolm's death to be for nothin'?" Starsky said hotly.

"No, that's not what I want. But I don't see any other way. Face it, Starsk—sometimes the bad guys win."

"Yeah…doesn't mean we roll over and play dead."

"We're not playing dead. Just sayin' they've won this round, but the fight isn't over yet."

"I dunno know about that, buddy." Starsky glanced over at Hutch. "Seems like Rothman just scored a knockout."



Back at the precinct, both men stepped into Dobey's office. The look on the captain's face seemed to confirm their suspicions.

"Just thought you should know, the DA's office called a little while ago. They're quashing the warrant for Rothman and his crew. Those three dock workers you grabbed in the bust have all pleaded not guilty. Considering that Malcolm's statement was the main reason the search warrant was issued in the first place, the DA isn't sure they want to pursue felony charges. They're afraid their attorneys will challenge the search."

"Well, that's just beautiful, Cap!" Starsky couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What does the DA want to do next, give Rothman back his cocaine?"

"Cool it, Starsky! If I'd wanted your opinion I would've asked for it! I'm just as mad as you are, but we don't have a case anymore. We needed Malcolm's testimony, but unless you've figured out how to get a dead guy to talk, there's not anything more we can do about it!"

"Captain, what if we could tie those three back to Rothman? They were working for him, not that shipping company," Hutch said, thinking it an angle worth trying.

"At this point, I don't know if that'll do any good. The DA seems pretty determined to have this bust go away."

"The DA can go fuck himself!"

Leaning forward in his seat, Dobey said, "Alright, Starsky, that's enough! So we don't bust Rothman this time. We've still got a couple hundred thousand dollars of his product that won't be going out on the street! The problem with you is it's all or nothing. At least this time we got something. If you can't accept that, that's your problem!" Dobey leaned back in his chair, with a defeated frown and driving out a hard breath through his nostrils. "Some days you just have to be glad you lost the battle, and not the war."

Starsky glanced at his partner. "Well, there's some words of wisdom. Thanks for that pep talk, Cap."

Before Dobey had a chance to get out of his chair, Hutch grabbed his partner and shoved him out of the office, closing the door behind them. He hoped Dobey would cool off and not come barging through it, bent on assigning Starsky to traffic control. He didn't let go of his partner until they were halfway down the hall, then gave in to his fury. "Just what were you trying to accomplish in there? An early retirement?"

"You heard " im. All that work we put in on this case and it don't mean shit!"

"No, I don't think you heard him. Starsky, he's right. We got the drugs. So we didn't get to bust him this time. He's not going to quit, and neither are we. We'll get another shot at him."

"Yeah, that's terrific." Starsky looked at his watch. "Look, Bree wanted me to come by the apartment for lunch, kind of a brother an' sister thing. She wanted to make sure you wouldn't take it personal and feel left out."

"No, that's fine. What reason would I have to feel left out?"

"None that I can think of. Need a lift anywhere or are you stayin' here?"

"Thanks, I'll just stay here. I thought maybe I'd look back over those employment records. Maybe we missed something."

"Sure, sounds like a good idea. I'll catch up with you after I get back."

"Later."

Starsky headed out to the parking lot. He had a bad feeling that whatever Bree had to tell him was only going to make the day worse.


CHAPTER 4


"If there's no one beside you, when your soul embarks,
then I'll follow you into the dark." Death Cab for Cutie


Starsky arrived back at the apartment around one o'clock. Walking inside, the aroma of freshly made chili greeted his hungry stomach. He could detect hints of chili powder, garlic and even what smelled like cinnamon. God, that girl knows how to cook! At least the enticing smells were helping to ease his cranky mood.

"Hey, you're just in time. Go ahead and sit down, I've just got to get us something to drink." Throwing some ice into two glasses, Bree set them on the table. "What'd Hutch have to say? Anything?"

"No, he didn't take it personal, if that's what you're getting at."

"Okay, funny guy. Thanks for running interference." Noticing David seemed a little down, she decided not to ask how his day was going. After spooning the chili into bowls and handing him two cans of Coke, Bree sat down at the table and started to eat.

"This tastes great, Bree. Maybe I should keep you around as a personal cook, huh?" Starsky said, only half joking.

"You couldn't afford me!"

They ate the rest of the meal in relative silence. David was very quiet, and while tempted to wait until the evening to talk to him, Bree knew she couldn't. He had made the special trip to the apartment at her request. Clearing off the dishes, she sat back down at the table.

"David, I've needed to talk to you for a while, even before coming out here. And something happened last night that makes what I have to say even more important. This might be hard for you to hear, but it's the truth."

"Okay, you've got my attention—what's goin' on?"

"Well, first of all, who's the girl in the picture on your bookcase?" Bree asked, nodding towards the living room.

Her question surprised him. He hadn't told Bree about Terri, or their relationship, so he couldn't understand why she'd be asking about the woman he would have married. He cursed himself a little realizing he hadn't even thought much about her lately. He missed her sweet essence and character.

"Her name was Terri," he reluctantly answered. "She was my fiancée. She died about two years ago—some nut case shot her tryin' to get back at me for arresting his son."

"Oh God, that's insane! I'm so sorry, Davey." Bree had felt Terri's absence was due to a tragic event, but had never imagined it to have been so appalling. Seeing his grief was still fresh, Bree could only imagine the heartache he must have suffered upon her death. Cautiously going on, she said, "David, when I've been alone in your apartment, I've heard a spirit's voice, speaking just as loud and clear as you and me talking right now. And I think that voice belongs to Terri."

"Bree, are you fu…are you nuts? What'd ya mean, you've been hearing voices? Terri's dead—I was with her when she..."

The agony in his voice was hard to ignore. Bree thought back to when she'd encountered Maddy's sister, but couldn't let her brother's reaction stop her from telling him what she knew. "David, I wouldn't be saying this unless I really had to, I swear."

"Sure. So what's this voice telling you, huh? Tonight's winning lotto numbers?"

Okay bro', all bets are off. You're gonna hear this. "This isn't a joke! What you don't know is, I've been hearing, well, voices for a long time now. Call them ghosts, spirits, whatever you like, but I'm not crazy. One time, after hearing one of these voices, I told a woman standing next to me what it said. Turned out it was her dead sister, telling her where to find a missing ring. I swear, after that happened, I never wanted to tell anybody again, but I heard what I heard."

Starsky scanned Bree's eyes. Years of interviewing suspects had taught him to recognize when people were lying—they'd either not look at him, or shift their eyes away when answering, but Bree's gaze was passionate and strong.

"I also see things, like halos around certain people. I know it's weird, but it's very real and this voice last night, told me something that happened twenty years ago. Something only three people could have known, and two of those people, are sitting right here." Bree waited, hoping her brother wanted to hear more.

Starsky kept staring at her, not knowing what to say or believe. A minute ago, he was wondering how he could get her to a shrink, now he wasn't sure if these bizarre things she was talking about might actually be real. Deciding to hear her out, he said, "Okay. Ball's in your court, sis—you call the play."

Relieved, Bree continued. "Two weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling someone was in my bedroom. I could feel this unbelievably cold mass by my side. I swear Davey, when I exhaled, I could see my own breath."

Starsky momentarily broke eye contact. Although trying his damndest to keep an open mind, her story was getting too strange. He'd never believed in ghosts, considering them hallucinations or just figments of people's imaginations. But here was someone he loved and cared about, talking as if this was an everyday thing.

Bree noticed his reaction, but kept talking. "I saw this mist forming, hovering near the foot of my bed. I had to pinch myself, to see if I was really awake. The next thing I hear, clear as day is, "He needs your help." I asked "who?' "Davey" it says. So then I asked, "Davey who?' And it said, "Your blood badge brother."

Starsky remained silent, looking at Bree in disbelief.

"Yeah, that's right. Our blood badge oath. After Pop died, we took his badge and stabbed our hands, remember?"

"So what's this got to do with last night?" Starsky snapped, his patience worn thin.

"Well—last night I was looking at Terri's picture. It wasn't the first time I heard her voice…"

"Don't! Don't say you're hearin' Terri's voice…you don't even know what she sounded like!" Starsky bolted up from the table and stormed into the living room. He didn't want to tell Bree she was crazy. The idea of ghosts and goblins occupying his apartment was ludicrous. She was obviously sure she was hearing and seeing things, but there had to be an explanation—at least one from this side of the pearly gates.

Trying to be reasonable, he asked, "Bree, how do you know these things you're hearing aren't just you being worried about me, or your inner voice talkin'?"

Calmly, she said, "Maybe for the simple reason I know what my voice sounds like, and what I'm hearing isn't it."

Starsky didn't look convinced, and Bree was starting to lose hope. She had one more thing to tell him, but before she could begin, he walked back over to the table.

"Bree, I don't know what to say. I've got to go back to work. Maybe we'll talk about this more…"

Feeling a sudden pain like an ice cream freeze rush through her head, Bree flinched as she put a palm up to her temple. Thoughts began flooding in, centering on a message. Bree wasn't sure about its meaning, but felt it was something her brother couldn't ignore.

"She never said 'yes."

Cut off in mid-sentence, Starsky looked wide-eyed at Bree as if she had just spoken fluent Yiddish. "What did you just say?" he asked curtly.

"She says she never said told you "yes'." As the last remnants of the message seeped in, Bree knew she finally had what she needed. "You asked her to marry you, but she didn't answer. She loved you very much, but knew you were asking for all the wrong reasons."

Completely dumbstruck, Starsky stood frozen. Only he and one other person could have known that, and she had died. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, he sat back down at the table.

Seeing her brother looking so helpless and lost hurt Bree immensely, but she couldn't stop now. Putting a comforting hand on his arm, she delicately said, "I'm sorry, that just came to me. It has to be Terri, Dave. She wants you to know about something really bad. I'm not sure what it is, but I think I'm involved somehow."

Starsky's vacant look instantly changed. "How? What makes you think that?"

"Because of what I heard her tell me last night. She said, "He's going to need you, like he did before.'"

"Like I did before? What before?"

"David, yesterday you started to talk about Dickie Roberts…well, there's something I never told you about what happened that day…"



Dick Roberts had worked with Michael Starsky as a beat cop. Although not close friends, the two had shared an interest in firearms marksmanship and often paired up to compete in shooting tournaments. Dickie, as he liked to be called, took an interest in the Starsky household soon after Michael was killed. He would show up practically every day, offering to be a handyman, chauffeur and even what some could call a surrogate father. He ferried the children out to baseball games, carnivals, toy stores—anything to show Rachel they were in good hands. The only drawback was, those hands always seemed to be on David.

Bree noticed it right away. Although innocent in appearance—a grip on top of the shoulder, the clasping of an arm, a pat on the head—its true intention was far from virtuous. David seemed to like the attention, but Bree knew what Dickie really wanted. One of her birth mother's boyfriends had been similarly interested in her, constantly offering to look after Bree while her mom was off entertaining other men. His hands were always wandering. At first, just around her arms and shoulders. Then on the thighs. Lastly, between her legs. Too young to understand the meaning, Bree had still known it wasn't a loving touch. Fortunately, her mother started dating another man who didn't like kids, but at least he'd never fondled her.

Seeing Dickie place his hands on David allowed those tainted memories to resurface. Bree sensed it wouldn't be long before he arranged to be alone with her brother, as Dickie never expressed more than a casual interest with either her or Nicky. So she kept watching and waiting, knowing the monster would soon surface.

It didn't take long. One day, she heard Dickie asking David to walk with him over to a local gun shop. Secretly, Bree tagged along. After the two entered the store, she stayed outside for a while, and then went in. A few customers stood by the front counter, but she didn't see David or Dickie. Bree began looking around the store, careful to avoid any suspicious looks from the salesman at the counter. Finally, she located the entrance to a basement storeroom and could hear a man quietly talking down below. Dickie's voice. After tiptoeing down the stairs, she slowly worked her way through the maze of packed shelves and boxes, careful not to make her presence known. When she got close enough for a clear view, the sight sickened her.

Dickie was sitting naked on a chair facing David, his pants and shirt lying in a pile on the floor. Bree could see Dickie's penis as he held it with one hand, the other hand clasped around David's arm. Her brother was standing, his jeans removed and curled around his feet. Dickie then took hold of David's underwear, and slowly slipped the cotton briefs off of his hips and down his legs. Grabbing one of David's hands, Dickie placed it on his adult penis. Keeping his hand on top of David's, he began stroking his manhood, moaning softly as it started to enlarge.

Dickie lifted his hand and took a hold of David's penis, applying the same hand movements and slowly massaging it, using his thumb to caress around the head. Bree could see David's expression and realized she must have looked the same way in front of her molester. Disengaged—not quite understanding the abuser's intentions. Moving his hand, Dickie began tickling David's scrotum, then used his fingers to gently squeeze and tug on his twin pouches. He looked up at David, as if studying his face for a sign of enjoyment, but her brother gave none. Dickie then joined and began rubbing the two penises together. His groans became louder, more intense. As he took hold of David's rear and attempted to bring him closer, her brother tried to push away, but Dickie grabbed harder—pulling David in and squeezing him up against his chest. Physically restrained, David struggled, trying to break free. Dickie stood up and spun David around, shoving him towards a desk . He snaked an arm around his neck, gaining control and securing the teenager in a head lock. With his other arm, Dickie reached in between David's legs, separating them, and clamped hold of his genitals. David started to scream but Dickie's hand flexed up, closing her brother's mouth.

"Now you're gonna keep quiet and do like I say or that little brother of yours is going to be next!" Dickie sneered, tightening his grip down below hard enough to make David's body cringe. Thrusting him forward onto the desk, Dickie separating David's butt cheeks, and began to guide his erect penis towards the opening.

Bree couldn't watch anymore. Finding a box of ammunition on the shelf beside her, she took hold of the heavy carton and hurled it down to the floor. The thunderous smack stopped Dickie cold, and he stood transfixed, looking at Bree with panic exploding from his eyes.

"Davey, get your clothes on and go home. Right now!" He looked as shocked to see Bree as the adult standing next to him. Still not moving, Bree yelled, "Davey, god damn it! Put your pants on and get the hell out of here!"

This time, she got his attention. Her brother slipped his clothing back on. Holding his hands against his stomach, he asked Bree, "What're you doing? Aren't you coming?"

"Don't worry about me. You get outta here, now!"

David glanced at Dickie, who was fumbling at trying to get his own pants back on, his eyes locked on Bree. Turning back to her, David said, "I'm not leaving without you. Come on."

"No! I'm not telling you again; just go! I'll be alright." Bree took her eyes off of Dickie, giving her brother a reassuring look. David shot a hateful glare at Dickie, then turned and darted out of the basement and up the stairs.

As Dickie finished zipping up his pants, he said, "Now look, sweetie, you don't know what you saw here."

"I saw plenty, you son of a bitch!" Bree said, wishing she had a loaded gun. Fleetingly, the thought seemed funny, considering she was in a gun shop.

"You listen here, Breanna Starsky. You didn't see what you think you saw. Besides, who's gonna believe a thirteen year old girl? Huh? Yeah, a kid versus an adult. A cop at that!"

Before she could answer, Bree felt another entity taking over her mind. Thoughts began pouring in, formulating a plan that no child could have conceived.

"So, you like boys, huh? Isn't that what they call "a queer'? What do you think all your cop buddies would say if they knew?" The change in Dickie's expression signaled that she had his attention. "Yeah, exactly. So, are you afraid of girls? Is that your problem?"

"Look, just go on home—get out of here," Dickie snarled.

"No, I don't think so. You came here to have fun, right? Well, instead of playing with a boy, why not with a girl?" Bree pulled her sweater off, then took a couple of steps forward.

"Are you crazy? Look, Bree, you leave right now! I mean it!"

Bree unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor. She slipped her feet out of the pile and walked towards Dickie. "I've done this before. My Mom showed me. The guys that came over to our house paid her more when they could play with me. Nothing really wrong with that, is there? I mean, when a guy and a girl get together? You're not a queer then, are you?" Bree started to slip her underwear off.

Dickie's expression was full of shock. His gaze drifted from Bree's face down to her chest and then at the smooth skin folds between her legs. Unzipping his jeans, he slipped his clothing and underwear back off.

During the rape that followed, Bree's soul was in another place. She never had a clear memory of it. Some sense of pressure and thrusting inside of her—but no emotional attachment. When Dickie had finished, Bree calmly got up, putting her clothes back on as if getting dressed for school. Before walking out of the room, she looked at Dickie with a scornful look.

"Now I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better listen good, you son of a bitch." Bree almost spit the words out. "I'm calling the police as soon as I leave. I'm going to tell them I was raped by someoneI didn't know. When they take me to the hospital to check me out, they're gonna know I wasn't lying. If you ever, ever lay another hand on Davey or come anywhere near my family again, I'm going to suddenly remember who it was that raped me. And you know what else? I'm going to make sure that guy up at the counter sees me leavin' here all upset. Did you get all of that!?"

Dickie was speechless. He could only stare at her in horror, probably in shock knowing a teenager had just played him good. Bree shot him a smug look, then turned around. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she dashed up them as fast as she could—hoping to never see Dickie again. A few days later, Rachel mentioned to her children that Dickie had suddenly resigned from the police department and had apparently left town. Only Nicky seemed to be devastated by the news.



Starsky sat at the kitchen table, numbed to the core. He'd never understood why Dickie had quit the force, he was just glad the molester was gone. Dickie had promised to show him, that day, how to make out with a girl, but obviously the pervert had other plans. No one else in the family, besides Bree, knew what had taken place in the gun shop basement. But now, the realization of what she sacrificed for him was sinking in. He had only gotten groped by Dickie, Bree allowed herself to be raped.

"You ever go to the hospital?" Starsky could barely get the words out of his dry mouth.

"Not really. There was a free clinic down by the old bakery building. I went there and told the doc I had gotten raped. Said I was sixteen, but I don't think he believed me…about my age, that is. Said I wasn't ready to talk to the cops, because I didn't know who did it. He examined me, kept some of my clothing—told me to come back if I changed my mind. And that was it."

Starsky couldn't believe how nonchalant Bree sounded. She didn't acknowledge in any way the depravity of Dickie's assault. Maybe that's just the way she chose to deal with it...

He, on the other hand, was ready to explode, wanting to lash out at the violator who had robbed them both of youthful innocence. But Dickie wasn't there. As the anger turned into pain, Starsky couldn't suppress it anymore.

"Bree…I…" Starsky hadn't felt his heart so torn since Terri died. Heavy tears started flowing as the raging waves of anguish hit. Bree jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Raising his head, he reached around her waist and folded Bree onto his lap, as if she was a small child needing comfort. Squeezing her body in against his, he cradled her head against his shoulder, trying in vain to stop the spastic sobbing erupting from his gut.

"Why did you do that, Bree? Why?" He could have survived being constantly played with by Dickie, even being raped if that meant keeping her and Nicky safe. But he had been an unwilling victim. Bree willingly intervened. Somehow she knew Dickie had been after him all along. Sacrificing her own body, Bree had made sure Dickie would never touch him again.

"I did it for you, David. Because you had always cared about me."

After the tears ran out, the two sat silently for a long time. Suddenly, the phone rang. Starsky lifted Bree and got up, wiping his nose and trying to compose himself enough to answer. It was Hutch.

"Hey, was wondering where you were. Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

Starsky looked at his watch, surprised more than two hours had gone by since he left the station. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Got caught up with somethin' here at the house."

"Everything okay? You need me to come over there?"

"No, got it taken care of. I didn't realize it was so late." Starsky hoped the change in his voice wasn't noticeable.

"Starsky, are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I'm leaving right now. Is there something I should know about?"

"No, just that Dobey's been circling the squad room like a vulture, and I'm starting to run out of excuses."

"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."

Starsky hung up the phone and looked back at Bree. He walked over and took hold of her chin, lifting it slightly. Staring into her sapphire eyes, he started to say something, but stopped. He pulled her close, drawing her head underneath his chin. Placing both arms around her, he gave her a tight hug, then lightly kissed the top of her head. "We're not through here, Bree," he whispered. "Somehow I need to make this up to you. I don't know how yet, but I will."

"You don't owe me anything. I only told you so you'd believe me about the voices I've been hearing."

Starsky rolled his eyes. Yeah, I forgot we'd been talking about that.

"I think something's gonna happen," Bree went on, "and soon. I'm afraid you're going to get hurt. That's why I came out here, to warn you."

"Look, Bree," he said, pushing back from her. " I don't want you—or anyone else—worryin' about me. I can take care of myself, really. Hutch would be ashamed of me if I didn't. I'll be back home as soon as I can, okay? And we'll finish talkin' about…these voices."

With that, Starsky left the apartment and raced down to his car. Great; once again alone with the spirits. Bree walked back over to Terri's picture. She still had to tell David about the broken glass, but it wasn't important anymore. David had bigger concerns. Problem was, how was she going to convince him?



Once back at the station, Starsky paired up with his partner. There had been no further developments in the case involving Malcolm's murder. Worse yet, informants out on the street were avoiding the detectives like the plague. Hutch noticed Starsky wasn't acting like himself. He'd perk up if someone said hello to him or if he was involved in conversation, but otherwise he seemed off in another world.

Sensing an opportunity when the squad room temporarily emptied out, Hutch grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down on the desk in front of his seated partner, intentionally maneuvering his body as close as he could get.

Unable to ignore the deliberate act, Starsky glanced up at him and asked, "Is there something you want?"

"Yeah, I wanna know what's up? And don't give me that look, Starsky! I know you, and something's happened today that's got you upset. I wanna help, but I can't do that if you treat me like—like I'm invisible!"

"You're not invisible, and whatever you had for lunch is still degrading in your stomach." Starsky waved his paperwork in front of his face, as if clearing away some undesirable odor.

"Don't think you can just change the subject, buddy. I'm serious. What's going on with you? I can't take you out on the street if you're not there a hundred percent."

"Look, it's…a family thing. Just need some time to think it through, that's all. Don't be makin' such a big deal outta nothing, okay?" Starsky loved the guy, but sometimes Hutch could almost suffocate him with concern.

"Oh, a family thing." Painful memories from when Nicky had visited emerged in Hutch's mind. Starsky had pushed him aside then too, choosing to believe his brother instead of trusting his partner. "Well, since I'm not Nicky, I guess that leaves me out. Sorry I asked."

"Hey! You're taking this all wrong."

Setting the coffee cup down, Hutch said, "Oh, am I? I guess I wouldn't know Starsk, because I'm not family—just your fuckin' partner."

Starsky shot up from his chair, almost knocking Hutch over. He grabbed his jacket off of the desk and started heading for the door. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut, knowing if he and Hutch continued, frustration over the murder case would lead to saying things neither truly meant. He didn't need the extra drama. He had plenty of it waiting at home.

"Oh, well that's real mature Starsky. Just wanted to know what's buggin' you. Is that too much to ask for, or does our friendship mean nothing to you?"

Starsky froze halfway out the door. Again he fought the urge to respond, but this time he lost. Pointing a finger at him, he said, "Ya know, Hutch, you're wrong. Family demands things from each other. Friends are supposed to care enough to never demand anything. I guess that does make you family."

As Starsky pivoted and swung the door closed behind him, Hutch looked down and shook his head. For a guy who wore his heart out on his sleeve, Starsky could still hold plenty of secrets inside.



Once Starsky got back to the Torino, he called dispatch to let them know he was going off shift. Driving home, he thought about what to say to Bree, but nothing sounded right. He was still having a hard time understanding how she had known about his proposal to Terri. She did tell me she'd always be there, whenever I needed her. So if it is you, babe, what's so important that you gotta let me know? Starsky didn't want to believe Bree, but he wondered if he could really afford not to.

After arriving home, he walked up the stairs and went inside. Bree was lying on the couch, apparently the only one who felt entirely comfortable on it for long periods of time. Another old movie was playing on the television. She must really like those soapy flicks. He took his jacket and holster off, hung both on the coat rack, and walked over to the front of the couch. Bree moved her legs over as usual, inviting him to sit down.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself."

"What ya watchin' this time?"

"Twelve Angry Men. It's a classic. You ever seen it?"

"No." But someone could make a movie about two certain cops and call it "Two Really Pissed Off Men.' "You hungry enough for dinner yet?"

"Umm, I might be after the movie's over." Bree kept her eyes glued on the television screen.

"How much longer "til then?" Starsky's stomach was preparing to lodge an objection.

"About an hour I guess. Here—" Bree patted her hand on the exposed part of the couch cushion. "Take your shoes off and lay down. You should watch this—it's really good."

See, I told ya, Hutch. Family always demands things. Starsky complied with Bree's request and settled in beside her. She was right though; it was a good movie.

When the credits started rolling, Starsky asked Bree about dinner again. She suggested they make something Mexican. Finding no taco shells in the pantry, they decided to run down to the store. Just before going out the front door, Starsky grabbed his jacket but decided against putting his holster on; they were only going to be gone for just a few minutes. After getting into the Torino, they took off down the hill.



At Venice Place, Hutch was placing his dinner dishes in the sink. The meal, leftover meatloaf, had been edible, but his appetite wasn't good. He was thinking about the conversation earlier at the precinct, and why he'd gotten upset when Starsky talked about family. Hutch knew his partner thought of him like a brother, certainly more than just a friend. But the emphasis Starsky had put on the word "family' bothered him, as if no matter how close Hutch was, this time he wasn't close enough.

Starsky could be exceptionally protective and forgiving about his relatives; Hutch learned that first hand when the infamous younger brother had paid a visit. Even when Nicky's illegal activities were obvious, Starsky still didn't want to believe his brother was involved. Hutch wondered what Bree might have disclosed that put Starsky in such a touchy mood.

Thinking back to the night before, Bree certainly didn't give him any indication she had any unsettling secrets. Freely discussing her childhood with him, as torrid as it had been, was some proof of that. Their time on the beach had been enticing, and her sensuous behavior gave no indication of turmoil occurring in her life. But women could hold many secrets, and, well…the ex-Mrs. Hutchinson had proven that.

When he finished drying the last dish, Hutch grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch. He thought about calling Starsky, more as a prelude to see if he could make plans for a date with Bree. Glancing at his watch, he figured there was still plenty of time left in the evening for a number of possibilities, even if some of those had to include Starsky. Dialing the number, Hutch let it ring for over a minute, but there was no answer. Guessing they had gone out to eat, he decided to give it another hour and try again. Perhaps the later it got, the better chance he'd have of enjoying Bree's company alone.



Arriving back home, Starsky and Bree sat in the car for a few minutes, singing out loud to an Eagles' song until it finished playing on the radio. Despite the events of the last two days, each was in a good mood. Exiting the car, they climbed the stairs, and Starsky grabbed the doorknob to turn it. When the door cracked open, he stopped, looking at the handle clearly puzzled.

"What's wrong? Did you forget something?" Bree asked.

"No…I thought I locked it when we left."

"Well, then why didn't you use your key? You must've forgotten to lock it."

"Yeah, I guess." Starsky couldn't shake his unease, which became even worse when he realized he'd left his gun inside. Thinking he was overreacting, he went ahead and pushed the door open, making sure to scan the dark living room as best as he could before stepping inside. Bree pushed in around him, more concerned with finding the light switch. After flicking it on, she began to hurry to the restroom, telling David she needed to go. Starsky wanted to tell her to wait, but in the brightened room nothing appeared to be out of place—that is, until he turned around to the coat rack and noticed the Beretta missing from its holster.

Before he could spin around and yell Bree's name, Starsky heard the metal clicking of a gun hammer being cocked back, freezing him immediately.

"Don't move a muscle," Frankie Suko said, getting his first close look at his prey.

Starsky closed his eyes and tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. Standing with his back towards the room, he felt extremely vulnerable.

"Drop the bag on the floor and put your hands up." Suko's voice was cold.

Starsky wanted to turn around and confront his intruder, but with Bree still in the house, he knew he couldn't risk it. Complying with the order, he lifted up his arms.

"That was good. You're doin' better than I thought."

"Who are you? Wadda ya want?" Starsky raised his voice, hoping that if Bree could hear him, she might try to find a way out of the apartment.

"Oh, now we got a problem. Here's the deal. You don't say anything. I talk; you listen. You're not the only one here that has a gun pointed at them."

Starsky's heart sank. He knew the man was talking about Bree.

"Okay. Now I want you to raise your arms really high, like you're tryin' to touch the ceiling. Then turn around real slow. I want you back facing that wall, understood?"

"Yeah, I hear ya." Starsky couldn't wait. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder, or Bree. But as he turned he saw no one, only a glimpse of a gun barrel sticking out from the darkened doorway of his bedroom.

"Okay, very nice. Now, take off your jacket, real slow and toss it over towards the door."

Starsky realized he wasn't dealing with just some burglar. This guy knew what he was doing and it only added to the apprehension rising inside of him.

"That's good, detective. Now, pull your shirt out from your pants."

So this guy knows I'm a cop. T'rrific! He ain't here for money; he wants something else.

"Okay. You've been very cooperative. You don't know how much that might help you tonight, or someone else you care about."

Starsky began wondering how he was going to fight his way out of this. He hadn't heard Bree or any other movement in the apartment. Whoever this guy was, he definitely wasn't an amateur.

"Now, cop, remember what they taught you at the academy? About cuffing someone? You get to show me how good you can play the bad guy. Put both hands on the top of your head and interlock your fingers. That's right. Now spread your legs."

Starsky hated this part. It was designed to put the suspect in an awkward position so they couldn't attack without giving the officer a head's up.

"Okay, one of my partners is going to come up and cuff you. You're not gonna give him any problems—that understood?"

"Yeah, perfectly." So I'm outnumbered; somebody sent me a welcoming committee. I wonder who went to all the trouble.

Starsky could hear someone behind him. As Lou Vinetti took a hold of his clasped hands and bent him back slightly, Starsky could sense the person's massive bulk from the heavy breathing on his neck. The cold feel and quick snap of metal on his right wrist was nauseatingly familiar. As the cuffed arm was jerked behind his back, the left hand was quickly brought down, joining the right as the last half of the handcuff clicked around it. The bracelets were then tightened snugly on each wrist.

Vinetti turned Starsky around, giving him a chance to finally see one of his unwanted visitors. The man holding him was enormous, towering several inches above him and packing an extra fifty pounds in weight. A second felon, was now standing in the living room, and Starsky noticed both hoods were wearing business suits. Nice of these gorillas to come dressed up. Glancing around, he couldn't see any sign of Bree. Looking back at the second hood, he recognized the Beretta in his right hand. Realizing his options were limited, Starsky glared at him, using the gesture to gather u p some mental courage.

Hearing noise towards the hallway, he looked over and saw a third man stepping out of the bathroom, holding Bree in front of him. Her face showed concern, but her movements were composed. Starsky wasn't sure if the man was armed, but he focused on Bree, hoping to calm her by just making eye contact.

"Take him over to the table," Suko ordered.

Starsky was hauled over to the kitchen and, without warning, slammed face down on the table, bending him at the waist. Trying to catch his breath, he felt his belt buckle being undone, sending a nervous tremor through his body. He turned his head, looking for Bree. The shock on her face sickened him. She caught his gaze, and both held onto it like a lifeline. He gave her a slight smile, tightly shutting both eyes one time. Hang in there, kid. I'm okay; you need to be, too.

The belt was yanked free from his jeans, and the top button undone. He tried twisting off of his stomach, but the heavy hand on his back just pushed him down harder. Starsky felt fingers drag along the inside waistband of his pants. Hands then patted around his groin, moving all the way down both legs and around each ankle. His car keys and wallet containing his detective's shield were snatched out of his pockets. Vinetti then grabbed a handful of Starsky's hair and jerked him back up, sending painful spikes through his scalp.

Suko walked over and jabbed the Beretta's barrel in his abdomen. As Starsky tried to shake his head free, Vinetti tightened his grip, pulling Starsky's head back until he was staring up at the ceiling. Swallowing hard, he tried to focus on calming his quivering stomach. One thing was becoming apparent—whoever these goons were, they could do anything they wanted to him, with very little warning.

"Okay pig, you've been a good boy. Just a few more places to check and then we'll be done."

With that, Starsky's head was yanked down hard, sending his legs slipping out from under him. He landed backwards on the table, expelling a lungful of air and smacking his head against the hard surface. The handcuffs jabbed sharply into his spine, pinching both wrists. Suko immediately stuck the gun in Starsky's face. While the painful spasms in his head and arms begged for relief, he felt the scrutinizing strokes again—fingers slipping under the waistband, hands patting around his groin. The zipper on his jeans was pulled down and the pant flaps tugged back. His stomach muscles instinctively tightened, trying to protect his blatant vulnerability. A hand shoved into the tight opening under the flaps, causing uncomfortable pressure as it moved around. Tightly closing his eyes, Starsky fought keep his composure, but his trembling muscles kept betraying his efforts. Suddenly, his genitals were grabbed and squeezed hard. Starsky couldn't help but let out a pained yelp. God, I hope Bree can't see this. When the stars cleared from his vision he saw Suko sneering down at him.

"Looks like you got a little gun hidden down there, huh?" He squeezed hard again, but Starsky held his cry this time, not wanting to give the attacker the satisfaction. Peering past the end of the gun barrel, he flashed the goon a hate-filled stare. Suko smiled back and tightly grasped again, this time with a violent twist. Starsky couldn't hold the scream in and it escaped with a vengeance. "Well, guess we don't have to worry about that weapon; it sure as hell ain't loaded." Suko let out a chuckle. "Okay, enough playing around. We're gonna go for a little ride."

Starsky was grabbed off the table and set back on his feet. Suko zipped the jeans closed, but the tight fabric only added to the throbbing pain in Starsky's groin. He glanced over at Bree, who was standing by the couch, a look of terror plastered on her face.

"Go ahead and cuff her." Suko ordered. Lapentz holstered the weapon he had pointed at her back and, after slipping a pair of handcuffs from his waistband, quickly secured Bree's hands behind her back.

"Look, you got me. Just keep her out of this," pleaded Starsky, the pain in his head making his breathing erratic and his voice sound raspy.

Suko got in front of him, and shoved the gun against Starsky's throat so hard he had to stretch his neck back to relieve the pressure. "Now what did I say about you doin' the listening and me doin' the talkin'?" Getting no response, Suko assumed he had made his point for the last time and withdrew the Beretta.

Turning to Lapentz, he said, "Okay, you take her in the cop's car." Tossing him the Torino's keys, he continued. "We'll meet you where we planned. Go on and go. We shouldn't be here too much longer."

Lapentz grabbed Bree's arm and pulled her towards the front door. She struggled to keep her eyes on David, but she and her captor were out the door within seconds.

Suko pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and had Vinetti set Starsky down on it. Grabbing a handful of curls, Suko bent over, placing his mouth up against Starsky's ear. In a calm voice, he said, "Okay, now here's where you're gonna listen real good. My boss wants you in one piece, and breathing." Pulling Starsky's head back, he continued. "Now me, I don't give a flyin' fuck what kind of shape you're in. So, the rest is up to you. But you better realize somethin' right now. You and me, we're going to be spending a lot of time together in the next few days. I would strongly suggest you don't start pissin' me off too soon, because that would make me mad—and you won't like me when I'm angry."

Starsky closed both eyes, wishing the whole scene would just turn into a bad dream so he could wake up. Alone, he could handle these hoods and their threats, but he wasn't the only captive. They had Bree. She may not have known who they were or what they wanted, but she had seen them, and that was bad news. What was worse, they were separated and he had no idea what these gorillas were planning to do with her. Suko straightened and nodded his head at Vinetti who then yanked Starsky out of the chair. As he was led out of the front door and taken down to the Oldsmobile, Starsky thought about one other person.

Hutch, I'm sorry about that stupid argument, but I think I really need you bad this time, partner.


CHAPTER 5


"It's never easy and you'll never know
What leaves you crying
And what makes you whole" Rob Thomas



Bree couldn't feel her legs moving as she walked down the stairs. The tight metal rings around her wrists were the only tangible reminder that what had just taken place in the apartment was real. Her captor led her over to the Torino, and after unlocking the car, roughly shoved her into the passenger front seat. Closing her door, he glanced around the lot then walked around to the driver's side. He got in behind the wheel and turned the key, starting the powerful engine.

Bree's heart was racing. She was terrified, and couldn't stop thinking that she'd probably be dead very soon. She needed a lifeline to grab onto, something to keep her afloat from the sinking ship she was on. As much as she wished the more rational side of her would take over, it was too petrified with fear. Didn't they execute people for kidnapping? And what she saw happen to her brother wasn't just some minor crime either. My God, what's happening now that I'm not there? Are they going to kidnap him, too…or something worse?

The Torino backed up onto the street, then noisily headed out. Bree watched as the driver bent forward slightly and turned on the radio. Not the Motorola, which was clearly in view, but the music radio. Bree bristled at the audaciousness. Here was someone who had just participated in kidnapping two people, and was certainly not planning on driving her to the nearest police station, listening to ABBA. Bree was so incensed by the callous act, her willpower suddenly ignited. You can either let this overwhelm you, or you can find a way to fight back. Those men hadn't been after her. They'd wanted David, and definitely had him, so there were only two choices—either meekly go along with her captor and hope for the best, or try to escape. She could end up dead either way, but with nothing to lose, the latter seemed to be the better option.

"You're awful quiet over there," Lapentz said, conversationally.

"Where are you taking me?" Bree's tone surprised her. It was full of spite, not fear.

"Well, let's just say to a more scenic part of town. You'll like the view." The driver glanced over at Bree, giving her a partial smile.

Bree considered it anything but reassuring. Trying to calm her mind, she focused on formulating a plan. She glimpsed down at the Motorola, wishing the driver had turned it on. She could picture herself diving to the floorboard and trying to grab the mike. Yeah, that would work, with your hands behind your back! Looking at the door, she considered opening it and jumping out of the car. No, you'd definitely kill yourself that way. C'mon, think of something good! As she pushed her hands between the seat cushions to ease the pressure of the cuffs, she felt something in the crease that made her heart jump.

"So, you got a favorite band?" Lapentz asked.

"Huh?" Bree was caught off guard. "What'd you say?"

"Whose music do you like? You know, are you a rocker? A kicker?"

"Uh, does it really matter?" She didn't want to piss the guy off, but wasn't up to playing any games with him either.

"Just tryin' to make some conversation. Most people in your situation love to talk."

"And just what is my situation?" As soon as the words left her mouth, Bree regretted them. She probably didn't want an answer to that question as much as she thought.

"My, aren't we feisty? Just sit there and enjoy the ride. You'll find out soon enough."

Bree was starting to hate this guy. She was scared to death, and his flippant manner wasn't helping. If he were more violent or coldhearted, she could understand where her chances of survival lay. His friendly overtures were making it difficult to know what he was capable of, and giving her reason to hope, a feeling she wasn't sure she should hang on to.

Feeling up underneath the top seat cushion, Bree slowly worked at scraping the small piece of duct tape off with her fingernails. Attached between the sticky surface and the vinyl was a handcuff key. Dave had mentioned it when showing her the inside of the Torino. He'd taped it there years ago, he said, after reading a book on officer survival. He told her how, if he was ever handcuffed and transported in his own car, he'd have a way to get free. Bree was grateful, at that moment, for her brother's intuition.

After securing the key, Bree began the difficult job of trying to maneuver the tiny object into the even tinier keyhole in the bracelet. The fact that her wrists were sandwiched between her back and the seat cushion wasn't helping. There was also the extra burden of trying to keep her movements to a minimum so she wouldn't arouse the driver's suspicions. Finally, she felt the key nudge into its opening, and twisted it, not sure which direction would open the lock. Hearing a click, she immediately froze. Glancing sideways at her captor, it didn't seem like he had heard.

"Hey, could you turn the radio up?" Bree said, faking a smile. "I like this song."

"Oh, so you like the Stones? I've seen them in concert before." Lapentz happily turned up the volume.

As she finished unlocking the bracelet around her right wrist, Bree hesitantly took another look at the driver. He seemed young, maybe in his middle twenties, and more resembled a corporate attorney than someone who kidnapped people for a living. She wondered if he was some kind of hit man. Growing up along the east coast, she was raised on stories of mobsters. They were part of the culture and the type of people you tried hard to avoid. If these guys were indeed members of some crime syndicate, it upped the amount of danger she and David were in considerably.

Shifting around in her seat, Bree tried to give the impression she was just getting comfortable. With her back towards the door, she finally had some room to unlock the last bracelet. Lapentz watched her for a few seconds, then returned his attention to driving. They had left the urban landscape about ten minutes earlier, and were climbing along a highway that snaked through the foothills. Every now and then, as the road curved around a sharp bend, Bree could see the sparkling dots of street lights in the valley down below. Had circumstances been different, she would have thought the view was beautiful.



Upon leaving his apartment, Starsky had been hustled down to the street and thrown into the back seat of the Oldsmobile. The hood who had groped him slid in behind and shoved the brunet's head down on the seat. For added measure, he stuck the gun into Starsky's side, advising him to keep down or his condition would go seriously downhill. The bigger thug got in the driver's seat and started the engine, then eased the sedan quietly out onto the street.

For a while, Starsky tried concentrating on where the Olds was going by counting turns or street lamps, mentally picturing where he was at, but within a few minutes he'd lost track. His attention turned back to why these creeps would want him. He could think of dozens of criminals who would cherish holding him defenseless. Retaliation was always a threat, one of the more unpleasant drawbacks to his job. Only this time, it wasn't just him being targeted; Bree had been drawn in, too.

Starsky thought about her, imagining all sorts of scenarios that could be happening, none vaguely hopeful. He could only guess what Bree was thinking about him: some protector—a big city cop that couldn't even protect his own sister, much less himself. Deciding to go on the offensive, he started to coil back his legs, preparing to launch them into his kidnapper's chest, but the goon reacted quickly to his movement, jamming the gun barrel hard enough into his rib cage to make Starsky flinch.

"Do something stupid like that again, and you're gonna find yourself riding in the trunk!" his captor ground out.

As his predicament grew more desperate, Starsky thought about his partner. Hutch would begin to worry about him around seven o'clock tomorrow morning, but that was hours away. He again thought of their last conversation, and how he'd overreacted. Hutch had years of practice reading his body language. He could tell the difference between Starsky having a stomach ache, hunger pains, or a bad day just by looking at him. Hutch's radar had clearly gone off earlier at the precinct, and he'd only been trying to help. And what'd ya get for your troubles? Me blowin' up at you. I'm sorry, Hutch. Feeling a surge of despair hit, Starsky closed both eyes, and in the dark interior of the sedan, let go of a tear knowing his captor wouldn't see.



Bree finally got the second bracelet unlocked. She stuffed the handcuffs into a back pants pocket, fearing if they fell off the seat, the noise would ruin any potential plan. While she was trying to decide her next move, the Torino slowed and eased into a pull off along the highway. The driver maneuvered the car until the front wheels were only a few feet from the embankment. Bree couldn't tell how steep it was, but judging from the distance of the city lights below, it looked like a long way down. She felt relieved when the driver put the car in park. He turned off the engine, but started humming along to a song playing on the radio.

"Really a nice night, ain't it?" he said, as he rolled the window down, and stared out through the windshield.

"So, what're we doing here?" Bree asked nervously.

"Waitin' for a cab." Lapentz laughed softly to himself, then looked at Bree. "I should say, I'm waiting for a ride. Yours will be done shortly."

Bree thought for a moment, trying to imagine the worst possible development. "You're going to run the car off the cliff— with me in it—"

"Hey, you're one smart chick!" Lapentz reached into his jacket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He shoved in the cigarette lighter, and lit a smoke once it popped out. Taking a deep drag, he looked back over to Bree. "Seems a shame, though. This is a nice car. Wouldn't mind owning it myself."

Bree couldn't have despised him more. She was grateful, in a way, for that hate because it kept her mind on trying to save herself. Well, if the car does go off the cliff, maybe I can get out before it crashes. Staring at the door, she wasn't so sure of that plan. The doors were not only big, they were heavy. Yeah, keep those ideas comin', Bree. One of them eventually has to be good.

Her anxiety suddenly rose as the driver turned off the radio and stepped outside, taking the keys with him. She looked over her shoulder, thinking whoever he was waiting for had arrived, but saw nothing. The man slowly walked over towards the drop off, then stopped, the lighted end of his cigarette moving up and then down. As he took in the view, Bree used the opportunity to look for one more item her brother had shown her.



Back at his cottage, Hutch took a break from reading and glanced at the clock. It had been almost an hour since he last called Starsky. He redialed the number, but the phone rang unanswered. Frustrated, he slammed the receiver down. I guess they must have gone out somewhere after dinner. With nothing better to do, and not ready for bed yet, he decided to take a drive down to the beach.

He wasn't too surprised when, twenty minutes later, he found himself turning onto Starsky's street. As he'd almost expected, the Torino was gone, so he pulled in the driveway and sat for a few moments, wondering whether to wait for Starsky and Bree to return or just leave. He pulled out his pocket watch, and using the street lighting to read, discovered it was almost ten o'clock. Hutch wondered if they had gone over to Huggy's. Not wanting to make an unnecessary trip, he turned on the police radio and called Dispatch, asking to be put through to the bar.

"This is the Bear, and you've reached The Pits, home of Huggy's hits."

"Huggy, it's Hutch. Is Starsky over there?"

"Well, it's the dynamic duo's blond bomb. Sorry, my man, but Curly's not here."

Disappointed, Hutch asked, "Was he there earlier by chance?"

"Haven't seen him or that cute sister of his all evening. Why? Somethin' going on?"

"No, just thought he might be over there. Thanks, Hug."

"No problem. Hey, if he does show up, you want him to give you a ring?"

"Nah, that's okay—I'll catch him tomorrow. "Night, Hug."

"All right, my man. Later."

Hutch let out a frustrated sigh. He knew the two siblings could be anywhere, but trying to find them, even in the red tomato, would be almost impossible unless he had a general idea of where to start. Faced between aimlessly driving around or getting a few hours of sleep, Hutch backed out of Starsky's driveway and steered the LTD back home.



The Oldsmobile pulled up in front of a vacant warehouse along a deserted section at the city docks. Vinetti turned off the motor and glanced back at Suko in the back seat.

"We gonna blindfold him before we take him in?" he asked.

Suko handed him Starsky's Beretta. "Here, put this somewhere, and hand me that rag and the light."

Vinetti opened up the glove box, taking out a red checkered bandana and an old plastic flashlight. He tossed the automatic inside and gave the other items to Suko. Starsky watched the exchange out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay, cop, gonna give ya something to wear for awhile." Suko folded up the bandana into a long band, then tied it securely around Starsky's eyes. He opened his door, and stepped out, joined quickly by Vinetti. Grabbing the detective, they pulled him out of the car and led him into the metal paneled building. Once inside, the group walked halfway across the empty warehouse, coming to a set of stairs leading down into a smaller basement area. Vinetti took the lead, helping guide Starsky down the steps while Suko lighted the way with the flashlight.

When he reached the bottom step, Vinetti flicked on a light switch. They walked along a short hallway to its end where it branched into two separate rooms. The one on the right resembled a regular office, with a desk, chair and a few file cabinets. Opening the metal door to the one on the left, Vinetti quickly inspected its interior. The old store room was bare except for a crude light fixture hanging from the ceiling. Two adjoining concrete walls made up half of the room's perimeter. A third wall, composed of drywall, separated the small room entirely from the bathroom next door. The floor was finished cement, pierced by a small drain in one of the back corners. The interior felt cold and damp, and a musty odor of stale air permeated throughout.

Suko and Vinetti walked inside with their captive. Speaking to Starsky, Suko said, "Welcome to your new home. Sorry for not giving you the grand tour, but you'll be seeing enough of it later on. We're gonna take off right now, so make yourself comfy. When I come back though, I want to see that blindfold still on your head. Is that clear?"

Starsky didn't answer. Suko looked over at Vinetti. "Think the asshole heard me?"

"I dunno. Maybe he got stupid all of a sudden."

"Well, I think he's just pissed at us—ya know, we did kinda ruin his evening. Probably had a hot night planned with that bitch."

Starsky suddenly lunged towards Suko, thrusting his knee up in the general direction of the hood's groin. He missed, but still caught Suko hard along the front of his hip. Caught off guard, Vinetti quickly recovered—grabbing hold of Starsky with both hands and slamming him with his back up against the wall. He wrapped one gigantic hand around Starsky's neck, effectively pinning him to the concrete. Suko rubbed his side, trying to ease the pain. Looking at Vinetti for some sympathy, the only response he got from the man was an unimpressed head shake followed by a dirty smirk.

"That's okay, cop," Suko said, still nursing the injury. "That's gonna cost ya. I'll keep it in mind while I'm takin' care of that bitch!"

Starsky tried lunging for Suko again, but Vinetti clamped down harder on his throat, making him gasp for air. Eying Vinetti, Suko said incredulously, "Boy, he's just full of piss ain't he? Give "im a little taste of what he's got comin'."

Sensing an impending blow, Starsky still didn't have a chance to prepare himself before Vinetti's massive fist impacted into his gut. The hit made the air burst out of his lungs like from a punctured car tire—if there had been anything in his stomach, he would have lost it.

Vinetti released his hold, letting Starsky's body fold and collapse to the floor. He finished the assault by aiming a hard kick into Starsky's unprotected abdomen. Knowing Rothman was expecting the detective to be in good shape when he arrived in the morning, Vinetti reluctantly stopped.

Suko looked down at Starsky, satisfied at Vinetti's work. " Like I said, asshole, that blindfold better be on your head when I get back."

With that, both men left the bound detective gasping for air on the cold floor.



Bree watched the driver carefully as she brought an arm from behind her and slowly leaned forward. She felt underneath the dashboard, and back behind the glove box, hoping to locate a plastic panel that covered a hidden compartment. Feeling the latch button, she slid it over, grateful to hear the panel pop open. Bree peered back outside, and saw her captor still in the same spot, taking another hit off his cigarette. Bending f orward a little more, she stuck her hand inside the compartment. The feel of cold metal made her heart leap. She quickly took hold of the automatic and sat back in the car seat.

Living in the Starsky household, Bree and her brothers were educated thoroughly in the use of handguns. Pop had insisted all of them know how to handle a firearm, mainly for their safety since guns were permanent fixtures inside the home. While Bree never liked their lethal significance, she did enjoy the outings with her brothers to the shooting range. Normally, outshooting Nicky wasn't a problem, but she was never as good as Davey, only once tying him in score.

Now as Bree sat in the Torino, holding the firearm in her hand, she tried to focus on the basics of shooting it. She wasn't yet ready to think about aiming it at a living person and pulling the trigger—but Pop's instructions came floating back to her. Never, ever jerk the trigger—your shots will go all over the place. Take a deep breath and pull back the trigger, slow and steady. Don't anticipate the recoil. And always keep your target lined up in the sights…

Bree swallowed hard. As much as she hated the man standing outside, she didn't know if she could shoot him. The automatic was loaded with eight rounds, one already chambered next to the firing pin. David had mentioned that, when he showed her the compartment. As Bree contemplated her decision, she thought about David, and to what lengths she would go to help him. If that took shooting someone, or even killing them, then she had to find the courage to do it. She looked back at the driver, picturing him as a paper target instead of a human being. The callous thought turned her stomach. This is for you, David. Bree reached down and slowly began to pull on the door handle.

As the dome light came on in the Torino, it illuminated the parking area, startling Lapentz. He spun around, simultaneously reaching for the firearm tucked inside his jacket. Bree was also surprised by the light, but kept her concentration focused on the driver, along with the sights on the automatic.

"Stop, or I'll shoot!" Bree yelled, trying to sound in charge. She had managed to stand and wedge herself between the open door and the windshield post. By placing her arms across the front edge of the roof, and leaning forward a little, she adopted a firm shooting stance.

Lapentz was stunned. He tried to process the overwhelming reality that his prisoner had somehow freed herself, obtained a gun and now held him at a disadvantage. "What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" was all he could manage to say.

"Don't move! I want you to toss me the car keys!" Bree mentally cringed—oh that sounded intelligent!

"I ain't gonna give you shit!" Lapentz said hotly, quickly trying to size up his opponent's position.

Bree began to panic. She had thought he would have instantly complied, but he wasn't scaring easy. "Look, I know how to use this. Give me the keys or I'm gonna shoot!" she said, tightening her grip on the automatic.

Lapentz knew he couldn't stall too much longer. He raised one hand in a gesture of surrender and reached into his pants pocket with the other to withdraw the set of keys. Holding them up for the woman to see, he readied himself for action.

"Just toss " em in through the window." Seeing the driver cooperating, Bree started to think about her next move.

"Sure, anything you say." In one fluid motion, Lapentz reared back like a pitcher at the World Series and flung the keys at Bree, while simultaneously pulling his firearm out of its holster. The keys' trajectory was off target and they flew high over the Torino, but Lapentz intended a truer aim with the gun as he pointed it at her and fired.

Bree saw him draw and, hearing the gunshot, instinctively flinched, prematurely squeezing the trigger. She immediately knew her shot had gone high, but not letting the mistake shake her, she brought the gun back on target and took careful aim.

Lapentz saw a flash from the passenger side windshield and heard Bree's gunshot erupt right after he fired. Having no cover, he squatted down and grabbed his revolver with both hands, planning to make the next bullet count.

Bree's second shot exploded from the automatic.

In response, Lapentz quickly fired twice. The bullets struck the car, putting a couple of inch-wide holes in the windshield, but not before Lapentz heard Bree's bullet whiz by, perilously close to his head.

The gunshots' impact caused the Torino to shudder. The movement distracted Bree and she fought to force everything out of her mind, concentrating only on the two thin ridges of metal sights along the barrel.

Lapentz had to move. He needed something between him and the other shooter besides air. He turned around, intending to seek cover by diving down behind the embankment's dirt edge.

Bree slowly squeezed the trigger. The recoil flash was blinding , but cleared instantly. A millisecond later, she heard a strange thump and the echo of the shot cut short. The driver let out a grunt and she saw him fall and disappear into the bushes. Suddenly, headlights and the sound of a car screeching up behind the Torino sent her scrambling for cover in the foliage behind her, unsure whether the car's occupants were there to help or hurt her.



As the last dry heave left his stomach, Starsky rolled over onto his knees. His muscles still ached enough that he had to rest his head on the floor to ease the tension. The despised blindfold only added to his sense of helplessness, but he was not about to give the hood another excuse to rearrange his internal organs by trying to take it off. Rubbing his forehead on the floor, Starsky discovered he could slip the cloth off of his eyes just enough to see underneath. Tipping his head back, he took a cursory look at his surroundings. The room was dark, almost shadow less; the only illumination coming from a sliver of light seeping in from a gap underneath the door's bottom edge.

Starsky shuffled backwards on his knees until he encountered a wall. Planting his feet, he scooted his back up the wall until he was standing then used it to guide him as he walked the room's perimeter. It wasn't very big, at most about ten by twelve feet. Locating the door, he tried the handle, but it was locked. At the last corner, Starsky stopped and slid back down to the floor, frustrated at not discovering anything useful.

He thought about Hutch and the seemingly impossibility that his partner would be able to find him locked up in a basement, out in the middle of God-knows-where. But Hutch had pulled off miracles like that before, rescued him in the nick of time, just before he could have died. Good guys always seemed to have those moments; it's what kept them winning over the bad guys. Yeah, but just how long could a good guy's luck hold out?

He let his mind wander, but there weren't many places it could go. He would think about Bree, then about Hutch, and then the pain and discomfort radiating through his body would make it hard to focus on anything except the desolate reality—the quiet surroundings and emptiness in the room only intensifying it. Taking a deep breath, Starsky focused on emptying his mind. When disturbing thoughts tried to enter, he'd swat them away, like pesky mosquitoes. But this strategy didn't work for long—there were just too many bugs.

As time passed, the cramping in his muscles and numbness in his hands forced him to reposition his arms. The maneuver helped ease the pinching of the handcuffs, but made his shoulders feel worse. Frustrated, he banged his head against the wall only to hit the same spot he'd injured earlier at the apartment. Now thoroughly miserable, he shifted until he could rest one side of his face against the wall, hoping the coolness would relieve the aching in his head.

He couldn't help wondering about Bree—hoping she was still alive—fearing she probably wasn't. It wasn't fair. How could she suddenly reappear in his life, and then, because of him, be just as quickly taken away? You didn't learn anything from what happened to Terri, did you?

God—was his job worth the sacrifices anymore? Even Nicky had asked him the same thing. Perhaps this time there wouldn't be any second chances and he'd have to pay the consequences of his career choice. When the two gorillas came back, they were probably going to kill him, or bring the higher-up that obviously wanted him out of circulation. Maybe nothing bad would happen until then, but that wasn't much of a consolation—not when all he could do was wait in fear, in a dark room, blindfolded and at the mercy of some lunatic.



As Bree stumbled into the brush, she just barely missed being illuminated by the arriving sedan's headlights. She regained her balance and ran a few more feet, but then tripped over a rock. As her hands opened up trying to break her fall, the firearm fell to the ground, clinking noisily into the dark terrain. Bree combed around on the ground, but fearing she was still not far enough away, abandoned searching for the gun and dashed further into the thick foliage.

"What the fuck is goin' on here?" Suko said, looking over at Vinetti. As the two had driven the last few hundred yards to meet Lapentz, both heard the sound of gunshots echoing along the hillside. The only thing they saw now was the Torino with an opened passenger door, but no sign of either Lapentz or the girl anywhere. Infuriated Suko asked, "You see anything?"

Vinetti pulled his firearm out of his jacket, and before exiting the Olds, looked over at Suko. "No, but cover me—ain't no tellin' what's happened."

Both men cautiously got out. Suko walked towards the more open area on the driver's side of the Torino, while Vinetti checked out the car's interior from the passenger side. Seeing the two bullet holes in the windshield, he called out, "Su! Look it!"

Suko came over to the car and inspected the damage. "What the hell? Did Eddie shoot the bitch?"

"I don't think so. There ain't no blood." Vinetti looked closer at the passenger seat and noticed a glint of metal between the seat cushions. "Well, this explains a lot," he said, picking up the handcuff key and showing it to Suko.

"Oh, that's just fuckin' great!" Suko wondered what Rothman's reaction to this fiasco would be. "Eddie! Where the hell are you?" he yelled.

A faint groan came from the edge of the pull off. Suko and Vinetti rushed over to the source of the sound and in the faint moonlight saw Lapentz sprawled face down on the ground. Suko holstered his gun and bent down to check on him.

"Hey! You hear me? What happened?" Getting no response, Suko grabbed the man's shoulder and began to turn him over.

Lapentz suddenly became very awake. "Ow, shit! That fuckin' hurts!" he screamed.

Startled, Suko asked, "What? You hurt somewhere?"

Embarrassed, Lapentz replied, "That fuckin' bitch shot me in the ass!"

Suko and Vinetti looked at each other. Vinetti groaned and, frustrated, stomped back to the Torino, leaving Suko to debate with himself on how to handle Lapentz.

"Can you get up?" Suko asked sharply.

"Yeah, I think so. Give me a hand," Lapentz pleaded.

Tucking his shoulder under Lapentz's arm, Suko helped him over to the rear of the Torino. Pushing him face down on the trunk, he inspected the bullet wound, aided by the Oldsmobile's headlights. Vinetti walked over from the passenger side, giving Lapentz a disgusted sneer.

"Why're you lookin' at me like that? I'm the one who's shot here," he whined.

"Shut the fuck up before I finish what that bitch started!" Vinetti spat out.

Suko pulled out a handkerchief from his jacket and folded it up into a palm-sized pad. Handing it to Lapentz, he said, "Here, hold this on it. It's not that bad, but the bullet will have to be cut out."

Raising himself off of the trunk, Lapentz sheepishly glanced at Suko and took the bandage, gently placing it against his wound.

Suko folded his arms, getting Lapentz's attention. "So? What the hell happened?"

"I dunno." Lapentz replied. "We got here. I got outta the car to take a smoke. Next thing I know, the light comes on inside, and she's got a gun."

"She's got a gun? How the hell'd she get a gun?" Suko said, his fury almost palpable.

"How the fuck do I know? Must've been one hidden in the car."

Vinetti reached up and shoved the handcuff key in Lapentz's face. "Yeah, well that wasn't the only thing." Lapentz stared in disbelief at the object.

"So where's the bitch? Did ya shoot her?" Suko asked.

"I'm not sure. I know I hit something—the windshield, I think."

"Great. Just fuckin' great." Suko surveyed the dark and hostile-looking hillside and released a frustrated sigh. "We can't waste time tryin' to find her. Let's take care of the car and get back to the warehouse. It's gonna be light in just a couple of hours anyway."

"What about me?" Lapentz chimed in.

Suko gave him an unsympathetic frown. "Don't worry, we'll get your ass taken care of. You got the car keys?"

"I, ah…threw the keys over there, somewhere" he said, pointing towards the thick overgrowth of foliage along the pull off.

"You did what?" Suko looked at Vinetti who was dragging a hand across his face. Turning back to Lapentz, he said, "Get your ass in the car, now! Lou, you too."

After all three had gotten in the Olds, Suko put the car in low gear and nosed it into the Torino's rear . Giving the engine some gas, he tried to push the Ford forward, but the locked transmission wasn't letting it slide easily. Suko backed off a little, and tried again. The collision was firm enough to jerk the Torino forward, making the front end dip down and the rear wheels lift off the ground. Repeating the maneuver, Suko hit one of the Ford's rear tires, finally sending the car over the cliff.

He then backed up and pulled out onto the highway, heading the Oldsmobile downhill towards the city.

Still concerned about his wound, Lapentz asked, "So, we goin' somewhere to get me fixed up?"

Vinetti growled at Suko, saying, "Just pull over right here. I'm gonna shut his mouth once and for all."

"Hey! Sorry I asked! I'll just sit back here and bleed to death." Lapentz was never sure when Vinetti was being deadly serious or not.

"I'm not takin' any more chances tonight," Suko said, then turned to Vinetti. "I'm droppin' you off at the warehouse. Sit on that cop until I get back from taking Junior here over to Doc's."

"Fine. Just stop at a hamburger joint somewhere first—a drive in's fine. I'm starved," Vinetti said, tired of suppressing the rumbling in his stomach.


Bree had stayed hidden behind a rock outcrop until she heard the sedan start up and ram into her brother's car. She poked her head out, saddened to see her brother's prize possession slowly plunge out of sight down the hillside. It was the only reason why she was glad he wasn't there right now. She watched the headlights of the sedan turn around and head back towards town. Shaken, she made her way back over to the pull off, and looked in vain for the firearm she had dropped. As she walked up to the embankment, she could barely see the reflection of metal from the wrecked Ford below. Looking behind her at the highway, she wondered how long it would take to walk back to civilization.


CHAPTER 6


"Why don't you tell me my friend
How you'll still be there
When the heartache ends?" Rob Thomas



Suko steered the Olds down the narrow roadway between two warehouses in the city dock district. He came to a stop in front of Rothman's building, and waited until Vinetti got out of the car.

"I'll be back as soon as I get him stitched up," Suko said, jerking his head back towards Lapentz.

Vinetti waved an acknowledgement, then walked into the building as the sedan made a u-turn and drove away. He made his way down to the basement and at the end of the hallway, entered the office and set the paper bag containing the remnants of his meal on the desk. He dug a key out from his front pants pocket and went across the hallway. The light switch to the store room was just to the right of the metal door. Before flicking it on, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a revolver.

Vinetti unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open, making sure he could see his captive before he entered. Starsky was sitting in the back corner, leaning sideways against the wall, with his legs partially folded underneath him. His head hung to one side and rested on his shoulder.

Vinetti stuck the gun back in its holster and stepped closer. "Hey! You awake?" he asked.

Starsky had heard the man enter the room and recognized the voice as belonging to the thug who'd slugged him. Sure he'd get a beating for not answering, he lifted his head and replied, "You here for room service?"

Vinetti snorted. "Got yourself a sense of humor, I see." He placed a hand on Starsky's shoulder, feeling him flinch as he touched him. Vinetti pushed his body forward, making sure the handcuffs were still on securely.

"Just checkin' your cuffs," he said. Vinetti paused for a moment, giving the cop a good once over. He then grabbed the blindfold and yanked it off.

Starsky blinked his eyes a few times, adjusting to the light. Warily, he looked up at Vinetti, not sure what to expect from the giant standing over him.

"I'm not lookin' to beat you," Vinetti said, in a flippant manner, curious to see how the cop would respond.

Starsky gave him a slight smirk, then looked back down towards the floor. Vinetti thought he saw a hint of resignation on Starsky's face, which was interesting. The cop had shown only defiance since they grabbed him, but now, for the first time, he looked vulnerable. "You hungry?" Vinetti asked, glancing around. He knew they were alone, but he didn't want an audience. "I've got an extra burger if you want it."

Starsky looked back at him, not sure what to make of the offer. He wasn't really hungry, but he doubted his captivity plans included being provided food at regular intervals. "Yeah, sure," he said.

Vinetti went across the hall and fetched the paper bag off the desk. He came back in and dropped it by Starsky, saying, "Before you eat that, we're gonna do a little rearranging. Get down on your belly." Starsky glared at him, but nonetheless submitted by slowly uncurling his body and lying prone on the floor. Vinetti bent down and pressed a hand firmly between Starsky's shoulder blades. As he kept his weight centered on the arm, he moved his leg over and replaced his hand with a knee. He took the handc uff key out of a pocket, and unlocked one of the bracelets. "Okay, bring that arm around and put it on top of your head." he said, keeping hold of the still cuffed hand.

Starsky found it almost impossible to move, but managed to get the numb arm where the man wanted it. Vinetti repositioned himself, keeping one leg on Starsky's back, and brought the other cuffed arm around securing his prisoner once more. Satisfied, Vinetti stood up and walked back out into the hall. He grabbed a chair from the office and placed it by the open doorway, taking a seat.

Happy to have the goon off his back, Starsky brought his reluctant arms down in front of him and pushed himself up until he was sitting again. He grabbed the bag and scooted back against the wall, then crossed his legs like a pretzel. Reaching inside, he pulled out a cold hamburger and unfolded the paper wrap. After taking a few bites, he glanced at his watchdog, not surprised to see he was under close surveillance.

Starsky's thoughts floated to Bree. As much as he wanted to believe she was still okay, he had to accept another, more realistic, possibility. His life held some importance to these scum, but what about hers? He looked over at Vinetti, the one person who might have an answer, and wondered how far his sympathy might go. "Where's the girl at—the one who was with me?" he asked.

"Couldn't tell ya," Vinetti answered, giving Starsky a cold stare.

Starsky sensed he was lying. "Look…she's my sister. I just want to know if she's okay."

"Can't you hear? I said, "I couldn't tell ya.'"

Starsky wasn't sure what to make of the response. Either the gorilla didn't know and was toying with him, or he did and wasn't saying. Since he had no choice but to accept Vinetti's answer, he halfheartedly finished eating the burger, forcing down the last few bites. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and glanced at the handcuffs. It probably wasn't going to be long before his hands were cuffed in back again.

"You got a john I could use? Starsky asked, hoping he wouldn't be told to use the floor drain.

"Only if you make it fast." Vinetti stood up and pulled the revolver out from his jacket. Pointing it down the hall, he said, "It's right next door."



Dawn had arrived in Bay City. The eastern sky was showing signs of emerging pale yellow shades. The morning appeared to be off to a beautiful start, with cirrus clouds floating high above, ready to pick up the first pink hues of sunlight.

Hutch drowsed in bed, having just woken up from an unremarkable dream. He knew it was still too early for the alarm clock to go off, but loved when he could wake up on his own, rather than being forced to by some shrill beeping noise. Days like this always improved his attitude, at least before things at work had a chance to change his mind. Suddenly, the phone rang, instantly transforming his peaceful mood. He rolled over, looking at the clock sitting on the night stand. Thin red lines glowing against a dark background showed the numbers five, four and eight. Grabbing the receiver, he said hoarsely, "Yeah, what is it?"

"Detective Hutchinson?"

"Yeah, speaking. Who is this?"

"Detective, this is Darlene from the Glendale Police dispatch. I have a message for you."

Hutch leaned over and propped up on his elbow. "I'm listening."

"I have an officer out with a female at the Chevron station, 4508 Glen Canyon Drive. He's requesting you come there immediately. Says this woman has information regarding your partner."

Hutch struggled to get his foggy mind to understand the situation. That address was clear across town and out of his district, so what on earth did it have to do with Starsky? "Do you have her name?" he asked.

"I believe the officer said Breanna. Would you like me to confirm that?"

"No! Tell the officer to stay put." Hutch looked back at the clock. "I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Yes sir, I'll advise the officer."

Hutch hung up the phone, then shakily dialed Starsky's number. After six rings, he gave up and jumped out of bed, running into the bathroom. He threw some water on his face, and looked in the mirror, running a hand over his stubble. Shaving would have to wait. He found some clean clothes, and hastily threw them on. Just before heading out of the apartment, he grabbed his holster and jacket off of the closet door.

Almost half an hour later, the tan LTD arrived, siren blaring, at the Chevron station. Stopping next to the black and white, Hutch spr ang out of the door and instantly saw Bree scrambling out of the patrol car. She looked terrified and her jeans were smeared with dirt and scrape marks. Just before reaching Hutch, she burst into tears, and then latched onto him in a tight embrace.

"Okay, take a deep breath," Hutch said, as he waited for her to settle down enough to talk. "That's it—now tell me what happened."

Trying to talk between sobs, Bree said, "They've got David…and I shot the guy, but he shot at me…Davey's car's up there…they pushed it off the cliff…"

Hutch tried to make sense of her ramblings. Noticing the two officers standing nearby, Hutch shot them a confused look.

The younger officer stepped in closer to the couple. "We got called here by the station attendant," he said. "When we arrived, she was pretty upset. Said something about a kidnapping and shooting someone. I patted her down—not knowing who she was, or what I had—and found this—." He handed Hutch a pair of handcuffs. "Those were in her back pocket. Then she mentioned your name and only wanted to talk to you. Looks like you know her?"

Hutch nodded at him, then gazed back into Bree's terrified eyes.

"Bree. Who's got Starsky?"

"I don't know! Three guys, wearing suits…with guns…they were in the apartment when we got home..." Bree was trembling.

Hutch worded his next question carefully. "Did you have to shoot someone?"

"I, I think so…I'm not sure I hit him…Oh, Hutch! They hurt David…" Bree broke down sobbing, but those last words made Hutch sick to his stomach.

"This "Starsky'," the officer asked, "is he your partner?"

"Yeah—he's also her brother." Hutch grasped Bree's shoulders and tried to keep his mind focused. "Bree, listen to me. Do you know where the person is that you shot?"

She turned slightly, then pointed towards the hill. "Up there…off the highway."

"Can you show me?"

Bree nodded affirmatively. Hutch motioned to the officers with his head. "You want to follow us?"

"Sure, lead the way."

The officer and his partner got back inside the patrol car, while Hutch slid Bree into the front seat of the LTD. As they drove up the winding road, Bree calmed down enough for Hutch to get more details of what happened. She had been walking down the canyon road for hours, trying to avoid being seen by any passing motorists, afraid that one could be the sedan responsible for shoving the Torino down the hillside. She explained about finding the gun and using it against her captor, and how she'd uncuffed herself. But Hutch wasn't able to learn any more about the kidnappers. From what Bree had seen take place in the apartment though, Starsky was in serious trouble.

"That's it!" Bree yelled, pointing towards the large pull off area.

Hutch hit the brakes and skidded in, stopping just off of the pavement. He wanted to preserve the scene as much as possible. Getting out of the LTD, he and Bree were joined by the two patrol officers. Bree pointed over to the embankment, where she had last seen the driver.

Studying the ground, Hutch saw sets of tire marks etched in the dirt, indicating where at least one vehicle had been. He walked over to the embankment and looked down the rocky hillside. The red and white paint of Starsky's car stood out plainly against the tan colored ground and olive green bushes. The Torino was still upright, resting at an angle so that most of the driver's side was visible. Thick underbrush concealed sections of the front end, but it looked heavily crumpled. Hutch hadn't doubted Bree's story, but seeing the car suddenly made everything real.

Starsky was gone.

Bree had followed Hutch as he checked over the embankment. She was relieved not to see a body lying there—at least for now it didn't look like she killed someone—but deep inside she wished her kidnapper were dead. Maybe Hutch could have found out who these guys were if her aim had been better; the dead guy might have provided a clue. As Bree took one last look at the wrecked Torino, she was grateful to have escaped with her life. At least that was one thing the kidnappers hadn't taken from her.

The officers continued checking around the area for more evidence. They located some small pools of blood on the ground about twenty feet from where the Torino had been, along with a few empty bullet casings. Hutch asked Bree to show him where she was when she lost the gun. With the sun being out, it only took a few minutes of searching before the automatic was found.

After gathering up the last pieces of evidence, Hutch sat Bree back inside the LTD and then approached the officers standing by their cruiser.

"I need to take her back to my precinct and see if she can ID some mug shots. Once the wrecker gets here, could you have the car towed to this address?" he asked, writing out the location of the police garage on a page of note pad, then handing it to the officer. "I'd like to make sure our people process it, since the kidnapping occurred in Bay City."

"No problem, Detective. Is there anything else we can do?"

"Yeah. Keep this from the media. Whoever's involved with grabbing my partner doesn't need to know anything about this right now. If your supervisor wants to talk to someone, he can call my Captain—name's Harold Dobey."

"I'll pass that along . And, Sergeant Hutchinson…we hope you find your partner."

"So do I."

Hutch got back inside the LTD and asked the dispatcher to put him through to Dobey, but was told he wasn't on duty yet. A call to the captain's house revealed he had already left for work. Hutch had an APB put out for Starsky as a missing officer and left a message for Dobey to call him as soon as possible. As he started the car and put it in gear, Hutch reached over and grasped Bree's hand. "Don't worry; every cop in the city will be looking for him." She nodded, but looked detached and lost.



The black caddy pulled up and parked in front of the warehouse. Jenkins got out from the driver's seat and walked around to the passenger side, opening the rear door. Rothman slid out and briefly glanced around the area before walking towards the building's entrance.

Inside the basement room, Starsky sat in a wooden chair. He looked at the two men standing by the open door, each holding firearms down by their sides, and sensed he was about to meet the man responsible for his abduction. Still handcuffed, he felt powerless, but angry. He wanted to lash out at someone—anyone—responsible for bringing him here, but until he saw a break, staying in one piece was more important. Hutch had to know he was missing by now and was no doubt organizing some surefire mission to find him
.
Deep in his heart, though, the fiery drive to survive was smoldering. But whatever these creeps had in mind couldn't be as bad as the heartache of knowing he hadn't protected Bree. Even if he got out of this situation, he'd have to live with that failure for the rest of his life. Bree's abduction had nothing to do with grabbing him—she was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and no doubt the kidnappers saw her as expendable. If Bree was dead, there was still one thing he could do—load up with vengeance—something strong enough to replace the guilt and pain inside him. As he heard the sound of approaching footsteps in the hall, Starsky readied himself to meet the recipient of his anger.

Suko left the room to greet the new arrivals.

"How's our visitor doing?" Rothman asked. His gleeful tone of voice reminded Suko of a kid ready to tear into presents on Christmas Day.

"Oh, he's a real treat. Probably wants to personally thank you for the invite."

A satisfied grin formed on Rothman's face. "He probably does. Well, we shouldn't keep our guest waiting any longer."

As soon as the syndicate boss stepped into the doorway, Starsky knew who he was.

Rothman noted the look of recognition on the detective's face, and said, "Seems like introductions aren't necessary, are they, Sergeant?"

"I know who you are, Rothman, and what you do. That's what this is all about? You mad at me because I stole some of your candy?"

Rothman's mood instantly changed. "That "candy' you're referring to cost me half a million dollars."

"Half a million dollars?" Starsky was genuinely surprised. "We figured it was only worth about half that much. Guess we didn't include your overhead costs, but thanks for mentioning that. I'll make sure it gets changed on my report."

Vinetti stole a glance over at Suko, and raised his eyebrows—son of a bitch has got balls.

Rothman's face remained unchanged, impervious to Starsky's attempt at humor. "I hope you've had your fun detective—because I'm certainly ready to have mine," he said dryly. Rothman took a few steps closer to Starsky, observing him like a hungry lion would eye a wounded gazelle. "You and your partner have cost me a great deal of money, and since I'm a business man, the time has come to eliminate the drain on my finances."

"If you kill me, there'll just be someone else takin' my place," Starsky angrily replied.

"Oh, that's quite possible, but you're missing my point. You and Sergeant Hutchinson seem to be very good at what you do, and it wouldn't be right to take you out, just like that," he said, snapping his fingers. "No, I intend to suck your life out of you one drop at a time. I've paid a lot of money for this opportunity, two hundred and fifty thousand, and I expect to enjoy every penny."

"But you said it was half a mill…" Starsky suddenly realized the implication.

"Little slow there, aren't we?" Rothman said, reading the cop's face. "Yes, this isn't all about you, Sergeant. That partner of yours also owes me big. And just like you, he'll get his chance to pay me back. But you're here now, and as long as I have you, he's not going to be worried about police work, is he? No, I didn't think so, which is very fortunate, considering the important delivery I have scheduled to arrive very shortly."

Starsky understood Rothman's plan, and what infuriated him was Rothman clearly knew them well enough to calculate how they would set their priorities. That made Starsky both a diversion and the bait to snare his partner. He dropped his head. He was already responsible for what had happened to Bree, and now his capture was going to endanger Hutch.

Rothman turned to Suko and coolly said, "I think I've been patient long enough. Are you ready?"

"Sure thing, boss." Suko holstered his weapon and looked quickly at Vinetti, who answered with a nod, keeping his gun on Starsky. Suko took off his jacket and holster, handing both to Vinetti. Starsky watched the man unbutton and remove his long sleeved shirt, leaving on a sleeveless undershirt. Vinetti took the items next door. A queasy knot formed in Starsky's stomach. Usually, thugs like Suko just went ahead and beat you—they didn't make a big production out of taking their clothes off.

As Vinetti stepped back into the room, Suko approached Starsky, and grabbed his arm, raising him out of his seat. He pushed Starsky to the side and scooted the chair over by the doorway, placing it so Rothman could sit down.

Starsky looked at Rothman and felt disgusted by the satisfied grin on the man's face. Whatever he had planned, he seemed intent on enjoying it, which probably meant something painful for Starsky. Just whatever it is, think about Hutch, and Bree. You can take whatever these scum can dish out.

Suko came back over to Starsky and took hold, twisting him around and roughly shoving him face first into the rear wall. Grabbing the center of the handcuffs, Suko twisted the bracelets, painfully pinching Starsky's wrists and making him rise up off of his heels. Suko then planted a leg in between the cop's thighs, spreading both legs out and putting him off balance.

Suko put his mouth to Starsky's ear, keeping his voice low and forceful as he said, "Now…I'm gonna remove these cuffs, so you just stay there kissin' that wall until I tell you to move. Got it?"

"Yeah, I gotcha."

Starsky's calm response actually excited Suko. He liked it when his victims put up a strong front, especially in the beginning. Suko removed the cuffs, and slipped them into his back pocket. Returning to the center of the room, he said, "Okay, cop. You've got two minutes to get some circulation back in those arms, then you and me are gonna have a little fun."

Starsky turned around and faced Suko. The man was stretching out his thickly muscled arms, keeping his fingers interlocked as he flexed both hands. Trying to stall for time so his own arms could recover sensation, Starsky asked, "There any rules to this game of yours?"

"Rules are, there are no rules. I'm just gonna beat the shit out of you. When the boss thinks you've had enough, he'll call time," Suko said, cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah, that's terrific." Great, I feel like a pigeon being thrown into a cock fight. "So, who's gonna be helping you?" he asked.

"Just me. You done wasting everyone's time?"

Suko's forceful look told Starsky the fight was on. As each squared off against the other, it was Suko who came in with the first punch. Starsky was able to sidestep out of its path and land a solid hit on Suko's jaw, but was unprepared for the ensuing sidekick as his opponent pivoted beside him. The hard leather shoe rammed into his back, dropping Starsky to the ground and sending a sickening rupture through his side. Shaking off the pain, he leapt back up. The floor was the last place he wanted to be with this gorilla .

Starsky lunged at Suko. He grabbed the thug around the neck, but before he could get his arms locked, Suko twisted sideways and got a hold of Starsky's upper arm. As Suko jerked forward, he flipped Starsky over his shoulder, forcing both of them to the ground. Starsky hit first with Suko landing on top of him. He managed to squeeze out from underneath, and scrambled to his feet, but the impact had winded him. Suko jumped up, and before Starsky could recover, belted him hard across the face. Dazed, he came back at Suko and got in another good hit, but wasn't able to fend off the next devastating punch. Eventually beaten to the ground, Starsky's body refused to get back up. As Suko struck four hard kicks to his stomach, Starsky lost the ability to shield the vital area with his arms. After one last boot to his unprotected rib cage, the sound of a muffled crack prompted Rothman to stand up and call Suko off.

Breathing heavily, Suko shuffled on tired legs to Starsky's side. Vinetti helped him get the cop up and drag him over to the wall where he was once more cuffed behind the back. Held so he wouldn't fall, Starsky was turned around to face Rothman.

Starsky blinked several times, attempting to clear the blood-tinged sweat that dripped into his eye from his cut forehead. Struggling to give his lungs a chance to replenish with oxygen, he tried taking some deep breaths, but the pain in his back and stomach made it nearly impossible. As his vision cleared, he saw Rothman take out a switchblade from his pocket and hand it to Suko.

Rothman enjoyed the fear forming on Starsky's face. His plan was succeeding perfectly. "You seem surprised, detective. I told you I was going to suck the life out of you one drop at a time. I just didn't say how fast those drops might be, did I?"

As Starsky looked at the knife, he realized he wasn't going to win this round. He couldn't tell if Rothman planned to kill him now or just cut him enough to make him suffer. Either way, it was going to hurt, and bad. Scared of what lay ahead, he forced a hard swallow down, trying to keep the nausea in his gut from climbing out.

As Suko sprang the steel blade from its metal sheath, Rothman said, "Remember, not too deep. We still need him alive for a while."

With that, Suko inserted his hand into the opened front of Starsky's shirt and tore downwards, ripping the buttons apart. He placed the blade edge up against the perspiring skin over the stomach, and snarled when Starsky tried to jerk away.

Pressing the tip in firmer, he said, " Damn it, hold still or I'm gonna shove it all the way in!" Vinetti slipped in further behind Starsky, and folded one arm around his neck, using the other to grab hold of a cuffed hand in back. Braced tightly up against Vinetti's massive chest, and unable to resist, Starsky closed his eyes. He took in a quick breath and tensed up, hoping Suko would be quick.

With the sleek motion of a skilled surgeon, Suko inserted the blade into one of Starsky's tight abdominal muscles, plunging the sharp tip in about an inch—deep enough to cut the muscle, but not enough to penetrate into the stomach cavity . Starsky's face tightened into an agonized grimace as Suko sliced the knife edge up about four inches, splitting the tissue open and allowing blood to ooze out of the cut. As Starsky let out a deep groan, Suko withdrew the blade then wiped the bloody end on the cop's faded jeans. Inspecting the cut, Suko was satisfied it would bleed for a while then seal up on its own. He nodded to Vinetti, who let go of his grip on Starsky, letting him fall into a heap on the cement floor.

Looking at the wounded detective and the blood beginning to spill onto the floor, Rothman asked Suko, "Where are his credentials? His police ID and badge?" Suko walked over to the office next door and retrieved Starsky's wallet from his jacket. He handed it to Rothman, who took it and opened up the billfold, glancing at the metal shield and identification card. Giving it back to Suko, Rothman said, "Get his blood on it—see if you can soak it real good. I'd like to send it to his partner."

Suko dug a handkerchief out of his pants pocket and wiped the wallet's surface before dropping it into the small crimson pool forming by Starsky's stomach. The three men then joined Jenkins out in the hall, closing the metal door as they left.

Demolished, Starsky lay on the floor, periodically shivering from the wrenching spasms in his body. The knife wound and the cramping radiating from his beaten stomach were combining into an unbearable mass of excruciating pain. He could smell the metallic odor from the blood, and wanted to crawl away from it. But he knew the less he moved, the faster the cut would clot over and stop bleeding.

As the pain in his body kept burning, Starsky felt his fear increasing. Other than his injuries, he was terrified that Rothman's plans were only beginning. Plans that included making sure he paid dearly for just doing his job. Ah, Hutch…are you getting close? Some sicko's got his hands on me again.

Suddenly, an intense spasm shot through his abdomen, making his cuffed hands want to wrap around his aching body. He hated that he was bound up, unable to fight, and at the mercy of some psycho. Real cops died in blazing gun fights, trying to save an innocent victim or another officer, not after being splayed out and sliced open then used as bait to lure their partner into a trap. He looked at the wallet lying by his side, knowing Hutch would be touching it soon—probably feeling the same revulsion he was.

As a nauseous churning began building in his gut, Starsky tried to hold it down, but his brain was slowly losing the battle over his stomach. Unable to prolong the impulse any longer, he miserably gave in. The acrid puke left his throat burnt and his stomach retching back in protest as pain erupted from the stab wound. The vomit smelled horrible, and along with stinging drops of sweat trickling into his eyes, only added to his misery. Starsky remembered how bad he hurt after Bellamy stuck him. What he was feeling now was even worse. He desperately needed his partner—one comforting touch from him would feel better than a shot of morphine. Hutch…where are ya? This hurts so much…oh shit it really hurts…



Bree had cradled herself up against Hutch as he drove back to the precinct. Every few minutes, he would squeeze her shoulders tightly, as if trying to wring the terror out of her body. She had been very quiet for the last several miles, and Hutch wondered if she was up to looking through dozens of pages of mug photos.

"Hey, ya doing okay?" he asked, as he gave her another squeeze.

She nodded slightly and tightened her folded arms closer to her body.

Hutch pulled the LTD over and stopped. He put the car in park, and shifted over a little, trying to get a closer look at Bree's face—much like he had done the other night at the beach. Gently taking her chin in his hand, he looked at her eyes. Her soft but wounded stare greeting his sent a wave of heartache through him.

"Hey…level with me. You doing okay? Do you want to go to the hospital? Let somebody check you out?"

Quietly, she said, "No, you have to find who did this." Looking down at her jeans, Bree scratched at a spot of dirt on her thigh. "Is David's place on the way to the station? Maybe I could…"

When she didn't finish, Hutch wondered if she could handle going back into Starsky's apartment. He wanted to look at the place himself, but knew it would have to wait until he could get Bree to the precinct.

"Bree, I'm sorry, but it's a crime scene right now."

"Okay, let's just go to the station. The sooner I can look at those pictures, the sooner you can find him."

Hutch gave her a comforting smile, but her voice had sounded tired and defeated. Just as he pulled back onto the road, Dobey called him on the radio.

"Captain, I'm on my way in with a female victim of a kidnapping from last night. If Minnie's around, see if she can meet us in one of the interview rooms."

"Okay, Hutch, I'll see what I can do. This got anything to do with that APB on Starsky?"

Flatly, Hutch answered, "Yeah, I'm afraid it does. I'll tell you more once I get there."

Hutch hung up the mike and put his arm back around Bree. "It's gonna be okay, Bree—I promise. We'll find him."

After arriving at the precinct, Hutch got Bree settled with Minnie in one of the interview rooms. Introducing her as a relative of a good friend, Hutch wanted to keep the news of Starsky's kidnapping and Bree's escape confined to as few people as possible until he had a chance to talk to Dobey.

When Hutch walked into his office, Dobey could tell from his unshaven appearance and anxious demeanor that he wasn't going to like what his detective was about to tell him. What worried him the most though, was the obvious absence of his partner.

Ten minutes later, the captain felt twenty years older. "So Breanna saw all this happen to Starsky, then had her own nightmare to deal with," Dobey said, his mouth dry and his voice thick with despair.

"Yeah, but she's strong, Capt'n . She had to be to get away like she did."

"From what she described of these men, it sounds like syndicate people. You think this is payback from the drug bust?" Tightlipped, Dobey stared at Hutch.

"It has to be. But we've got nothing so far to tie this to Rothman. I could go pay him a visit, but that wouldn't accomplish anything." Hutch stared down at the floor, wishing the world could just stop spinning for a moment.

"You're damn straight! And don't even think about making this your private party. If Rothman's got Starsky, chances are he'll want to grab you too."

Hutch yanked his head up and glared intensely at Dobey. "Well, he can sure as hell try—but that isn't going to happen."

Dobey shifted in his chair, sighing heavily. "I'm going to get a lab team headed out to Starsky's apartment, and amend that APB you put out so he's listed as a kidnapping victim. I think you did the right thing with the Glendale police. We need to keep Breanna under wraps until we know more about what we're dealing with."

"Yeah, I know. Is there some place she can stay, somewhere safe?"

"I can find her a safe house. It might take a few hours to get something lined up."

"I'll keep her with me until then." Standing up, Hutch said, "I'm going to run out to Starsky's. I told Minnie to get a hold of me when Bree got done. She might need to go back to the apartment and grab some things, maybe some clean clothes."

"That's fine. Let me know when she's done going through those books, I'd like to meet her—tell her we're doing everything we can to find her brother." Dobey picked up the phone and started dialing.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate that, Capt'n."



Starsky suddenly jerked awake. Opening heavy eyelids, he groggily came out of a dream, and took in the reality of his basement dungeon. The arm he was lying on had gone numb, but as he tried to change position, fresh aches pulsed through his body, protesting any movement. The cold from the cement floor had seeped into his muscles, making them stiff and sore. He breathed out a disheartened sigh, wondering how long he had been asleep, and whether it was still daylight outside or not. He wished there was a window in the joint; at least he'd have a way of measuring time.

He looked down, and noticed the wallet was still there beside him, somewhat darker in color than before. He couldn't see any fresh blood on the floor, and hoped the knife wound had stopped bleeding. Still feeling woozy, Starsky closed his eyes, wanting to go back to the numbing effects of sleep, but the sound of footsteps out in the hallway changed that plan, and sent a new dose of apprehension through him.

The metal door was unlocked, then swung open with a creak. Suko entered the room, while Vinetti stayed in the doorway, taking a guarded stance. Carrying a small envelope, Suko walked over to the prone detective and knelt down, checking his condition. The cop's face was pale, and even though his eyes were open, their gaze seemed unfocused and distant. Suko examined the amount of blood on the floor, and decided it wasn't bad enough to worry about. He pulled out a handkerchief, and retrieved the billfold from the dried pool, placing it into the envelope. Setting it off to the side, he tried to lift Starsky's shirt flap to check his handiwork, but the bloodied material had dried and stuck to the wound.

"I'm gonna need some water. And bring me in a gauze pad or two," he said, as he glanced over his shoulder at Vinetti.

Curious about Suko's actions and needing someone to talk to, even if it was this scum, Starsky asked, "How's it look?"

Suko hesitated, wanting to ignore him. His jaw still hurt where Starsky had connected with his first punch. But he'd made sure the cop got the worst end of their fight, and Starsky hadn't gone down easy. "I can't see any fresh blood," he said, checking the floor again and around the wound. "Doesn't look too bad."

When Vinetti came back into the room, he set a glass of water and some medical gauze down by Suko.

Starsky gazed at the items. "Gotta say, not every day someone tries to gut you then fixes you up," he said wryly.

"Yeah, well don't go writing me into your will just yet," Suko said, picking up the glass. "We don't like it when people die on us before we're through with them. Takes all the fun out of things." He poured a little of the water on top of the crusted shirt, letting it soak down into the cut.

Flinching at the sting, Starsky said curtly, "Yeah, I bet." Exhausted, he laid his head back down on the floor and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, Suko was able to lift the shirt away, and using a wet cloth, cleaned the area around the wound enough so he could tape some gauze over it. Seeing the abdomen shiver at his touch, Suko ran his fingers lightly through the hair on Starsky's stomach, then moved his hand up, exploring around the nipples. Feeling the invasive touch, Starsky opened his eyes and drew back, trying to escape the prying fingers.

Continuing his exploration, Suko said, "What? You still shy? I thought I introduced myself to you back at your apartment. You know, when you were spread out all nice and ready on your table?"

Vinetti watched them, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"Look, you sick pervert! I'm not your sex toy so keep your fuckin' hands off of me!" Starsky was feeling stabs of pain from his wound, making his voice sound tight and raspy.

Suko grabbed and twisted a nipple, watching with amusement as Starsky grimaced. "You're gonna be whatever I want you to be," he murmured, then reached down and yanked open the zipper on the faded jeans.

"Get your paws off of me!" Starsky said, a panicked edge in his voice.

"Suko, knock it off," Vinetti said offhandedly.

"Go mind your own business!" Suko shot back, engaged in trying to peel the jeans off of Starsky's hips. Addressing his victim, he said, "Quit fighting me, dammit!" Then, more seductively, "It only makes me harder…"

Starsky quickly began to lose strength fending off Suko's advances. The pain in his abdomen was too much. After lashing out a missed kick at Suko, he dropped his head down to the floor, exhausted and gasping for air.

Suko grabbed Starsky's hips and flipped him over, causing the cop to wheeze out a painful yelp as the knife wound contacted the floor. Suko tried to lift his victim's thighs and prop them against his own legs, but the effort was exhausting. Turning to Vinetti, he said, "C'mere and help me!"

Vinetti shot him a disgusted glare. "Let him be—can't you tell he don't like boys?"

"This ain't a democracy! Get over here!" Suko had exposed Starsky's rear, and began to unzip his own pants. Looking back at Vinetti, he hissed, "Lou, I said get over here!"

Vinetti stood up and walked over. He placed a hand on Suko's shoulder, then clamping down in a vise-like grip, launched the surprised man as hard as he could across the room. Advancing on Suko like a mad bull, he stopped just short of stomping on him. Vinetti grabbed his wallet, pulled out a twenty and threw it at Suko. "Here! Go buy you a piece of ass somewhere! Just leave him alone!"

Suko stood up, giving Vinetti a wide smirk. Zipping up his pants, he reached down and picked up the money. He walked over, snatched up the paper bag containing the billfold, and stuffed it under his arm. Before stepping out of the room, he turned and said, "Geez, Lou, if you'd wanted him for yourself, you should've just asked."

Vinetti stood still for a while, then walked over to Starsky. The detective had rolled onto his side, and from his uneven, labored breathing, appeared to be in tremendous pain. Vinetti knelt down and lifted open the shirt, checking the knife wound. Blood had soaked through the bandage, but the cut didn't appear to be hemorrhaging. Vinetti pulled a key out of his jacket and uncuffed one of Starsky's wrists. Standing back up, he said, "Whenever you're ready, you can pull your pants back up." Starsky didn't say anything but continued to breathe heavily through his open mouth, his eyes closed tightly. Vinetti walked out of the room, keeping the door open, and took a seat in the office across the hall.

Starsky blindly reached down with one hand, finding the waistband of his briefs. Pulling them up on one side and then the other, he gradually got the underwear back around his hips. He had no energy left to try the same thing with his jeans. Resting his head on a folded arm, he used the other to cover the side of his face. Not caring whether the man across the hall heard or not, Starsky released the choked sobs he'd been holding.



CHAPTER 7


"There ain't no way that I can hold it down
Falling to pieces
Forever in doubt" Ron Thomas


Bree sat at the interview table, thumbing through the last book of mug shots. When she reached the final page, she wearily closed the book, leaving her gaze stuck on the back cover. Minnie could see the look of exhaustion in the woman's face. She moved her arm over and took hold of Bree's hand, squeezing it gently. The search had proven fruitless, and Minnie could only guess at the disappointment the kidnap victim must be feeling.

"It's okay, honey. We'll get those bastards," Minnie said, squeezing Bree's hand again.

Bree acknowledged her gesture with a tired smile, then lowered her eyes and stared vacantly at the table. Minnie stood up and walked over to the phone hanging by the door. She dialed the number for the squad room, and got a hold of Hutch.

"Yeah, she's all done here…no, no luck. Okay, I'll tell her."

Minnie hung up the phone. Turning to Bree, she said, "Sergeant Hutchinson will be right down. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, thank you," Bree replied. "You've been great. Thanks for staying here with me."

"It was my pleasure, hon. Try to get some rest soon, will ya?"

Bree nodded. As she checked the clock up on the wall, she was amazed to see it was almost noon.



Vinetti finished reading his magazine and tossed it on the desk. Looking at his watch, he expelled a heavy sigh. He was hungry and Suko should have returned half an hour ago to relieve him. His tardiness was probably payback for interrupting the antics with the cop, but all Vinetti could do now was wait. He got up to stretch his stiff muscles, and decided to check on their prisoner.

Starsky was lying in the same position he'd been in for the last few hours, his breathing labored, but steady. With an unpredictable Suko due back at any time, Vinetti softly kicked Starsky's butt.

"Hey, time to get up." Vinetti saw a few muscles stir, but the curly head remained still. He kicked again, and Starsky's eyes opened a fraction. "You awake? C'mon, nap time's over."

After a third and harder kick, Starsky drew back at the invasive prod, letting out an acknowledging groan so Vinetti would stop. His bruised back and the knife wound hurt like hell, but he couldn't let his watchdog see how bad it felt. As Starsky propped himself up on an elbow, he felt unexpectedly lightheaded. He buried his forehead in his hand and tried to drain the spinning sensations from his head.

"Gotta cuff you up again," Vinetti said, preparing to kneel down. "You need to take a leak first?"

Starsky wasn't sure if he could, but any time spent off of the cold floor and out of the claustrophobic room would be worth the effort. "Yeah, give me a sec," he said hoarsely. He began pulling his jeans up, but the soreness in his side wasn't making it an easy process. Finally managing to get the denims zippered around his hips, he shifted over onto his knees and paused, trying to regain some of his spent energy. As he got up, a massive back spasm hit, instantly stopping him cold. Unable to finish standing, Starsky collapsed and landed hard on his bottom. The impact was unforgiving, and caused a fresh rupture of pain from his injuries. Starsky bent over and cradled his midsection, frustrated at the inability to conceal his weakness.

Vinetti extended a hand. "Here, grab on," he said, feeling sure the cop wasn't faking.

Starsky grasped the arm and was pulled back up. Trying to shake off the incident, he stretched out his stiff muscles, but kept one arm around his waist to nurse the aching cut. As he walked out of the room, he still had to downplay the limp caused by his sore back.

Vinetti opened the restroom door, but remained outside in the hall while Starsky went inside. Left alone in the small room, Starsky staggered over to the urinal. He leaned against the tiled wall, resting his head on an outstretched arm. The other hand traveled to the small of his back, and began massaging the tender muscles there. Eventually, he opened his jeans, and started to relieve himself. While watching to make sure the dangling handcuff was kept out of the escaping stream, Starsky noticed his urine had a reddish tinge. He'd had a sinking suspicion something was screwed up internally, and now this seemed to confirm it. Refusing to let it add to his growing despair, Starsky zipped his pants up and strode over to the sink, careful not to look in the mirror hanging above it. He was afraid of seeing a reflection of someone that appeared sick and alone, without any hope of rescue. He turned on the faucet and splashed some water on his face. Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped off the dripping moisture and then swallowed a few handfuls of water before rejoining Vinetti in the hall.



The door to the interview room opened, and Hutch stepped inside, followed by Dobey. Minnie got up from sitting on the desk and walked towards the detective. Giving her a grateful smile, he said, "Thanks, Minnie. I owe you one."

"This one's free Hutch, but tell that partner of yours he owes me for quite a few favors now," she purred before leaving the room.

Hutch went over and stood beside Bree, who was still seated, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Bree, this is Captain Dobey. He's our boss and has some things he'd like to tell you."

Bree turned her attention to the large man, looking at him with tired eyes.

"Miss Starsky, I just want to let you know that Dave is one of my best detectives. Not only do I consider him to be a fine officer, but a good friend as well. So please know that this department will do everything humanly possible to make sure we get him back safe and sound."

Grateful for his words, Bree doubted whether the captain could guarantee such a promise. Nonetheless, she said, "Thank you, that means a lot to me."

Continuing, Dobey said, "I've arranged for a safe house, someplace you can go and stay until we're able to catch the people responsible."

Bree looked anxiously at Hutch, then back to Dobey, saying, "Captain, I appreciate your offer, but I don't want to stay at a safe house—I'm not afraid to go back to David's. In fact, I think being close to his things will actually help me…deal with this."

Hutch pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "Bree, it's just not safe for you to stay at Starsky's. Whoever did this will probably be watching his apartment. If it would make you feel better, I could stay at the safe house with you."

"Hutch, you need to be out looking for David, not babysitting me. I know what you're saying, but please, I can't go and stay in a strange place."

" Breanna," Dobey said, "we're only trying to look out for your welfare, and considering the people we're dealing with, you really should consider our offer."

"Sir, I understand. I really do. But I can't. If there's something I need to sign, I'll do it…"

"Captain," Hutch said, interrupting, "could we put a black and white out at Starsky's? That way she'll have someone there—for protection."

Dobey looked at Bree, who seemed to be okay with the idea, then at his detective. "Okay, Hutchinson. I'll arrange for it immediately. But," he said to Bree, raising both eyebrows, "I'd still feel better if I had you someplace less conspicuous."

"Thank you, Captain." Bree was satisfied. She couldn't think about staying anywhere except Dave's apartment. Terri's spirit was there, and trying to contact her again was the only means Bree had left of trying to save her brother. "Can I go home now?" she asked.

Hutch got out of his chair and extended a hand to Bree. "Here, I'll drive you over. I'm sure you need some rest."

"I'll go make a phone call," Dobey said. "If there's not a patrol unit when you get there, Hutchinson, you let me know." Turning to Bree, he added, "If there's anything you need, just ask, okay?"

"I will, and thank you again. I'm sure it would mean a lot to David to know you're doing all that you can."

With that, Bree left the room with Hutch, holding onto his hand tightly as they walked down the hall.



Cuffed again, Starsky stared up at the ceiling. Sitting tucked in a corner, he had grown bored of studying every intricate detail along the walls and floor. The ceiling was one part of the room he hadn't looked at since returning, and the only source of entertainment at the moment. He hadn't seen his babysitter for a long time. Before the gorilla disappeared, Starsky had heard him talking to himself, cussing at someone called "Frankie.' He wondered if that was the name of his groper.

As he shifted slightly, another muscle spasm in his back caused him to flinch. Starsky had discovered the longer he stayed still, the less everything hurt. But remaining motionless eventually allowed numbness to set in, which ironically became just as uncomfortable as trying to move stiffened muscles again. It was a vicious cycle that showed no signs of ending anytime soon. His energy was running low, and he had no idea of how long these goons still wanted to play with him. He leaned his head back against the cool wall and tried to picture himself in a better place—on the beach, lying on the warm sand and letting the sun soak into his body. The sound of voices, and then footsteps coming down the hall signaled an end to his vacation. Here we go for round two.

The metal door creaked and then flew open. Vinetti and Suko came in, followed by Rothman. Starsky's stomach muscles tensed, instantly pulling on the tender stab wound. Mentally, he struggled to put himself into a fighting mood, knowing that whatever these scum had planned, he wasn't going to like it.

"Well, detective," Rothman said, "enjoying your surroundings?"

"Can't say I like the service…but you've done a great job keeping the amenities down to a minimum."

Rothman's mouth curved into a grin as he folded both hands together. "My mother always did say a sense of humor was a great asset…"

"You had a mother?" Starsky asked cockily. "Could've fooled me."

Rothman froze, giving Starsky a cold stare. "Not really a good idea, Sergeant, treating your hosts so contemptuously. Maybe your mother should have raised you better."

"I'd put my mother against yours any day Rothman," Starsky said, returning the look.

"I'm not one to play games, detective—verbal or otherwise—so you'll have to excuse my impropriety." He extended a hand to Suko as an invitation. "He's all yours."

Suko plastered on a smile and walked over to Starsky. He swung his leg back, and kicked the cop hard, just below the ribcage. "Get up!" he ordered.

The strike nearly knocked Starsky over. Hiding the pain, he folded his legs underneath him, keeping his eyes glued on Suko. The pain in his side and back shot warning signals to his brain, but he ignored them and concentrated on getting up. Discreetly leaning against the wall, he used it to support himself, not wanting to repeat his earlier performance. Once standing, he gave Suko a defiant look, hoping he'd get a chance to land more than one good hit into the thug this time.

Suko grabbed a handful of curly hair, and shoved his face into the cop's. "You think I'm scared of you?" He cocked his hand back and drove a hard punch into Starsky's abdomen, narrowly missing the stab wound.

Starsky felt his stomach lurch upwards, and let out a strangled cough, trying to release the spasm caught deep in his gut. He glared back at Suko. "That really get you off? Beatin' a guy with his hands behind his back!?"

"I tried to show you what got me off, but you didn't want it! Too bad, asshole, it would've felt better than this." Suko reared back and landed another violent punch in Starsky's gut.

Quickly catching his breath, Starsky seized his chance. Thrusting his knee up, he caught the goon firmly in the groin, sending him back a few steps. With Suko right where he wanted, Starsky took a running leap forward, and launched two cocked legs up in the air, landing a blue Adidas solidly into Suko's rib cage. The impact sent the thug flying backwards, but left Starsky landing harshly on his back.

Suko lost his footing and stumbled backwards until he slipped and smacked his head into the cement wall. Temporarily stunned, he slumped ungraciously to the floor. Astonished, Vinetti immediately rushed over to check on him. He'd never seen anyone land a bombshell like that on the hit man before.

Writhing on his back, Starsky knew he was done. The handcuffs had jabbed directly into his sore flank, and he was struggling to breathe against the stranglehold encircling his deflated lungs. The pain in his back quickly made its way to his stomach, prompting the meager contents inside to revolt. Starsky found himself fighting to keep from retching while sucking in as much air as he could. If Suko came at him again, he'd be in no shape to defend himself. Starsky could hear Vinetti talking to Suko and wished he could see his opponent's condition—hopefully the pervert was in as much pain as possible. Deciding to attack him was foolish, but Starsky was sick of getting beaten. As he lost the fight for control of his stomach, Starsky rolled over on his side, catching a quick glimpse of Suko looking as white as a sheet.

Rothman let out a deep sigh and strode over to the two hit men, somewhat embarrassed that a handcuffed cop had managed to land such a devastating blow against one of his best. Suko mumbled a few unintelligible words as he started to regain his senses, then slowly raised a hand and draped it over the back of his head.

After taking in a few deep breaths, Suko blurted out, "Son-of-a-bitch! That hurts!" Looking at Rothman, he said, "You gotta let me kill "im. No one gets away with doing that to me!"

Rothman glanced contemptuously at Suko. "Why don't you just concern yourself with getting back on your feet, and finishing your job?" he muttered.

Suko shook his head at Rothman, disappointed he hadn't gotten more sympathy. Aided by Vinetti, he pulled himself back up, swaying unsteadily. Still winded from Starsky's kick, he placed both hands on his hips, keeping his chest cavity stretched out as far as possible. Walking back over to the prone detective, Suko paused—wanting to do so much, but not knowing which was going to satisfy him the most.



Hutch still wasn't comfortable with Bree's insistence on staying at Starsky's apartment, but while driving there he decided against citing stories of syndicate depravity to try and change her mind. Bree already had a taste of it and any further discussion wouldn't make her feel better about her brother's welfare. As she sat slumbering in the passenger seat, her head resting on his chest, Hutch gently braced her body with his draped arm as he turned the last corner . Arriving at the apartment, Hutch took note of the patrol car parked nearby, and pulled into the driveway.

Hutch squeezed Bree firmly and said, "Hey, sleeping beauty. We're here."

Bree slowly opened her eyes. Not quite sure of her bearings, she looked blearily out the window. When she realized they were at the apartment, she looked over at Hutch. "Gosh, I can't believe I fell asleep so fast."

Opening the car door, Hutch said, "C'mon, I'll help you out."

Once inside the apartment, Hutch walked around, checking all the rooms and closets. He was glad to see the crime scene team had cleaned up well and left very little indication they'd been there, knowing it would only have served as a reminder of the horror from the night before. Finishing his inspection in the bathroom, Hutch came out to the living room, sad to see Bree still standing by the couch, looking completely heartbroken. He walked closer and stopped, understanding her pain, and frustrated at not being able to take it away. As a compromise, he reached out and folded his arms around her in a comforting hug.

"You still want to stay here?" he softly asked.

"Yes. I do." Looking at the bedroom, she asked, "Could you just stay until I change out of these clothes?"

"Sure. I could hang around long enough for you to take a shower, if you want."

"No, that's okay," she said, utterly exhausted . "I just want to crash on the couch."

"Go ahead then. I'll wait." Hutch watched as she shuffled into the bedroom, and emerged a few minutes later dressed in a clean t-shirt and baggy sweat pants. Still feeling uneasy with leaving her alone, he resigned himself and said, "I'll stop by later on—sometime this evening?"

"Yeah, that would be fine." She walked up to him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for doing this. Don't worry about me; just go find my brother, okay?"

"I'll find him. I promise, I'll find him." Hutch brushed the side of her face with his hand, then walked to the front door and opened it. Turning around, he said, "Make sure you lock it, okay?" He then headed out the door.

Bree looked around the empty apartment, stopping her gaze briefly at the kitchen table. She could still picture David there, totally defenseless with a gun stuck in his face, being obscenely manhandled. As she shoved the painful memory out of her head, she climbed onto the couch, and covered herself with the afghan. Her mind needed to rest, along with her body, before she could do anything to help David. Fluffing the pillow, she buried her head in its softness, and allowed the exhaustion to take over.

As Hutch got back to his car, he could hear the dispatcher trying to contact him.

"This is Zebra 3, go ahead," he said. Hutch felt suddenly alone, wishing the other half of their radio call name was there beside him.

"I have Captain Dobey for you on Tack two."

Switching radio frequencies, Hutch replied, "Go ahead, Captain."

"Hutch, I wanted to let you know Starsky's car arrived here a little while ago. The crime lab is just finishing up with it."

"I'm on my way back right now." Hutch turned over the ignition, and put the LTD in gear.

"Hutch, is Breanna with you?" Dobey asked.

Hutch stopped the car, curious about the captain's question. "No, I just dropped her off."

"I need you back here as soon as possible…there's something you need to see."

The tone of Dobey's voice shot through Hutch like a bullet. Whatever Dobey had, it wasn't good. "I'll be right there, Captain," he said, jamming the accelerator and backing out into the street. He waved at the officers in the patrol car, then sped off down the hill.



Hutch pulled into the police garage and parked haphazardly alongside the maintenance building. As he got out, a bright red object at the far end of the lot caught his eye. He stopped his march into the precinct, and slowly walked over to the Torino parked underneath a sheltering span of the roof awning.

Seeing the car from the rear, Hutch initially thought he had overestimated its damage, but when he looked down the driver's side towards the front end, his heart sank. The Ford looked like it had been dropped straight on its nose. Both front tires were flat, most likely from being punctured by the grossly crushed front end. The hood was bent across the middle, forming gaps between it and the fenders, revealing glimpses of the engine inside. The front grill and bumper were pushed off towards the passenger side and mashed, as if the car had taken a hard right hook from a boxing eighteen-wheeler. The windshield was covered in spider web cracks, and still visible near the passenger side, two bullet holes pierced the glass. On any other day, Hutch would have been happy to see the Torino in such bad shape, but now the thought of losing the car and the buddy who owned it was too devastating.

Hutch turned away and walked back to the precinct building, entering through the rear door. Before he reached Dobey's office, Minnie intercepted him in the hallway.

"Hey, Hutch, what happened to Starsky's car? Word's out that he's missing. Is it true?" The worry in Minnie's voice sounded foreign to Hutch. She was always composed, rarely showing any anxiety.

Briefly taking hold of her arm, he said, "Sorry Minnie, gotta see the Captain…but yes, Starsky's missing."

Leaving her stunned, Hutch continued on to Dobey's office, deliberately avoiding eye contact with a few other detectives poised to ask him the same questions. Hutch heard the baritone voice acknowledge his knock and stepped inside the office. He had never seen Dobey look so troubled.

"Come on in and close the door," Dobey said gruffly, holding a manila envelope on his desk.

Hutch complied and approached the desk.

"You'd better sit down," Dobey said, in a much gentler tone.

"Captain, I don't need to sit down. Whatever you've got to show me…"

"I said, sit down!" Dobey fired out, but with a look of compassion in his eyes.

Hutch raised both hands, surrendering, then took a seat. Dobey flipped the envelope around, letting Hutch see the evidence tag stuck on the front. He tossed it over to him. "That was delivered here about an hour ago."

Hutch shot a concerned look at the captain, then leaned forward and picked up the envelope. He lifted the top flap, took a look inside, then turned it upside down, spilling a smaller envelope onto the desk. The words "For Detective Hutchinson – From Your Partner, Starsky" were handwritten on the front. Opening it, Hutch peeked inside. Not really sure of what he was seeing, he stared questioningly at Dobey, then dumped the items out on the desk. A folded piece of paper along with a leather billfold fell out. Hutch didn't need to open the wallet; he knew Starsky's badge and ID were inside, but the dark staining caught his eye. Suddenly he realized what it was.

Seeing the look of disgust on Hutch's face, Dobey said, "The lab just called before you arrived. They said it matches Starsky's blood type. You should also read the note."

Hutch unfolded the piece of paper. The printed message on it read,

"Detective Hutchinson, you seem to be missing a partner.
Why haven't you found him yet?
He doesn't have very long to live, you know.
Maybe you're not as good of a cop as you think you are."

Hutch stared at the note then, frustrated, tossed it back on Dobey's desk. With both elbows resting on his thighs, he planted his face into opened palms. His emotions ranged back and forth between utter disgust at the note's cruelty, to the anger of knowing someone with a sadistic mind had control of his partner. Internally, Hutch let the angry side take over. He wiped his face, and glancing at the note one last time, got up and headed for the door.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Dobey asked, placing the items back inside the envelope.

With his hand on the door knob, Hutch paused, then turned and said, "Well, I'm not gonna find him sitting in here." Opening the door, he started to leave.

"Hutchinson! I'm not done." Dobey got Hutch's attention enough to make him stop. "I've got a detective's meeting scheduled in ten minutes. I want you there while I update everyone on this case."

"Captain, I don't…"

"Can it, Hutch! This isn't a private vendetta!" Dobey paused for a moment. "Look, I gave my word to Breanna this department would do everything it could to get her brother back, and that's what I'm doing. I know how you feel about Starsky, but you can't do this by yourself. That's why we call it a police force." Dobey got up from his desk, and picked up a stuffed folder. With Hutch still standing frozen by the doorway, he muttered, "Care to join me next door, Sergeant?"



Suko paused as he stood over the cop. With hands on his hips, taking in deeper breaths, he could finally feel his chest expanding normally again. Having had time to reflect, he was glad Rothman didn't let him kill the bastard immediately. He would've had instant gratification, but not at his victim's expense and Starsky wasn't finished paying yet.

He stared greedily at his wounded prey, knowing the cop was his for the taking. As Suko looked through the opened shirt, he could see ribs bulging out with each inhalation, along with contractions of stomach muscles that seemed to coincide with pain-filled grimaces. Starsky might be savoring his lucky shot, but judging his injured state now, he couldn't hurt a flea if he tried.

Suko's gaze met with Starsky's—the paled face showed suffering, but the eyes were still full of fight. Suko loathed that look. It represented a futile, but tenacious will to survive in his stronger victims, those who kept fighting until the last drop of life left their bodies. Suko enjoyed dealing with a little defiance, but Starsky was probably going to be more stubborn than most, unshakable until the bitter end. Suko would just have to use harder tactics until Starsky's breaking point could be found.

Suko elbowed Vinetti and said, "Help me get him up." Each grabbed an arm and together they hauled Starsky over to one of the walls. While keeping the cop upright, Suko asked, "Ya got that blindfold with you somewhere?"

Vinetti reached into a pocket. "Yeah, right here," he said, and pulled out the folded cloth, handing it to Suko.

"Hold on to him for a sec." Suko let go of his grip and tied the cloth around Starsky's eyes. He then grabbed hold of the shirt and pulled it back over both shoulders, fully exposing Starsky's chest and abdomen. Seeing the cop tense up delighted Suko. He was probably going to enjoy this even more than Rothman.

Grinning at Vinetti, Suko said, "Remember that loan shark we did a few months ago?" Seeing an affirmative response, he added, "I'm gonna do the same thing, just so you know."

Vinetti gave him an unconcerned nod. He wouldn't have to change his position much, but he turned slightly away from Starsky and more towards the wall.

Rothman took a few steps toward Suko, wanting to get his attention. When the hit man acknowledged him, he said, "I'm not sure what you've got planned, but I'm assuming he'll still be alive when you're done?"

"Oh yeah, he'll be alive, just hurtin' a lot," Suko replied, anxious to get started.

Not entirely convinced, Rothman stepped back. Suko did love his work, probably a little too much at times. The man had a cold heart and a sadistic mind, perfect for an enforcer. But the special interest he had in the detective concerned Rothman. Perhaps Suko needed to be on a tighter leash until they were done with Starsky and his partner.

Suko eyed Vinetti, and the big man tightened his grip.

Seeing Starsky draw back, Suko inflicted a verbal stab. "Scared, huh? Don't know what's gonna happen, do ya?"

"I only know you're nothin' but a coward. Someone who couldn't last two seconds in a fair fight!" Starsky growled, the tension in his stomach growing increasingly tight.

"Sorry your momma never told you the world ain't fair. Guess that's up to people like me to show ya," droned Suko.

"Yeah, just remember—I got you good with and without my hands cuffed, so chew on that, you bastard!"

Suko reached into his jacket, and drew out his automatic, jamming the barrel straight into Starsky's muscled flank. "Yeah, well you can chew on this!" Cocking the hammer back, Suko hesitated just long enough so Starsky would know what was coming.

The echo of the shot reverberated throughout the small room. Suko reached up and jerked the blindfold off, wanting to see the expression on Starsky's face.

"How'd ya like the taste of that, you son-of-a-bitch?" he said, lapping up the look of shock on his victim's face.

Starsky tried to say something, but the attempt was cut short as he sucked in a quivering gasp, nearly smothering the gurgle erupting from his throat. Starsky's belly suddenly convulsed and his face twisted into a grimace. He swallowed hard, and drew in another shaky breath. As his eyes fixed on Suko, the look of crushing defeat almost sent the shooter into ecstasy. This was priceless, and it had come without having to wait days to see.

"Suko!" Rothman came at the hit man as if possessed by demons. "Have you lost your mind? I told you I needed him alive!"

Irritated at Rothman for interrupting his moment of pleasure, he said, "He'll survive, Mr. Rothman—just been shot through the muscle." Turning to Vinetti, he said, "Let "im go, Lou."
Vinetti released his hold on Starsky, letting him collapse to the floor. Suko stepped over and knelt down behind the injured cop. He scanned Starsky's bloodied back, and stuck a finger through the serrated hole torn in his shirt tail. "See?" he said, lifting the shirt up. "Bullet goes straight through." As he looked around on the floor, Suko located the slug, shaped like a mushroom after striking the concrete wall.

He handed it to Rothman, stating, "Here—a little something else for you to send to his partner."



Bree suddenly sat up on the couch, her heart racing and utterly terrified. Scanning the apartment, she quickly gained her bearings, relieved somewhat to find herself in a familiar setting. She had been awakened by something she could only describe as a solid wave of fear, but it wasn't a dream. This sensation was bitterly real, and its thick essence hung menacingly in the air, smothering her senses with its overwhelming weight.

She threw the afghan off and got up, heading to the phone in the kitchen. As she picked up the receiver, she stopped, wondering what she was going to tell Hutch. Certain he would think she was crazy, she hung up and walked back to the couch. A quick glance at the clock on the living room wall showed it was almost seven o'clock. She was still tired, but not enough to go back to sleep. The icy sense of fear was still there, and she sensed it had something to do with David.

She picked up the afghan and wrapped it around her, trying to seek comfort in its warmth, but the anguish was too much. She crumpled onto the couch, and emptied her pain into the pillow. There were so many questions with no answers. Why did this happen? How was she going to tell Rachel? If Terri was trying to warn David, had Bree screwed up somehow? That question hurt the most. What good was it to have this gift, if she couldn't save her own brother?

Rubbing the tears away, she got up and went over to where Terri's picture sat. She looked at the young woman, and stared into her eyes, trying to form a connection. Bree wanted to blame her for all that had happened, but knew she couldn't. Terri was the messenger, and just because you didn't like the message…

A sharp knock at the front door made Bree jump, but as soon as she heard Hutch's voice, her heart settled back into her chest. She used a corner of the afghan to erase the last remaining wet streaks from her face, and then answered the door.

Hutch was standing on the landing, with two uniformed officers behind him. Bree could only assume they had been too late in finding David and were here to give her the bad news. She looked into Hutch's eyes and felt her own start filling again.

"Bree! Are you okay? What happened?" Hutch asked. It was obvious from her reddened eyes that she was upset.

"I'm fine…I guess you found David…" she said, dabbing a burgeoning tear from her eye.

Confused, Hutch fearfully asked, "Bree, did you hear something about Starsky?"

"No. Nobody called. I thought that's why you were here, to tell me you found him."

"I'm here because I tried to call and you didn't answer the phone. I thought something might have happened."

"I…you tried to call? Oh God…" The realization hit Bree that Hutch didn't have bad news. "Hutch, I'm sorry, I didn't hear the phone ring. I must have been really wiped out."

Hutch let out a deep breath then turned to the officers behind him, and said, "Thanks, guys. We'll be okay." The officers acknowledged him and headed back down the stairs. Hutch came inside and took a hold of Bree, giving her a tight hug. Separating after a few moments, he said, "I didn't mean to scare you, but I woke you up though, huh?"

"No. I was awake."

Her melancholic tone prompted him to ask, "Did you get any rest?"

"Yeah, I did," she said, stretching the afghan more tightly around her shoulders. "Have you found out anything?"

Hutch felt his expression change, and hoped Bree didn't notice. There was no way he could tell her about the envelope Dobey had received, but she deserved to be told something.

"We heard from the people who took him—" Hutch saw Bree's face light up, "—but we're not sure who they are, or…where he might be." He silently congratulated himself for not saying 'if he's still alive.'

Bree felt a twinge of hope, but sensed he was hiding something.

"You heard from them…but you're not sure who they are." She studied Hutch's eyes for any sign of disclosure, but they were steady and bright. Continuing, she said, "Hutch, I know you're holding something back. I'm not a child, or an idiot! David's my brother; I was here last night with him! I even shot someone…" She closed her eyes, and turned away. "You think that whatever you're not telling me is going to be worse than what I've already been through?"

Hutch braced himself against the sharpness of her voice. "Bree, as much as I think you have a right to know certain things, this is still a police matter."

Bree spun around, furious at his patronizing response. "Bull shit! How dare you use that excuse!?" She saw the shocked look on his face, and tried to compose herself. "You don't have a monopoly on involvement here, Hutch. I may not have been around in David's life for the past several years, but that doesn't make me some second-rate cousin. 'Police matter' my ass!"

She walked over to the couch and sat down. As Hutch walked over to her, she held up her hand.

"Don't! Don't say anything. You obviously don't know me, and that's okay. But if that's all you think you can say, then get back out there and find him, Hutch. I told you before; I don't need to be baby sat." Speaking more to herself, she continued, "I wish I could do something…but, no Bree, "cause you know what? It's a police matter. Maybe if you were a guy, someone would take you seriously."

"Bree! That's enough! You want to know everything, then you're gonna hear it!" Hutch said. "But don't hold me responsible if you don't like what I'm about to tell you."


CHAPTER 8


"Oh brother I can't, I can't get through
I've been trying hard to reach you, cause I don't know what to do
Oh brother I can't believe it's true
I'm so scared about the future and I wanna talk to you" Coldplay



Hearing no complaints from Bree, Hutch sat down alongside her on the couch. This wasn't going to be easy, but he had committed himself.

"Dobey got a package today, supposedly sent to me by Starsky. There was a note inside, along with his wallet." Bree sat stiffly, her eyes locked onto Hutch's face. "The note asked if I was missing a partner, and why hadn't I found him yet. It said he didn't have very long."

Bree was stunned. The cruelty of the note's message was unbelievable, and all directed at Hutch, but it didn't seem to justify why he withheld mentioning it to her. "What else did it say?" she asked.

"Oh—just something about me not being a good cop."

"Hutch." Bree sensed there was more. "Why can't you just tell me…please?"

She had to be a good mind reader, he thought. Either that, or he was doing a bad job of hiding his feelings. It was hard, but Hutch focused on Bree and, as calmly as he could, said, "Starsky's wallet was soaked in blood. His blood."

"Oh God…" Bree leapt up off of the couch, holding her hand over her mouth, not sure whether she needed to run to the bathroom or not.

Hutch silently cursed at himself. He got up and walked over to Bree, who stood by the bookcase now with both arms folded in front of her. "I'm sorry," he said, as he raised a hand and laid it along her upper arm. The muscles there were tight and trembling.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, Bree asked, "Hutch—is he gone?"

The question was achingly direct, and caught him unprepared to give an answer. Since seeing the wallet fall out of the envelope, he had also wanted the simple truth. He could only tell Bree the same thing he'd told himself in Dobey's office, after searching his soul for any indication that her brother was still alive. Starsky was his partner, and his best friend. Hutch was closer to him than anyone else in his life, and if Starsky was dead he would know it. The sense of loss and emptiness would be unmistakable. "No. He's not dead, Bree."

Bree didn't know whether to believe him or not. The sensation that had woken her up was horribly dreadful, and she feared it meant the worst had happened to David. But Hutch, who loved her brother like family, seemed convinced he was still alive. Should she be hopeful and face a terrible letdown if he were dead, or accept that possibility now and be ecstatic if it weren't true? Bree looked up at Terri's picture. The answer must be there, with her.

"Hutch, how well did you know Terri?"

"T-Terri?" Hutch followed Bree's gaze to the framed picture. He was surprised she knew about Terri. "I'd like to think I knew her pretty well. She and Starsky had been seeing each other for almost six months before she…died." Looking back at Bree, he said, "Why do you ask?"

"Did she love him? I mean, did she really love him with her heart?"

Hutch thought back to that night in Starsky's kitchen. The way Terri had shown her love and caring for both him and Starsky, even after she had died, was something he would never forget. Ollie still held a special seat in his bedroom, sitting on top of Terri's farewell note.

"Yes. She loved him very much." Hutch felt his despondency ease as he talked about Terri. "Someone like her is hard to find, especially when they love you as unselfishly as she loved Starsky. Even when she knew she was going to die, all she wanted was for him to keep being a cop. To go on living." Hutch let out a long sigh, thinking back to those difficult days. "Starsky had a hard time dealing with her death. Sometimes he'd open up a little and talk about her. Other times…well, you could tell he was hurting. I know a lot about what goes through that head of his, but with Terri—I don't know if he ever really let her go. At least, not in his heart."

Bree was glad Hutch had said nothing to change her impression of Terri. No wonder her spirit hung close to David. In a way, the two lovers were still together. She hoped wherever David was, that Terri was with him, as the thought of him lying alone and hurt without some kind of comfort was unbearable. Bree wanted to believe he was still alive, but there was only one way to find out. When Hutch left, she would try and contact Terri, the only soul who would know for sure. For the first time since walking over to the bookcase, Bree dropped her gaze from Terri's picture.

Hutch wanted to say more, but noticed Bree seemed to be lost in her thoughts, and he didn't want to intrude. When Bree lowered her head, she looked at him and gently smiled, then walked over to the couch and sat down. He followed, but remained standing near her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, wondering if she had eaten anything since leaving the precinct.

"Not really," she said, leaning her head back. "I don't feel like eating. Oh, but are you hungry? I'm sure there's something in the fridge."

Bree started to get up, but Hutch stopped her. "No, I'm fine. Just stay put." He sat down on the couch, and put an arm around her shoulder. Bree instantly nestled into his embrace as she folded her legs up on the couch, then extended an arm across his chest. Hutch kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and squeezed her body closer into his. Unlike the other night, there was no sexual longing in their embrace. He knew she needed reassurance and comfort, and was happy to offer as much as she needed.

Both sat silently for a short time, until Hutch realized he hadn't spoken to Huggy yet.

" Hey—," he said, looking into her sleepy face, "—why don't you get some more rest and I'll come by again in a couple of hours. Maybe you'll feel like eating something then. Okay?"
Barely moving a muscle, Bree nodded and muttered a weak "uh-huh." Hutch scooted over and eased her body down on the cushioned seat. He got up and carefully slipped one of the large couch pillows under her head. Unfurling the afghan, he draped it over her, tucking it in around her hips and underneath her chin so she would stay warm. Before he stepped outside, he checked the door knob, making sure it would lock once the door was closed.

Once he reached the driveway, Hutch walked over to the patrol car across the street, and spoke to one of the officers, letting them know he planned on returning. He then got in the LTD and headed over to The Pits.



Huggy's place was busy for a Wednesday night. Hutch had to thread his way to the bar through a crowd and then wait another five minutes before Huggy could break away from serving his patrons.

Before Hutch could say one word, the usually effervescent bar owner gave him a worried look and nodded towards the kitchen. As Huggy called out asking his bartender to cover him for a few minutes, Hutch understood the gesture and walked towards the service entrance. Once inside the quieter kitchen, Huggy took hold of Hutch's arm and murmured, "Not here, out in the alley."

As they exited the rear door, Huggy took a quick look around then turned to Hutch.

"I know why you're here," he began. "Caught a couple of comments earlier from some really hurtin' junkies. Apparently the word's out that the intended recipient of a highly desirable product wasn't too happy when he didn't get his merchandise, and wants to take it out on those responsible for his loss."

"Huggy, are you telling me you know for sure Rothman's got Starsky?" Hutch was kicking himself for not coming by The Pits earlier.

Huggy glanced over his shoulder, wanting to make sure they were alone. "I wasn't sure who the responsible party was exactly until you showed up here just now, minus your twin."

"But you knew he wanted to get back at us?" He noticed Huggy had a familiar frown on his face, one that Hutch never liked seeing. "Hug, what aren't you telling me?"

"Okay, you've got it, but don't shoot the messenger, ya dig?"

Hutch closed his eyes briefly and nodded.

"Like I said, there's a lot of hurtin' people out there. They don't care about anything except their fix. That bust you made dried up the supply, but not the demand. Anybody who's got some for sale is makin' a huge, fat profit, which is causin' dissent amongst the rank and file."

"Huggy, has this story got an ending?" Hutch asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Smirking just a little, Huggy said, "Yeah, moral of the story is, don't expect any help out there. Not only are people pissed because they ain't got their dope, they don't want to snitch on their suppliers who say another shipment's due in real soon."

"Since when?" Hutch snapped, unfolding his arms. "There's always someone out there ready to sell their own mother! You're telling me this is the one time no one's gonna roll?" From the look on his friend's face, Hutch feared Huggy might be right.

"Hug, this is Starsky we're talkin' about. You mean nobody out there is willing to talk?" As he angrily pointed a finger towards the alley, Hutch said, "Half the snitches out there owe us favors!"

Huggy looked at him sympathetically, but Hutch wasn't going to get what he wanted. "Hutch, Starsky's close to my heart, too. I've put out offers, big ones, but no one's biting. It's not a matter of who needs money or a favor this time—it's a matter of principle."

"Principle?" Hutch spat the word out.

"It's like this; people see what's goin' down as a chance to get what they want. They keep quiet, sweat things out until the next shipment comes in, and everybody's happy. If that puts Starsky, or you, out of the picture, they're not gonna lose sleep over it."

Hutch looked at him like he was dirt. Huggy felt sick over what he'd just said, but he didn't dictate policy on the street, just lived under it. He was only one step away from standing on the same side of the tracks as the people he was talking about. If it wasn't for Starsky and Hutch looking the other way when he tried to make a buck, he'd want them to disappear too.

"Yeah, well, thanks for enlightening me, Hug." Hutch wanted to throw in what he thought about Huggy's assessment, but he couldn't—Huggy wasn't the enemy.

As Hutch turned to go, Huggy said, "Hey! I'll keep putting feelers out. Maybe somebody'll turn."

Hutch didn't acknowledge him; he still had a few snitches to find that owed him big.



Muffled voices and the hard, cold feel of the floor underneath him seeped into Starsky's consciousness. He opened his eyes, focusing on the blurred view in front of him. Figures were standing close by—his kidnappers. He could hear their voices becoming clearer, and then the sensation of intense burning in his side. Oh God, that hurts!

He folded his legs up, placing his feet flat on the floor, hoping it would ease the tension on his stomach. He'd never hurt this bad before. The slug he'd taken in the shoulder at the restaurant had only stung, compared to this. He wondered if the bullet wound looked as bad as it felt. He had seen what happened to people shot point blank—it wasn't pretty. Another searing jolt of pain. Ah dammit, Hutch! Tears were forming, ready to roll down his cheeks. No! I won't give those bastards the satisfaction! His leg muscles started to shake, betraying his efforts to keep his body still, then his chest, trembling with each inhaled gasp. Fuck! C'mon! You can do this!

"Oh gaawwdd!!"

"Jesus, Suko! What the hell are you doing?" Vinetti yelled from across the hall. He'd only been gone for a minute. Was Suko going after the cop again?

"I ain't done nothin'! Just putting some iodine on this hole," Suko said, as Vinetti came storming back into the room. "How'd I know he was gonna scream like a girl?"

"Ah Christ, Su. That stuff burns like a son-of-a-bitch."

Suko watched the cop shaking like a scared kid. "Yeah, well, what else am I supposed to use? Rothman said to clean him up. Damned waste of time if ya ask me."

"You shot 'im. I keep sayin', don't let these turkeys get to you, but you still go flyin' off the handle."

"Oh, who died and made you king? Gimme some more of that." Suko grabbed some gauze out of Vinetti's hand and pressed it up against the entrance wound. Starsky flinched hard at the touch. His eyes opened wide for a few seconds then closed again.

"Hey," Suko called to Vinetti, "turn him over on his side so I can get this stuff in the other hole."

As Vinetti took hold of Starsky's arm, a weak but gritty threat pushed out through the cop's teeth. "Don't…touch me."

Suko glanced over at his partner, and tried to contain the laugh wanting to jump out of his mouth. "Can you believe this guy? Like he's got some vote in this!" Suko picked up the iodine bottle and lifted the shirt tail up from Starsky's back to expose the exit wound, which was larger and nastier than the one in front. Placing the mouth of the bottle over the wound, he nodded at Vinetti. "Hang on tight, this one's probably gonna hurt more."

Vinetti took hold of Starsky with both hands. The cop was fully awake now, tensing every muscle and looking scared to death. Vinetti couldn't blame him. The bullet wound looked bad, but the heaviest bleeding had slowed down in the last half hour. Vinetti had seen gunshot wounds like this before, and hoped he'd never have to experience one. They just looked too painful.

"You got "im?" Suko squirmed ecstatically, ready to play doctor.

"Yeah, go ahead."

As soon as the iodine hit his skin, Starsky lost it. "Ohhh shit!! Son-of-a-bitch!!" Tears came even though he didn't want them to, but his side was being impaled by a red hot poker. He kicked both legs out, trying to escape the torment, and wished there was some way he could crawl out of his body. He couldn't imagine enduring any more pain without passing out.

Suko finished dabbing around the wound and stuck more gauze on it. With Vinetti propping Starsky up, Suko took a roll of surgical dressing and wrapped it around the cop's waist, securing both front and back pads in place. Checking the knife wound, Suko noticed it had scabbed over and become encrusted into the bandage. He knew Rothman expected the dressing to be changed, but the mixture of yellow and red on the gauze material turned Suko's stomach enough to convince him to leave it alone. He dribbled some iodine on the dressing and called it good. The cop wasn't going to be around much longer anyway, so what did it matter if any of the wounds got infected?

"Well, I think that's got it." Suko was ready to call it a night. He took another look at Starsky, then pulled the blindfold out of his pocket and tied it around the cop's mouth.

Vinetti wondered why Suko was gagging him. There was no way anyone outside the building could hear someone yelling in the basement, and the gag could lead to other problems.

"What if he upchucks with that thing on?"

Suko just frowned. "He's got nothin' left in his gut anymore…shouldn't be a problem. You ready to get goin'?"

He had a point, but the act still seemed unnecessary. Vinetti chalked it up to Suko's animosity towards Starsky and let it go. It had been a long day and he was just as anxious to get home as Suko was.

The two men left the room, closing the door as they stepped into the hallway. Suko flicked the light switch off, and once they reached the main floor, he turned the other lights off in the basement, leaving the only remaining occupant in total darkness.



Hutch pulled up in Starsky's driveway. He shut the engine off and sat for a moment, not sure what to tell Bree. Huggy hadn't been exaggerating. None of his snitches were talking, too scared of retaliation from addicts hell bent on seeing the next drug shipment come in untouched. The fact that Rothman had snagged Starsky wasn't helping either. If the cops weren't safe, what chance did an informant have?

He got out of the car and slowly made his way up the stairs. When Bree let him in, she didn't need to say anything; her face showed what was running through her mind.

Putting off the inevitable, Hutch asked, "So, do you feel like eating anything yet?"

His question answered her most pressing concern, although not in a way she wanted. Hutch's avoidance of the main to pic could only mean one thing.

"Yeah, I could probably go for something." Bree walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. She felt certain Hutch had more news, but, like earlier, wasn't going to share it with her. How'd you like it if someone kept you in the dark, thinking you were too dumb to know any different? You might be a blond, Hutch, but you can bet your sweet ass I'm not! Bree felt her appetite dwindle as she stood staring blankly inside the fridge. Not sure what looked appetizing, she called out a few options from behind the open door.

"Tacos sound good." Hutch sauntered in from the living room. He could tell Bree's attitude towards him had hardened in the last few minutes. "Can I help with anything?" he asked, hoping for a congenial response to prove his perception wrong.

Bree finished grabbing the last few items and set them down on the counter. "No. Why don't you just sit down…I'm sure you've been working hard," she said mechanically, then opened a cabinet door, reaching for a fry pan.

Her answer would have been okay, except she refused to make eye contact, and turned her back on him as he stood by the fridge. The loud bang of the pantry door as she slammed it shut seemed final proof she didn't like his avoidance on the topic.

Hutch took a seat at the kitchen table. He wondered if he was trying to protect her too much. From what? The truth? No, she knew that. Face it, Hutchinson, the note was right…you're not as good as you think you are. Can't even get a lowly snitch to feed you any info. So just go ahead, tell her you're a failure and don't have a fuckin' clue as to how you're gonna find Starsky.

"I stopped by Huggy's before coming over here," he said, watching Bree as she paused for a moment. "He's usually been able to provide us with good information when we need it. But nobody's talking right now. It's making it hard…" Hutch couldn't finish. He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to lure out the oncoming migraine. Internally, he fought to keep the disgust over his inabilities, and Huggy's revelation, tied down in the pit of his stomach.

Bree shifted her gaze from the table to the stove and stabbed at the cooking hamburger. Was Hutch saying that no one knew anything, or that they knew and weren't talking? From the look on his face, it must be the latter. She thought back to when she first met Huggy and her opinion of snitches. It wasn't until she saw that look in her brother's eyes, the one reserved for people David loved and respected— two honors he never gave away lightly—that she knew Huggy had earned David's respect. But was he the only exception? Didn't any of these other people owe him or Hutch something?

She wasn't sure who to be mad at anymore…Hutch…snitches…the kidnappers. Either or all, it still sucked. As her appetite faded away, Bree gathered up two tomatoes and a paring knife, then set the items on a cutting board in front of Hutch.

"Here. You can cut these up." She stepped over to the fridge and opened the door. "There's some beer in here, do you want one?"

Hutch still wasn't sure how to interpret Bree's attitude, but decided to play it safe. "Yeah, a beer would be great," he said, and started dicing up the tomatoes.

After opening the bottle, Bree got a plate out of the cupboard and placed it and the beer on the table. She set down a box of taco shells along with a bowl of grated cheese in front of Hutch and said, "Go 'head and serve yourself. I'm not hungry right now."

"Bree…you gotta eat something. C'mon. Have a seat and I'll fix a plate for you."

"No, I'm fine. You eat. I'm going to take a quick shower." She headed off to the bathroom.

Hutch stared at the retreating form, then at the food on the table—his appetite started to mimic Bree's departure.



A sudden spasm hit, jolting him awake. The total darkness surrounding him had Starsky convinced he had gone blind until he remembered the lights were turned off. Once again, cold and stiff muscles greeted his awakening, and as he tried to shift position, the pain in his gut made it all but impossible to move. Starsky pressed his forehead onto the cement, wanting to soak up the coolness where it might do some good. He contemplated raising his head and bashing it against the hard surface in the hope it would knock him out of his misery for at least a couple of hours. But with his luck, he'd just end up with a cracked head and splitting migraine.

He gingerly managed to shift his body into a sitting position and leaned back against the wall. He tried to ride out the burning spasms in his gut by biting down on the stifling gag, imagining it was the groper's dick. God, he just wanted to smash the thug's face in, tie his hands up behind him, slice the bastard's gut wide open…and shoot him point blank. What a fool he had been all these years, thinking when it was his turn to die out on the street, Hutch would be there to hold him, seeing him into the next life. Never would he have guessed it would be some depraved pervert, probably holding onto something Hutch would never dream of.

The room's eerie blackness seeped in deeper, intensifying his feeling of loneliness. There was no one around who cared, and that was killing his will to survive more than anything. Damn, Hutch! Where the hell are you? Another jolt of pain tore through his gut. Shit! Why did it have to be the stomach? He could have taken someone breaking his leg, or pulling his arm out of its socket, but not this. There wasn't a single area in his abdomen or back that didn't feel twisted up, yanked inside out or beat on. For the first time since being poisoned by Bellamy, Starsky felt his life being pulled out of him. He was scared—scared badly. Oh God, please don't let me die here alone.



The hot shower had felt good—even for someone who considered they had no right feeling good. Bree stood under the sprinkling stream for a long time, believing at some point it would dissolve all the worry inside of her. Truth was, it only loosened up some stiff muscles and drowned out her crying. She still held her pain, but it wasn't all hers. Standing in the shower, she hadn't been alone, at least not in her thoughts. David was alive, she could feel him, but he was hurting . She tried to reach out, telling him to hang on and that they were looking for him, but it was a one-way conversation. David wasn't able to sense her in that respect. He was helpless, just as she was.

After drying off and dressing, she returned to the living room. Hutch was still sitting at the table, the two tomatoes chopped up in little pieces and piled in a small heap in front of him on the cutting board. The rest of the taco fixings hadn't been touched. She looked at his face, now focused on her, but he'd been just staring blankly out into space. Bree walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hutch. You should eat something. This stuff won't taste as good if you eat it later." Not seeing much of a response, she said, "This isn't helping David—neither of us are—we're just killing ourselves…worrying about him…not eating. You think that's what he would want, huh? He needs our help, not our pity." She went over to the stove and turned it on, preparing to reheat the hamburger.

Hutch got up and retrieved another beer from the fridge. Several minutes ago, Bree hadn't been hungry or wanted much to do with him. Now she seemed to be a rallying call to arms. Why? Because he wasn't doing enough?

Bree watched him grab the beer out of the corner of her eye. She stirred the meat, trying to keep it from burning in the pan. Turning the flame off, she grabbed another plate out of the cabinet and set it on the table. Hutch was leaning up against the counter, sipping his beer.

"It's ready. Go ahead and help yourself," she said, placing two shells on her plate. After assembling her tacos, she sat at the table and glanced at Hutch. She wasn't sure what to say anymore, but she was getting tired of the silence. "Are you going to eat, or not?"

Hutch straightened up and sat the half empty bottle on the table. "I'm not hungry. Sorry you went to the trouble."

"Hutch—what's wrong? David's out there. He's alive and he's hurt." Not seeing a response, she asked, "Why do you keep shutting me out? You know, feeling sorry for yourself isn't—"

"Just who do you think you're talking to?" he spit out. "You were right Bree; you haven't been in Starsky's life for a long time. You may be related to him, but I've been his partner for more years than you were living under the same roof with him, and that gives me some rights too. You make it sound like it's no big secret where he's at, that I'm too incompetent to go and find him. Since you seem to know so much, tell me what it is I don't know!"

Bree shot up from the chair. "I never called you incompetent! And where do you get off? I know you're frustrated, but the way you're acting—it's like—"

"Like what?" Hutch's face was livid, his blue eyes intensely blazing.

It was too late now. Bree had opened her own Pandora's Box. "You're acting like—he's already dead—"

Hutch stood frozen for a moment, his face locked in utter amazement. He turned his head and let out a heavy sigh. "Earlier today, it was you—asking me—if I thought Starsky was dead" he said pointedly, looking back at Bree. "I told you 'no', and I meant it."

Bree sank back in her seat. The anger had left Hutch's face, but he was coiled up tight, like a rattlesnake ready to strike. "I know he's alive, Hutch. I've felt his spirit—tried to let him know that we—you—were looking for him. But, he can't hear me."

"Bree, what the hell are you talking about? What'dya mean, 'he can't hear you'?"

"Hutch…" Bree decided to keep it simple. Well, as simple as she could. "I have a unique kind of gift. When I asked you about Terri, it was because she's been trying to warn me about something bad happening to David. I think I know how to help him, but I need your help and I need you to trust me."

Hutch cocked his head—maybe he had misunderstood what she just said. "You're talking to dead people—no, you're hearing dead people talking to you about Starsky. And you want me to help…to trust you." Hutch looked at Bree, amazed that she sounded so serious. "Bree, I think you need some rest. The stress of all this…"

"I'm not making this up, Hutchinson! God! I'm trying to save David, the only way I know how. C'mon, be honest. Is your way really working?" Bree saw Hutch's jaw tighten.

Hutch picked up the empty beer bottle from the table and threw it in the trash. He walked out into the living room and over to the front door where he grabbed his jacket off the coat rack. Bree followed halfway, and seeing him slip the jacket on, stopped and looked at him with eyes full of remorse.

"I'm going home to try and get a couple hours of sleep. You should do the same. I'll call you tomorrow." Opening the door, he quickly disappeared into the night.

Bree sat down on the couch, and scanned the room. "What have I done?" He didn't listen, Terri. Now what?

After he arrived home, Hutch kicked his shoes off, and slipped out of his jacket and holster. He plopped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, then over to the clock. Almost twenty-four hours had gone by since he was in this same spot, but it felt more like a lifetime. Bree was right. His plan wasn't working. He was no closer to finding Starsky than he was when he got the phone call. But what she had said about Terri, and hearing her voice, that had to be from stress. How could a ghost solve a crime anyway? Psychics. They could see things other people didn't. Collandra had that ability, and he had helped them with the Haymes kidnapping case. But Bree? Hutch shook the preposterous notion out of his mind, too tired to think anymore. Just hang on, Starsk. I'll find you.



Bree woke up and slowly opened her eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness in the room that clearly indicated another day had begun. She sat up on the couch and looked over at the clock, surprised to see it was almost ten. The ugly essence of the conversation from last night still hung in the air, and time was running out. If Hutch wasn't going to help her, she needed to find someone who would, and fast. She got up and went into the kitchen, relieved to find a phone book half hidden under a mound of papers on the kitchen counter. Opening it up, she prayed the person's number she was looking for was listed.



The LTD pulled up and parked in front of the Wild Pony Tavern. As he entered the empty bar, Hutch immediately saw who he was looking for standing behind the counter, wiping off liquor glasses. The man had called dispatch wanting to speak to Hutch. Charlie Knowle had been his snitch since the first day Hutch hit the street as a detective. The bar owner could be ornery at times, but his information was usually reliable.

"Ain't it a little early for you to be out checkin' the bars?" Charlie said, picking up a glass full of bourbon and taking a sip.

"Could be." Hutch said, then added "But isn't it a little early to be hittin' the hard stuff?"

"Maybe…for someone who isn't an alcoholic. But we know that ain't the case here though, huh?" He smiled, and took another swallow. Looking past Hutch for an instant, he asked, "Where's that partner of yours? He finally dump ya for a prettier blond?"

Hutch offered a slight smile, but then turned serious. "So what'd you want to talk to me about?" he asked.

Charlie pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, shook one out, and stuck it in his mouth. After lighting it, he took a deep drag, then placed both hands on the bar. He looked coldly at Hutch, and said, "Word's out someone's got your curly friend a little indisposed at the moment. Some say it's payback for that bust the other day. Others? Well, let's just say they think its part of a bigger plan."

Hutch narrowed his eyes. "What plan?"

"One that involves gettin' both of you off the street, permanently."

"Well, I already knew that, Charlie. Thanks anyway." Hutch gave him another bare hint of a smile and started towards the front door.
"
But I bet what you don't know is the name of one of the guys who grabbed your partner."

Hutch immediately froze. Instinct told him Charlie wasn't going to say it was Rothman; that was far too common knowledge . He lunged back to the counter, and pointed a threatening finger. "You better not be playing with me over this one, Charlie."

The bar owner chuckled a little. "Okay, no need for the rough stuff. But seeing that this is real important to you, it's got a price attached."

"How much?"

"Oh, it don't involve money. I've got a cousin, lives down in Malibu. Got picked up on a felony burglary charge two weeks ago. Personally, I could care less about his predicament but he owes me three thousand dollars and I ain't gettin' it if he's sittin' locked up in jail. You get those charges dismissed, I'll give you that name."

"Charlie, that's not even in my jurisdiction. I can't just get another department to drop felony charges on someone."

"Well, maybe you can and maybe you can't. But I'm willing to bet you're gonna try real hard before you think about giving up."

Hutch reached across and grabbed Charlie's shirt. "So convince me that this name isn't bogus before I go out there and perform a miracle for you."

"Hey, easy Hutch. You know I've always been straight with you, but I'll give. My brother-in-law, he's a wise guy up in San Fran. Got a hold of him last night and ran this guy's name by him. He knew him. Said he's a big time enforcer. Use to work for some heavy syndicate players on the east coast, but for the last eight years, he's been on Rothman's payroll. My in-law says he's the highest paid hit man on the west coast. That enough to convince ya?"

"Just one more minor thing, Charlie. How'd you get this guy's name and from who?" Hutch tightened his grip.

"One of my regulars. She's a friend of a girlfriend of one of Rothman's recently employed associates. Seems like the boyfriend's been spending a lot of time in bed lately, on account of a bullet that found its way into his ass the other night. He was whining about how that was keeping him out of the action."

"What action?" Hutch asked.

"Watching how this enforcer earns his paycheck." Charlie glanced down to where the cop was holding onto his shirt.

"Yeah. Okay, Charlie." Hutch released him, smoothing down the rumpled fabric. "Give me your cousin's name. You gonna be some place I can find you later?"

"Right here, Hutch." Charlie said eagerly, writing a name on the back of a receipt. As he handed it to Hutch, he added, "I'll be here all day."

Hutch climbed back in the LTD and headed towards the precinct. He refused to dwell on what Rothman's gorillas were doing to earn a paycheck; he couldn't handle that right now. He tried to remember if he or Starsky knew anyone from the police department or county attorney's office in Malibu, but even if they did, chances were almost nil of getting Charlie's cousin off the hook. He could only try—this was the first good lead he'd gotten and maybe the last one he was going to get.

Once Hutch got to the office, he called the Malibu Police and learned that Charlie's cousin had been arrested for burglary and was being held in the county jail until his trial. Fortunately, he had been acting alone when he was caught and only had one other misdemeanor drug charge on his record. Armed with the information, Hutch prepared to go into Dobey's office.



Bree dialed the number out of the phone book. After the fifth ring, a voice finally answered.

"It's too early in the day, for me to know what to say, but we ain't open yet, if you're lookin' to come in and get wet."

"Uh…is this Huggy?"

"The one and only sweet brown bear. Who would like to know?"

Bree took a deep breath. "Huggy, this is Breanna…David's sister. Remember me?"

"Oh yeah, Curly's little sister. I'm sorry to hear about what happened to you two. Have you heard any news?"

"No. I haven't heard anything. Huggy, I'm wondering if I can ask you for a favor?"

Brightening, he said, "For Starsky's kin folk, just name it."

She tightened her grip on the receiver. "I need a ride somewhere, Huggy. But Hutch can't find out."

Huggy's intuition kicked on. He sensed Bree was heading for trouble, but before he could judge just how bad it might be, he had to find out more. "Okay, little sis, I'm game. But when I get there, you're gonna have to tell me what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours or else you're gonna need to find another cab, ya dig?"

Bree breathed a sigh of relief. "I dig. Just one more thing though, Huggy. There's a police car parked out front. Is there any way you can bring another girl with you? About my size—" Bree did a quick mental inventory of her clothing, "—maybe wearing blue jeans and a white jacket?"

"Boy, next thing you'll be asking for is part ownership of my bar."

"Please, Hug. It's really important. I think I know how to find David."


CHAPTER 9


"And if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?" Keane



Dobey stuck his head out of the office, looking for a certain detective. "Hutch," he said, almost disappointed to find the blond sitting at his desk, "I need to see you for a moment."

Hutch caught a glimpse of the captain's face before he disappeared back into the room. The intense look in his eyes and stiff appearance could only mean one thing—more bad news. As Hutch reluctantly got up, his empty stomach tightened a bit, sending a ripple of nausea through his body.

"Close the door," Dobey mumbled, sounding like the simple act of talking was too difficult.

Hutch reached back and grabbed the doorknob, but not before seeing another manila envelope clutched in Dobey's hands. After shutting the door, he sat down in one of the vinyl chairs, not waiting to be asked this time.

"We've heard from our friends again." Dobey flipped the envelope in his hands, but before handing it over, gave Hutch an empathetic look. "Before you read this, there was another item inside—a hollow point bullet fired from a 9mm automatic. The lab doesn't know yet if it came from Starsky's gun, but his blood type was on it."

Hutch heard the last sentence, but couldn't let it sink in. He reached out and grabbed the envelope from Dobey, who seemed surprised at the action. How do you expect me to react to that, Captain? He opened the packet and pulled out a handwritten note, encased securely within a plastic evidence bag. Holding the paper so he could see it clearly, Hutch read each word carefully.

"Detective Hutchinson, Your partner is running out of time.
But before he goes, he wants to tell you what a bang up job
you're doing. Expect his call sometime this afternoon, when
he wakes up from his nap."


Hutch looked at Dobey, relief spilling from his eyes. "He's alive, Capt'n…Starsky's still alive!"

Dobey stared back at him, a worried expression on his face. Hutch glanced back at the note, wondering if he had misread something. As he examined it again, the smile that had been there a minute ago faded away.

"He's being kept alive—long enough for Rothman to get his drug shipment in. And it's coming, just like the note says, 'sometime this afternoon.'"

With a puzzled look, Dobey asked, "What are you talking about? What drug shipment?"

"Huggy heard about some more dope coming in. Apparently, Rothman's a fast operator. That's why he grabbed Starsky, so we'd be too busy looking for him instead of trying to nail Rothman with another bust."

"Hell of a way to do business, even for scum like him."

"Captain, I think I've got a good lead on one of Starsky's kidnappers, but we need to spring a junkie from a felony burglary charge up in Malibu."

"Felony? And what's this about 'we'?!"



Bree heard a knock at the front door. When she answered, Huggy was there along with a woman she thought she recognized, but couldn't remember from where.

"Hi! Thanks for coming." She stepped back and invited them in. "Did you get by the watchdogs okay?"

"Yeah, no sweat. They just looked at us and waved. Good thing we're not here to rob the place." Huggy was wondering if Bree was really safe or not.

Bree smiled and said, "I went out and spoke to them after I called so they'd be expecting you."

"Well, I guess I'll hold back callin' them the Keystone Cops then." Huggy held an introductory hand out to his accomplice. "Breanna Starsky, this is Diane Sills. She's one of my best waitresses."

"I'm your only waitress." she said, shoving an elbow in his side, "It's good to meet you. I'm sorry to hear about Starsky… I mean, your brother. He's really a cool guy."

"Thank you." Bree fell silent for a moment, afraid of letting her suppressed feelings surface. "Could I get either of you something to drink?"

"No," answered both. Then Huggy said, "So, what's this grand scheme of yours?"

"I think what I've got to say, you're gonna want to hear sitting down," Bree said, motioning towards the couch.

After the trio sat, Bree explained her experiences since coming to Bay City. It came as no surprise, when she got to the part about talking to Terri, that her audience was looking a bit overwhelmed.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she asked, feeling dejected yet again.

"I guess what matters is that you believe it," Huggy said, trying to be understanding .

"But you don't believe me." Bree could tell Huggy's answer just by looking at him.

Compelled by an unknown reason, she got up and went over to sit down beside him. Bree took his hand into hers and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she opened them back up. "You were very close to someone, when you were young. A male…someone you were related to. Both of you were about the same age…when he passed."

Surprised, Huggy lifted his eyebrows and glanced over to Diane. She gave him a bewildered look, then both focused back on Bree. "Yeah, there was someone like that," he said, not wanting to reveal too much.

Bree kept her eyes glued to Huggy's. She could sense the presence of another person in the room now, and the feeling kept intensifying along with the strength of the voice she was hearing. "He had a nickname…Jay, Jacob…no, Jace. Jace Brown."

Stunned, Huggy's eyes lit up and he pulled his hand away. There was no way Bree couldn't have known about his teenaged cousin or the circumstances surrounding his death nearly twenty years ago. He'd never mentioned it to anyone, not even Starsky, and he had no idea how Bree could even know he had a cousin, let alone his name.

Seeing Huggy's reaction, Bree wasn't sure if her revelation would convince him to trust her or not. But wherever this spirit had come from, he was insisting on being heard. "Huggy, there's something this person wants you to know —," Bree could sense the boy's desperation becoming stronger. "He…okay! Jace says that item you left…the bracelet? No, sorry…the necklace. I don't understand him, but he keeps saying it wouldn't have made a difference if you had gone with him…but the necklace, that was yours…his gift to you." Suddenly, that was it. All Bree could hear was silence. "I think he's gone now, Huggy. I can't hear him anymore."

Huggy sat quietly, taking in what Bree had said. He and Jace had been very close, more like brothers than cousins, but both were no strangers to trouble . Often the boys would have to steal, mostly for food, and on a particular day twenty years ago, the two were trying to make their escape after raiding a local bodega. With the store owner right on their tails, Huggy told Jace to split up. Unfortunately, Jace ran across two beat cops and didn't stop for their warnings. He died on the street long before any medical help arrived.

When Jace was buried, Huggy left a necklace—a simple, leather strap threaded through a buffalo nickel with a hole in it—on the grave. Jace had given it to him a week earlier as a birthday present. Huggy left it with his cousin, the only possession he had to give.

As Huggy drifted back from his memories, he shook off the past and rose from the couch. He slowly walked over to the window, still wondering what to make of Bree's story. Huggy shoved his hands into his pants pockets, then turned to Bree. "I've got to say, that's one mind blowing gift, little sister. But tell me this—what's it got to do with finding your brother? I mean, how's it going to help?"

"Huggy, I'd be lying if I told you I knew for sure. But I can't just sit here and wait for something to happen. Every ounce of me is saying I need to help him, and that this gift is the key. I've got to follow my instincts, or I'm never gonna be able to live with myself."

"Bree…if you get hurt, how am I gonna live with myself? And what about Hutch? You don't think he's going to come unglued when he finds out?" Despite the way he sounded, Huggy was torn. Something deep inside was telling him this was Starsky's only chance, but he didn't want to help Bree on some suicide mission either.

"Huggy, I'm just asking for you to trust me. Whatever happens, I'd never blame you, but I can't do this alone." Bree glanced over at the clock, then softly said, "And we're running out of time."

Huggy let out a loud sigh. He was fighting a losing battle and he'd be damned either way things went. Looking over at Diane, he asked, "So what's your opinion? You'd be part of this, too."

She looked at Bree, then over to Huggy. "I don't think I have one. But Starsky's her brother, and she's gotta do what her heart is telling her. I know you well enough to say if this was your blood you wouldn't even think twice. I don't think she's asking you to risk your life…just help her risk hers." Diane looked back at Bree, smiling. The expression was returned.

Huggy gave Diane a frustrated frown. Two women against one guy —no man could win against those odds. "Okay…just let me say it was nice knowin' you two, 'cause when Hutch finds out about this, I'm as good as dead."



Dobey let out a massive rush of air. "Well, if you can't authorize it, find me someone to talk to who can! Yes, I'll hold!"

The angry glance he threw over at Hutch spoke volumes. The captain had been on the phone for the last half hour, getting bounced from one department to another and having no luck in locating the right person who could authorize dismissing felony charges against Charlie's cousin. All Hutch could think about was, if he had gone ahead and driven down to Malibu, he'd be there by now.

"Yes? This is Captain Dobey, who am I speaking to? Oh, yes, Assistant District Attorney Marshall. Sorry to drag you away from your lunch, but I've got a situation…" Dobey glanced at Hutch—the expression on the captain's face getting steadily grimmer by the second. "I can see your point, sir, but you're not understanding mine. I've got a detective's life at stake here! You and I both know that kicking this turkey back out on the street isn't going to blemish your fine record. Chances are he's going to be caught stealing again and be back in jail within a month—and probably sooner than that!"

Hutch was on the edge of his chair, waiting for the slightest hint of concession in Dobey to leap up, grab the phone and give the person on the other end a big chunk of his mind.

"I assure you, Mr. Marshall, nothing will be released to the press on our end . What? I see. And how long do you think that will take? Uh-huh. Well, time is of the essence here. I understand. And you'll call me right back? Fine. Yes, and thank you."

Dobey slammed the receiver down. Hutch nervously asked, "Well, what'd he say?"

"Mainly he's worried about covering his butt. He wants to contact the detectives who worked the case—see if they're okay with dropping the charges."

"What! Captain, I…"

"Just hold your horses." Dobey stuck his palm out towards Hutch. "He's not expecting a problem other than just trying to get a hold of them. Both are on days off, but he's going to call back within a half hour and let me know either way."

Hutch slumped back in his chair. Every minute that passed meant less time left to find who had kidnapped his partner, and not knowing when Starsky's phone call was due only added to his anxiety. One thing was certain, Dobey's office was becoming extremely claustrophobic and Hutch had to get some fresh air.

"Captain, I'll be right back." As Hutch got up, he thought of one more thing. "Charlie's cousin needs to call him as soon as he's released. Can you make sure the jail doesn't let him out the front gate until he makes that call?"

"Yeah, sure; just don't be gone too long." Dobey watched Hutch walk out. "I hope you're right on this, Hutchinson," he said to himself as he picked up the phone. "Otherwise, all our asses are going to be on the line."



Starsky woke again, only to be greeted by inky darkness. He'd been immersed in a cyclic haze of unconsciousness and awareness, the pattern only sporadically broken by unwelcomed pain coming from any number of places on his body. It seemed like hours had gone by since his kidnappers had left. Someone should have returned by now, but considering the kind of attention he was getting from his nursemaids, especially one in particular, being left alone was probably just as well.

A low rumble escaped from his stomach, trying to convince his brain it wanted food. He wasn't real hungry, but thirst was another issue altogether. His mouth and throat felt like sandpaper, and with each breath that scraped along the rough pathway, the dryness inside of him only intensified.

Starsky closed his eyes. Somehow it made the darkness seem less intimidating. He started to think about things he knew he had to. Dying. That was a big one. Never had put a lot of thought into it…

Who am I kidding?

Ever since the day Pop died, he'd thought about it plenty, just never accepted the fact it was going to happen to him. Even getting shot two years ago, he'd been more afraid of Hutch dying in that restaurant than him.

I'm invincible, that's why.

He had to think like that. Without a strong sense of survival, he would be vulnerable and weak, an easy target for anyone wanting to take him out.

So how'd I end up on Rothman's serving platter then?

A spasm of pain suddenly spiked from the bullet wound, causing him to curl up and press his head against the wall beside him until the hurt rode itself out. Okay, dammit, so I'm not invincible, but I'm not weak either.

As the agony subsided, Starsky eased his back against the wall again. He wondered if the pain would ever stop, or if it'd be there right up until…the end. Part of him wanted to go out fighting, another part wished that sick pervert would just put a bullet into his brain. What was he thinking? He'd never wanted to give up before, even when Bellamy's poison had almost sucked the life out of him.

Yeah, I came close that time. Hutch was there, though…I had him to hang on to…not like now.

So what was he saying? That he couldn't be strong unless Hutch was there?

Shit. All I know right now is that I'm tired of hurting and tired of being scared. Maybe I was never strong…just lucky enough so I never had to be.

His reflections were interrupted as a series of convulsive tremors hit his stomach, making him feel sicker than before. Struggling against the gag, Starsky managed to force down a dry swallow, trying to avert the urge to vomit. After several minutes, he was able to control the impulses, but sweat now coated his skin, cooling him off in the already chilly air. Pitch blackness still enveloped the room, but in its midst, movement of obscure shadows caught his attention. As he blinked his eyes trying to clear his vision, misty figures began to emerge, hazily outlined against the dark walls. The apparitions seemed to resemble human forms, although very crudely, and began drifting towards him. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the entities suddenly vanished. An icy chill shot through him, and he drew his legs up closer to his body, trying to seek comfort as best as he could. I guess you'll never know this, Hutch, but I tried to hang on, for you and Bree, I really did…just couldn't anymore. Starsky closed his eyes and shuddered as the despair, suffocatingly strong, grabbed hold, pulling him into an inescapable void. As the emptiness seeped in and began to take over his soul, he let go.

Oblivion, long overdue, had finally arrived.



Bree and Huggy had made it to his car and were driving towards downtown, leaving the officers parked outside of Starsky's apartment unaware of the passenger switch. As she stared blankly out the window, Bree struggled with the ongoing turmoil in her head. She was flying by the seat of her pants, with no plan, just an instinctual drive pushing her into actions any sane person would have avoided like the plague. She was glad Huggy had decided to involve himself, but knew he wasn't comfortable with his decision. While she would have felt braver having him by her side after they got to their destination, she couldn't endanger his life past that point. Huggy would be the key if things didn't work out, but that was something he wouldn't know until the last moment. Bree hoped he would understand.



Dobey came out of his office in a hurry. He looked in the squad room then went out in the hall, still not seeing the blond-haired detective anywhere in the vicinity. As he turned to head back into his office, he sighted Hutch coming out of the elevator. Dobey caught his attention and nodded towards his office.

Hutch trotted in right after Dobey and quickly closed the door. The captain seemed at ease, and for the first time in two days, Hutch felt hopeful.

"Just got off the phone with the jail supervisor in Malibu. He says the guy called his cousin, even dialed the phone number himself so he'd be sure he didn't call someone else."

"That's great. Thanks, Captain." Hutch didn't wait for a response as he opened the door and flew out into the hall.



Suko pulled up in front of the warehouse, surprised to see that Vinetti's car wasn't there. As he got out and headed to the door, he heard a vehicle approaching. Although he was relieved to see the familiar sedan, Suko couldn't wait to tear into its driver.

Vinetti saw Suko standing by the front door, and wondered why he was outside. After parking his car, he had just barely stepped out when Suko came charging up.

"Where the hell have you been? Did you just get here!?" he said, thrusting up against the open car door and nearly slamming it into Vinetti.

"Me!? Of course I'm just getting here. You were covering the morning, right? I told you I had that doctor's appointment today." Vinetti finished getting out of the car, but not before having to shove the door back against Suko.

"Aw fuck! I thought you said that was tomorrow!" Suko felt the blood drain from his face.

Vinetti looked at his watch, then back at Suko. Each gave the other the same disgusted sneer then bolted towards the warehouse.

Suko reached up and turned on the light switch, then clumsily jabbed the key into the lock, finally opening the door. Both men crowded into the doorway, then stood frozen looking at the still figure slumped in the corner. Suko looked at Vinetti, panic clearly etched on his face. He stiffly walked over to Starsky, hoping to see some sign of breathing, but the cop seemed entirely too still. Suko squatted down and checked Starsky's neck for a pulse. After a few seconds, Suko dropped his head down to his chest.

Vinetti's heart sank. "Oh shit," he said.

Suko's head turned back slightly. "He's not dead, but he's barely breathing." He rose back up, and placed both hands on his hips. "I doubt if he's gonna make it until three o'clock."

Vinetti walked into the room and stood at Suko's side. "Should we call Rothman…let him know?"

"And then what? Tell 'im we screwed up?"

"We? This ain't you and me, this is you! You're the one who fucked up here. Don't even think about…"

"Oh, shut up!" Suko yelled. He knew if Starsky died, it'd be his fault, but right now he didn't need Vinetti's lip. He bent down and untied the gag from Starsky's face, then laid him out on the floor. Speaking in a gentler tone to Vinetti, he said, "Go get me some water and a towel, will ya?"

Vinetti let out a small huff, then left to find the items. What's he think he's going to do? Throw some water on him and bring him back to life?

After returning to the room, Vinetti handed the towel to Suko and placed the cup of water on the floor. Suko wetted part of the towel and wiped Starsky's face.

"Think maybe he'd get better if we could get some water down him?" Vinetti asked.

"So now it's we—" Suko caught himself and looked up apologetically. "Yeah, he probably would. His face feels awful warm though." Suko lifted Starsky's shirt and examined the bandages. Nothing looked terribly bad, but it didn't take graduating from medical school to know the cop needed a doctor.

"Let's sit him back up and see if he'll swallow some." Vinetti hunched over and with Suko's help, hoisted the unresponsive cop up against the wall.



Hutch pulled up in front of the Wild Pony Tavern and went inside. A few more customers had arrived since the morning and were spread out through the bar. Hutch planted himself at the end of the counter, waiting as patiently as he could while Charlie finished serving a pair of very drunk females. Finally freeing himself, the bar owner walked over to Hutch, a stupid grin plastered across his face.

"Yeah, he called," Charlie said, wiping his hands on a towel. "Couldn't thank me enough. Swore on his dead mother's grave he'd repay me this time—"

"Charlie," Hutch broke in, exasperated, "I hate to break up the family reunion, but I'm a little pressed for time, so start making good on your end of things—now!"

The smile on Charlie's face faded away. He leaned forward and, in a quieter voice, said, "Man's name is Frankie Suko. Like I said, he spent a lot of time on the east coast."

Hutch grabbed hold of the towel, ready to tell Charlie exactly what would happen if the name turned out to be bogus, but thought better of it and let go. He threw Charlie an insincere smile and left as quickly as he had come in.

Once back inside the LTD, Hutch asked dispatch to patch him through to Dobey. He gave him the name and asked the captain to try to locate a mug shot of Suko. After ending the call, Hutch leaned back in the car seat and tried to stretch out the tension in his stiff muscles. Hang on buddy, I'm getting closer.

Back at the precinct, Hutch took the staircase, two steps at a time, to the fifth floor and plowed into Dobey's office barely knocking and almost out of breath. Without a word, Dobey handed him a file folder. Hutch snatched it out of his hands and began to pore over its contents while settling blindly into a chair.

"R&I is trying to get a hold of a picture from the NYPD," Dobey said. "Seems the last time he was arrested and sent to jail was about ten years ago." Hutch kept his eyes focused on the file. Dobey went on, "What's interesting is the number of times he's been charged with something since then and it's been dismissed—including two charges of manslaughter."

Hutch raised his head. He closed the file and let it sit on his lap. "Guess Charlie's in-law knew what he was talking about." Dobey gave him a confused look. Answering as if the captain had asked him a question, Hutch said, "Apparently this guy is the highest paid hit man on the west coast. He's so valuable to his employers they'll do God-only-knows-what to keep him from going to jail."

Someone knocked on the door. Sergeant Collins entered the office, holding a fax sheet with a picture of Frankie Suko. Hutch took the paper and looked at it with Dobey.

"Captain—, " Hutch began.

"I'm already ahead of you." Picking up the phone, Dobey called dispatch, advising them of an APB on Suko.

After Dobey hung up the phone, Hutch said, "I'm going over to see Bree and show her the picture. If she can identify him, we can change that APB from 'wanted for questioning' to 'wanted for kidnapping.'"

"Okay, in the meantime we'll have copies of his picture issued to all the patrol units." Dobey glanced over at Collins.

"No need to say any more. Consider it done." Collins turned and left out the door.

"And you— "

Before Dobey had a chance to continue, Hutch said, "I'll let you know what she says as soon as I find out." With that, Hutch followed the sergeant out of the office.



Huggy pulled up along the curb in front of the Metro Plaza Complex. Built just two years before, the fifty story office building was one of the tallest in Bay City, and charged the highest lease rates to its occupants. Its prime location and stylish suites commanded the steep fees, and rumor had it there was a list of companies willing to wait at least five years to sign new leases.

"I'm not sure what floor his office is on, but the name of the company is Excel Corporation," Huggy told Bree, while looking over the top of his sunglasses at the tall building. "Just wait for me by the front entrance and I'll go park in the underground garage."

Bree swallowed hard. "Huggy…I can't thank you enough for helping me, but I plan to take it from here."

Huggy pulled down his glasses and looked at Bree. "What'd you just say?"

"I wasn't completely honest with you. I needed to find Rothman, and you were the only person I knew who could show me." Bree glanced down at her lap, not wanting to see Huggy's reaction. "I didn't mean to use you, but Hutch would have never told me. I know he's going to be mad—at both of us." She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to Huggy.

"This your last will and testament?" Huggy's voice was tight.

"No. If you don't see me again, I need you to call that number. Only one person will ever answer it. His name is Renzo. Tell him everything you know and that I gave that number to you."

Huggy opened up the note and saw the out of state area code on it . "I take it "Renzo' doesn't live in the neighborhood?"

"Not unless you consider Jersey City, New Jersey, next door." Bree combed her hand through her hair, and looked out the passenger window. "Just between us, I spent a good deal of my early twenties involved with people who, well, didn't go to church on Sundays. Luckily, I was able to get out before I had to sacrifice all of my integrity."

She took another quick look at Huggy and cracked open the car door, but then stopped. "The people who killed our Pop had some powerful enemies—not all of them wore blue uniforms. If you have to call that number, Huggy…just know that whoever was responsible for David and me…" Bree stopped. She couldn't say anymore, but as she got out of the car and closed the door, she peered back in through the window. The look on Huggy's face told her he had understood perfectly.

"Hey!" Huggy said, just as Bree turned to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Was there anything else that, huh, Jace might have told you?"

Bree smiled. "He's at peace, Huggy. He cared a lot about you, and he never blamed you in any way for what went down." With that, she turned around and headed towards the building.

"Yeah, take care little sis," Huggy said to himself as he watched Bree disappear inside the front entrance. He then pulled back into traffic, wondering how he was ever going to explain to Hutch what he'd done.

Bree looked at the directory plaque on the wall by the main set of elevators. Excel Corporation was located on the forty-ninth floor. After riding up, she got off the elevator and walked through a small foyer to a set of enormous frosted glass doors, embossed with the name of the company in large, polished brass letters that glistened even under the indirect lighting. She pushed the doors open and walked in from the foyer. The suite that greeted her was enormous and essentially devoid of many things that would indicate the company made its money the old fashion way. There were no cubicles or individual offices, and no employees for that matter, except for one, sitting behind a gigantic reception desk.

Bree walked over and stood in front of the receptionist . The woman appeared to be in her early-forties, and from the way she was dressed and wore her makeup, looked like an over-aged Barbie doll trying to recapture her youth. She was involved in a lengthy and clearly personal phone call and gave no sign of wanting to end it early. Bree had caught the woman's head-to-toe inspection from the moment she stepped into the suite, and knew she'd been judged as someone who could be made to wait.

Finally, the woman told her caller she'd get back to them and directed her attention to Bree. "Can I help you?" she asked, her tone plainly condescending.

"Yes. I'm here to see Benjamin Rothman."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I don't have an appointment, but I'm sure he'll want to see me." Bree returned the woman's arrogant glare.

"Your name?"

"Just tell him 'Starsky.'"

The woman rolled her eyes slightly, but nonetheless picked up the phone and briefly spoke to another party. Within a minute, a well-dressed man appeared in the lobby, looking a bit surprised when he caught sight of Bree. While she had no idea what Rothman looked like, Bree was sure this man wasn't him. He was too mousy-looking, and gave her the impression he would jump three feet into the air if she yelled 'boo' loud enough.

"Hello," he said, offering a handshake. "My name is Peter Jenkins. I'm Mr. Rothman's assistant. May I ask what business you have to discuss with him?"

Bree shook Jenkin's hand, then politely replied, "Of course. Tell him I'm the one who shot his employee the other night."

Bree had heard about shocked people having their face turn deathly pale, but until now she'd never seen it happen before. She stole a glance at the receptionist, who obviously had been close enough to hear their conversation, and could have sworn the same thing just happened to her.

Jenkins glanced nervously at the receptionist then turned quickly back to Bree. "If you'd care to follow me, I'll make sure Mr. Rothman sees you directly."

"Thank you." Before following Jenkins, Bree gave the receptionist a dirty look, pleased to see she was sitting petrified in her plush leather seat.



Hutch drove into Starsky's driveway and parked the car. He got out and gave a quick wave to the officers parked across the street. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the front door. When a female voice answered, Hutch thought it was odd that Bree didn't open the door right away.

"Bree, it's me, Hutch." He heard the lock slide back and the door slowly opened. Nothing could have prepared him for the shock that followed. "Diane? What are you doing here? Where's Bree!?"

Diane opened the door all the way. Giving him a sheepish grin, she said, "Um, Bree's not here Hutch."

When she didn't offer any further explanation, he asked, "And just where the hell is she?"

"She left with Huggy."

Hutch gave a disgusted sigh. He shoved himself through the doorway, pushing Diane backwards with his intimidating presence, then slammed the door behind him. Her frightened look calmed him down for a moment, but his building anger was hard to contain.

"Diane," he said tersely, "I don't have the time or patience to play twenty questions here. Tell me why you're here, and where Bree and Huggy went."

"I'm here because Huggy asked me to come with him. Where he and Bree are, I honestly don't know."

Hutch raised a hand and massaged the back of his neck. Still angry, he said, "Diane, this isn't a game. Tell me where they're at or so help me…" Hutch pointed a warning finger at the waitress.

"Look, all I know is Bree called Huggy. Asked him to come over and bring a gal that was about her same size. Once we got here, they talked and Huggy agreed to drive her over to some office downtown."

Hutch scooped her arm up in his hand. "What office?"

"I don't know! Some guy she thought was responsible for kidnapping Starsky!"

"Oh my God…was the name Rothman?"

"Yeah, that's it. You want to let go of me now?" Diane was hoping that was the worst she'd have to experience of Hutch's anger.

He let her arm fall free. His gaze dropped to the floor, and he appeared to be deeply involved in thought. When he lifted his head back up he said, "I want you to stay right here. If Huggy or Bree comes back before I do, you'd better make sure they stay here and someone calls me quick. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure Hutch."

Hutch stormed out of the apartment and ran down the staircase. The two officers sitting in the patrol car had no idea of what was coming their way.



Bree was led to another reception area situated outside of what appeared to be a large office. Jenkins had her take a seat on a velour couch as he opened the dark-stained wooden door and slipped inside the adjoining room. A few moments later, he reappeared and invited her in.

Walking through the door, Bree felt she had stepped into a miniature art gallery. The walls were literally covered in paintings, and scattered around the perimeter were various kinds and sizes of bronze sculptures, modern art statues and pieces of Victorian furniture. The carpeting was soft and plush, and at the end of the room, a distinguished-looking man sat behind a desk large enough to double as a banquet table. As she strolled closer, he got up and walked around to meet her.

"Hello," he said, stopping as he got around the desk. "I'm told you have a very interesting reason to be here today."

Before Bree could say anything, the man motioned to Jenkins, who was still standing by the doorway. He closed the door and walked over to Bree. He reached inside of his jacket and pulled out a handgun, but kept the barrel pointed down as he crossed both hands together in front of his stomach. Bree turned her attention back to the man at the desk.

"If you could remove your jacket, miss, so that I can be assured our conversation won't be heard by anyone else?"

Bree hesitated a moment, then pulled the sweatshirt off.

"Fine. You can hand it to my assistant. Now, please lift your shirt up and turn slowly around."

The calculated manner in which Bree was instructed reminded her of the way she and Dave were taken hostage. Nothing was assumed, and every move planned so that the kidnappers always had the advantage. After performing the turn, Bree gratefully let her shirt back down.

"I hope you'll forgive my unusual requests, but one must always be careful when dealing with the unknown. Now that the formalities are done, introductions are in order. My name is Benjamin Rothman, but I don't think I've gotten your full name."

"My name is Starsky, Breanna Starsky, and I believe you're holding my brother against his will."

Rothman leaned back on the desk, and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure I appreciate being accused of kidnapping. Tell me, Miss Starsky, who is your brother and what prompts you to think I would be responsible for such a horrendous crime?"

Bree was amazed by Rothman's wariness. He wasn't implicating himself in the least, even with the assurance no one else was listening in on their conversation.

"My brother is David Starsky. He's a police detective here in Bay City. I was with him the other night, when we were kidnapped. Fortunately, I was able to get away."

Rothman turned a deadly stare past Bree and toward Jenkins . She would have sworn by the look on Rothman's face that this was the first time he was hearing about this particular version of events. Rothman eyed her with a look only the Devil could master. "If…what you are saying is true, whatever makes you think you could do a damned thing about it?"

His sudden openness surprised Bree. "Because I can identify your three goons, especially the one I shot. Maybe they'd be willing to go to jail for you, but what if just one of them isn't?"

"And if I was this ruthless person that you claim I am, what would keep me from making sure you couldn't succeed with your plan? Or are you just trying to bluff me?"

"Do you really think I would show up here without one? And then be stupid enough to share it with you?"

Rothman looked at his watch, then up at Bree. "Very well, Miss Starsky. I'll play your game, for now." He glanced over at Jenkins, who stepped up quickly behind Bree and grabbed her arms, holding them until each was secured behind her back with handcuffs.

Bree wasn't surprised by Rothman's move, but his quickness at grabbing her, without concern for what she might have planned, did. Being cuffed again brought back memories of the other night, but if there really was such a thing, what Bree was feeling this time was more of a controlled panic. As she breathed in deeply, trying to slow her racing heart, Bree concentrated on what lay ahead. There was no doubt her life and David's were resting on a miracle.


CHAPTER 10


"Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You better know that in the end
It's better to say too much
Then never to say what you need to say again" John Mayer


Suko slapped the side of Starsky's face again, trying to get him to open his eyes, but without much success.

"Maybe you should just let him be. At least he's breathing okay now." Vinetti had been observing Suko's efforts for the last fifteen minutes. If anything, the man's ministrations were causing Starsky to remain knocked out rather than waking him.

"Oh yeah, and I suppose Rothman would be tickled pink to have him just do some heavy breathing on the phone with his partner?" Frustrated, Suko shoved Starsky back, forcing his head to smack against the wall. As Suko started to stand, he noticed a grimace on the cop's face.

"Hey!" Suko grabbed hold of a handful of curly hair and yanked hard. "Wake up!"

Starsky felt a prickly, hot sensation on his skull, snapping him out of a heavy stupor. He opened his eyes as far as he could, and tried to make sense of the reality around him. The awareness of pain and seeing Suko's ugly mug meant only one thing; he was still alive and in hell.

Suko picked up the cup of water and pressed it up against Starsky's mouth. "Here, drink this—it'll make you feel better."

Without a second thought, Starsky greedily took in the welcome liquid. For all he knew, Suko could have been drugging him, but he didn't care. The first few swallows felt like they were completely absorbed in his mouth, but finally the water made it down to the stomach, which hesitantly accepted the liquid. Starsky drew his head back from the cup. The cramping arising in his gut indicated it wasn't ready to handle much more.

Suko eyed Starsky's reaction with interest and then glanced at his watch. "So ya feeling okay?" he asked him, setting the cup down.

Starsky glared at Suko with a look that indicated the question was beyond stupid, then turned his head away.

Rising, Suko turned to Vinetti and said, "Guess we'd better get goin' if we want to be on time. You all set?"

"Yeah. You gonna need some help with him?"

"Well, he sure as hell don't look like he can waltz out of here on his own." Suko glanced down at Starsky. "C'mon, Prince Charming. Time to go for a ride."

The two men each grabbed hold of Starsky and led him out of the room and up the stairs, eventually making it outside to Suko's car. The dock area around them appeared deserted, even though it was the middle of the day, so no one witnessed the handcuffed cop being half-dragged, half-carried out of the warehouse and dumped head first into the back seat. Suko climbed behind the wheel as Vinetti got in beside him up front. As the car started up and pulled away, Starsky remained still and lying down.

The smell of fresh air and ocean water hit Starsky's senses as soon as he was brought outside of the warehouse. He had to squint to keep the bright daylight from hurting his eyes, but the warmth of the sun felt good on his skin during the few moments it took to reach Suko's car. Even the mild breeze felt like a gentle massage.

Starsky was sure he was being taken on a one way ride. He wasn't coming back to that God-forsaken basement, but it seemed unlikely they were taking him to a better place. Whatever Rothman had planned, Starsky was certain it was something that would insure he'd never see a penny of his pension. As the sedan drove to its new destination, Starsky nestled his battered body along the cushioned back seat, relishing the feel of the soft padding that was a world away from the basement's cement floor. Sadly, he knew simple pleasures like this were coming to an end.

Suko steered the sedan onto a side street in the industrial district and drove until he reached an alley running along the rear of a string of two-story commerce buildings. Halfway down the dead end lane, he pulled up alongside the loading dock of a small exporting business. As he and Vinetti got out of the car, they quickly scanned the area for any signs of people, but the only thing moving among the many parked vans and freight trucks were pieces of discarded rubbish carried along by the moderate wind. After retrieving Starsky from the back seat, the two men entered the building, their prisoner held tightly between them.

Once inside, they continued until reaching a storage area sectioned off by tall stacks of wooden shipping crates. A small office stood isolated nearby, two of its walls composed of glass windows stretching from the ceiling down to almost floor level. Starsky was set down on the floor outside, and left propped up against a crate. Vinetti went inside the office and dragged out two chairs for himself and Suko. Both sat down to smoke a cigarette and began the wait for Rothman's arrival.



Hutch entered the squad room, and seeing Dobey's door open, walked towards his office. He stopped in the entrance, immediately getting the captain's attention.

Dobey looked up from reading a case report and recognized the worn expression on Hutch's face as a sign of imminent bad news. "Come on in and shut the door," Dobey said as he tossed the paperwork from his hands, "I take it Breanna couldn't identify Suko?"

"I don't know Captain. Maybe she could have, if she had been there."

Dobey nearly shot up from his chair. "What!? Well where the hell is she? And what happened to the officers watching the apartment?"

Letting go of a heavy sigh, Hutch said, "She took off. Somehow she convinced Huggy to come over with one of his waitresses. According to her, both Bree and Huggy left about an hour ago headed to Rothman's office."

"What is she thinking?" Dobey leaned forward again, resting on his elbows. "Did you go over there to see if they showed up?"

"Yeah. Had to have security open it up, but the place was empty." Hutch glanced at the clock on the wall which showed it was nearly two thirty. The optimism he had felt earlier was nearly gone. Not only did Rothman have Starsky, but in all likelihood he had Bree and Huggy now, too. The chances of finding any of them or locating the drug shipment seemed to be fading with each passing second.

"So what's your next move?" asked Dobey.

"Try and be one of the few people around here to stay out of Rothman's hands," Hutch said, then added dejectedly, "and wait for his damned phone call."



Bree shifted around on the back seat of the Cadillac. Even though the leather cushioning was soft and supple, the handcuffs kept digging uncomfortably in her back. She glanced over at Rothman, but the man didn't seem to notice her movements, or maybe he simply didn't care. He was talking on the car phone, discussing plans regarding a shipment scheduled to arrive in on a freighter at any time. It wasn't hard to guess that the cargo probably included illegal merchandise of some kind.

A sinking feeling hit Bree. She wondered if the kidnapping had something to do with this delivery. Rothman was certainly ruthless enough to go to extreme measures to accomplish such a job. She remembered the other night, when David had mentioned the murder of Ronny Malcolm. If the bust David and Hutch had made involved drugs belonging to Rothman, and he wanted to retaliate, why hadn't he just killed David that night instead of kidnapping him? Obviously, there must be a reason, but Bree had enough dismal things to think about.

The Caddy turned into an alley and pulled up alongside another sedan. Rothman leaned forward and spoke to Jenkins, saying, "Give me about ten minutes, then bring her in." He gave Bree a cold look, and then got out of the car.

She watched as he climbed the stairs onto the loading dock and went into the building. Shrugging off the ominous glare, Bree stared out of the other window and examined the sedan parked next to them. She recognized it from the night of David's kidnapping and felt a surge of optimism, hoping there might be a chance he was alive and being held inside.

Upon entering, Rothman walked briskly towards the office near the far end of the warehouse. He approached his two employees and stopped for a moment, taking a long, hard look at Starsky. Suko and Vinetti got up and approached Rothman, both hosting apprehensive looks.

"He looks like shit. Are you sure he's even alive?" Rothman said, disgust filling his voice.

Vinetti shrugged his shoulders and stuck both hands in his front pant pockets. " He's a little sick, but doin' okay."

Rothman turned to Suko. "And what about you? Does he look okay to you?"

Suko quickly glanced at Vinetti, then nervously answered, "Sure. I mean, he's not ready to do the mambo, but he's alive."

Rothman took a few steps closer to Starsky, looking down at the hunched figure as if he were fresh road kill. Without turning back around, he asked, "Have you spoken to Eddie lately?"

Suko and Vinetti looked at one another. "I ain't talked to him, at least not lately," Suko answered, then turned to Vinetti. "Have you, Lou?"

"No, not since the other night," Vinetti replied, giving Suko a confused frown behind Rothman's back.

"I'm just wondering why he got ill so suddenly after you kidnapped the detective here." Rothman pivoted back around, his eyes demanding an answer.

"Don't really know, maybe it was something he ate," said Suko, not sure if Rothman was just fishing, or knew what had really happened to Lapentz. For now, Suko was willing to play dumb.

Rothman slowly walked past the two men, stopping at the edge of some stacked crates. He reached in his jacket, pulled out a handkerchief, and used it to briefly dab the tip of his nose. Deceptively calm, Rothman straightened his head and said, "When I give an order, I expect that order to be carried out—without any screw ups—especially from people who consider themselves professionals and get paid quite handsomely for what they do."

Suko shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He wasn't ready to divulge the truth, but he didn't like what Rothman was implying. "So you're sayin' we screwed up? How's that possible when curly top's plopped over there, doing a damn good impersonation of a door stop?"

Rothman spun around, his body tense and his composure barely held in check . "I'm not blind, Suko. I can see he's there, but he's not the issue." He stuffed the handkerchief back into his jacket and glared at the two men. "I don't tolerate sloppy work—ever! So let me tell you, when you grab his partner today there better not be any problems I have to deal with. Is that clear!?"

"Look , Mr. Rothman," Suko interjected, "I don't appreciate being told I do sloppy work. We grabbed his ass the other night, delivered him in one piece like you wanted, and now three days later, all of a sudden there's a problem?"

"So you don't see a problem, is that right, Suko?"

Vinetti cast Suko a weary eye. Rothman was clearly opening up a trap door, and Suko was running head first right into it.

As if on cue, Rothman turned towards the building's entrance, just as the sound of footsteps could be heard coming towards the group. As Jenkins and Bree came into view and stopped, absolute silence spilled over the room. Suko and Vinetti stood like two statues, looking more than a bit surprised.

Rothman stomped over to where Jenkins was standing. He seized Bree's arm, making her yelp as he yanked her away. As he got to Suko, Rothman shoved Bree around in front, holding her from behind by both shoulders.

"This, Suko—is what's called a fucking problem!!"

Vinetti couldn't see Suko's face, but he didn't have to. Undoubtedly, both of their expressions were a matching pair. He shied away from Rothman's hostile stare and shifted his gaze to Bree. Her eyes were bright and radiated fear, but mixed with that Vinetti caught a glimpse of a different personality then he had seen the other night in Starsky's apartment. He got the impression that behind that fear lay a mind set on a mission, but unfortunately for her, these weren't the best circumstances she could be in. Although he would never say it, Vinetti wasn't looking forward to killing this one.

Lost in his own thoughts since being pulled out of Suko's car, Starsky had barely paid attention to the conversation going on around him . He'd heard Rothman chewing out the hit men, and had fleetingly compared the tirade to one of Dobey's. Mostly though, he wondered about what was planned for him. It wasn't likely he was going to be hit anymore; he'd never survive another attack and it was obvious Rothman wanted him alive for one last reason—Hutch. Starsky was starting to wish he could just succumb to the sickness fermenting inside and spoil Rothman's plans for taking out his partner. If he could die soon, maybe it would save Hutch. But then he heard a short cry that woke him out of his dismal reflection.

Starsky looked over at the small group huddled nearby and noticed one shorter figure in the middle. He painfully arched back, trying to sit up so he could see around the stocky body of his groper. As Suko inadvertently shifted to the side, Starsky got his first good look at that center person—Bree!

As Jenkins ushered her into the building, Bree could hear Rothman's agitated voice and had a good idea of who was on the receiving end. When the conversation died and she came around the wall of shipping pallets, she instantly recognized the two kidnappers standing behind Rothman and felt apprehensive about being in their presence again, especially the one who had taken such a personal interest in her brother. She glanced over at his partner, and the sorrowful look in his face bothered her. When she turne d her head, she caught a peek of someone huddled on the floor behind them, and struggled to suppress her impulse to jerk away from Rothman's grasp when she caught sight of the blue and white striped tennis shoes—Davey!

At that moment, Suko moved enough to where Bree could see David's face. For Bree, seeing him again was priceless, but it only took a moment to realize just how sick he appeared. Searching his body, she noticed dark red stains along the opened bottom of his shirt and what looked like more blood on wide bandages covering part of his stomach. Bree's heart sank as she started to imagine just how serious his injuries might be.

Starsky almost thought Bree wasn't real, but he was still alive enough to know what he was seeing was genuine. For an instant, he was ecstatic. Knowing Bree was okay injected new hope into their situation, but then reality crashed down on him. Rothman had kept her, like him, until this moment. Starsky knew he wasn't going to be alive much longer , and had no doubt Bree's chances weren't any better. Still, he was glad she was all right for now. There was always a slim chance something could happen and she could survive—being alive did, at least, offer that possibility. As Starsky stayed focused on Bree, relishing whatever time they had to be together, he became aware of the heated conversation going on between their captors.

"And that's all you can say? Things got screwed up!" Rothman was livid. He had seen more things go wrong in the last two weeks than in the last two years. And now the worst part was that his two best employees had failed to mention one tiny detail that could have put him in cuffs before he even knew what happened.

"Look, somehow the bitch got hold of a gun and shot Eddie. When we got there, she'd run off into the bushes. We would've gotten our heads blown off if we'd tried to find her," Suko said, laying out his last defense. He'd never seen Rothman this mad, and there was no telling what his boss would end up doing to him and Vinetti.

Rothman lowered his head and shook it slightly. Dealing with his incompetent employees would have to wait as there were more pressing things to attend to.

Nodding towards Starsky, Rothman gruffly said, "Get him over here and let's finish this."

Suko and Vinetti each grabbed a hold of one of Starsky's arms and lifted him up. While Jenkins guarded Bree, the others went inside the small office. As Starsky was carried past Bree, he gave her a small, fleeting smile, but it was impossible to hide the fact that he couldn't stand up on his own. His leg muscles didn't want to straighten out and if he got even close, the tension pulling on his stomach was too painful. Being toted around by the two thugs didn't feel much better, but keeping his pride intact was slowly losing importance.

Rothman sat down on top of the desk and scooted the phone over towards the front edge. He looked at Starsky and said, "Alright, detective. We're going to make a phone call to your partner. You get to tell him you're alive and that's it—understood?"

Starsky shot him an impish grin, then said, "And what if I refuse?" It was an empty threat, but since he couldn't physically fight anymore, Starsky had to use what he could.

Rothman glanced over his shoulder, silently motioning to Jenkins. The employee pulled a revolver out of his jacket and placed the barrel against Bree's temple. Rothman looked back at Starsky, letting his impatience show.

"Like I've said before, Sergeant, I don't like to play games." Rothman reached for the phone and started dialing. "You can certainly refuse if you wish, but any more insubordination from you will cost the woman her life."

Starsky dipped his head, feeling guilty for putting Bree in a situation he should have known would happen. It was hard being forced to do whatever Rothman wanted, but even harder to have Bree suffer the consequences of his futile resistance. There was no alternative but to concede—God, he hated no win situations.

Before dialing the last number, Rothman glanced up at Starsky, awaiting a response. With his stomach churning, Starsky gave him a resigned nod.



Hutch had been staring mindlessly at the same page in Suko's criminal file for the last hour, his frustration growing by the minute. He was playing right into Rothman's hands, having to stay tied to his desk while, somewhere in town, illegal drugs were making their way to an unknown destination and his partner's life was at stake. Even though every beat cop had been advised to be extra vigilant, odds were against them stumbling on either the shipment or Starsky. On top of everything, Hutch hadn't heard a word from Huggy or Bree. When the phone next to him rang, Hutch unconsciously picked it up and was ready to answer before he realized it could be Starsky.

"Hutchinson," he said softly.

"This Detective Kenneth Hutchinson?" the male voice asked.

Hutch cautiously answered, "Yeah. Who's this?" He waved at Dobey through the open door in his office, catching the captain's attention. Dobey immediately picked up the extension on his phone.

"Let's not waste words, Sergeant. I know my time is limited. There's someone here who wants to say hello."

Hutch pressed the receiver up against his ear, straining to hear the next voice.

"…Hutch…"

The voice was barely above a whisper, but Hutch could never mistake it.

"Starsk? Are you okay?" Hutch knew it was stupid to ask, but he had to know.

After a long pause and what sounded like some labored breaths, Starsky said, "Hey—just don't forget to lock the car."

Hutch heard some fumbling in the background, and then another male voice came on the line. "Okay , cop, you listen good. There's a payphone on the corner of Baker and Harding. If I were you, I'd be there to answer it in fifteen minutes. And make sure no one else comes along, or it's gonna cost you dearly." The line went dead.

Dobey hung up his phone and walked out into the squad room. Hutch was still holding on to the receiver, his eyes closed tightly. "What'd Starsky mean by that last comment?" Dobey asked.

Hutch opened his eyes and dropped the receiver back on the phone base. He got up from the chair and grabbed his jacket from off the desk. Showing no emotion, Hutch said, "It means he doesn't think he…It means he's in a bad situation, Captain."

As Hutch started for the door, Dobey shouted his name. Hutch stopped, but before he could tell Dobey his mind was made up, the captain said, "I don't agree with what you're doing, and if I thought it would do any good I'd order you not to go, but I know that wouldn't stop you. Just watch your back—it's bad enough they've got one good detective—"

Hutch acknowledged Dobey with a slight smile. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, then hurried out into the hall.



Suko slammed the phone down then back-handed Starsky across his face.

"Son of a bitch! What kind of bullshit are you tryin' to pull?" Suko said, drawing back his hand to deliver another blow.

"Suko!" Rothman had to restrain himself from doing the same thing to his employee. "You've got somewhere you need to be right now. Take him and the girl and lock them up in the back room."

Suko gave his boss a resigned look and straightened his jacket. He grabbed Starsky and helped Vinetti move him out of the office while Jenkins followed behind them with Bree. The group went to another part of the warehouse where the two siblings were tossed roughly on the floor inside a small storage room. As soon as they were left alone, Bree began to scramble over on her knees towards her brother. Starsky painfully worked himself into a seated position, and scooted backwards until he could lean back against a wall. Almost completely out of breath from the effort, he turned to Bree and felt comforted for the first time in days as she laid her head against his.

"Oh God, Davey," Bree said, as she got her first close look at the blood stains on his shirt and bandages. "What'd they do to you?" she whispered. Bree wished she could free her hands to take a closer look at his injuries, or even better, wrap her arms around him.

"It's not that bad," he lied, then paused until he could catch his breath. "Some guy just didn't like my hair, that's all." He tried to show a smile, but a sharp spasm in his gut wiped away the effort.

"Davey," Bree said, drawing his name out, "you don't have to pretend with me, especially not now." She watched as the expression on his face changed, but the indigo eyes still revealed a depth of unimaginable pain. "Hutch is trying to find you, you know. And your captain has got the whole department out looking, too."

Starsky suddenly pulled away, pressing against the wall behind him. "What? How do you know that, Bree?" he said hoarsely. When she looked away and didn't answer, Starsky stared forlornly up at the ceiling. "Tell me you didn't. Please…" he quietly said, hoping he was mistaken in what he was thinking.

Bree slowly looked back at him. When their eyes met, she said, "I got away that night. They were going to kill me, but I got away. Hutch came for me and I told him what happened." The look on David's face made Bree uncomfortable, but she continued. "Everybody's really concerned about you—even Huggy's been helping out."

"If you got away—" Starsky said, refusing to let her sidestep the issue, "then how'd Rothman get a hold of you again?"

Bree hesitated for a moment, then muttered, "Because I came to him, looking for you."

"Are you serious!?" Starsky's stomach tightened, but he ignored the pain. "What the hell were you thinking, Bree? That you could just waltz right up to Rothman and ask him to let me go?"

"Well, actually, that's kinda what I did."

Starsky looked at her, utterly stunned. There had to be some kind of explanation, because his sister couldn't have gone completely insane since he'd last seen her. "Bree…these guys aren't playing around…" Suddenly, a searing jab tore through his side making Starsky arch backwards as he let out an agonizing yelp.

Startled, Bree straightened up, feeling helpless and unsure of what to do. "Davey! What is it? What's wrong?"

It was the last straw. All of the tension and hurt from the last three days crashed down on him, and along with the pain now shooting through his body, combined to overload his last reserves of strength. "Oh God, fuck this!" Tears came pouring out, accompanied by repressed sobs that only intensified the aching. His mind became flooded with frustration, and with no one else to lash out against, Starsky unleashed his anger on Bree.

"Don't you get this!? Rothman grabbed me to get even for busting up his drug shipment. I'm only alive right now because he wants Hutch too." Starsky's voice was tight; his muscles tensing, trying to ride out another spasm. "Damn it! I can't take this shit anymore!" He took in a shaky gasp, and let the anguish finally reach a climax.

"Since that night, I didn't know if you were alive or not,' he continued "And it tore me up, knowing I was responsible…I've tried to fight these bastards, because I felt I owed that to you…but I just can't anymore." As his body shuddered and then relaxed for a brief moment, Starsky let out a weak sigh. "I'm not making it out of here, Bree…but you had a choice, dammit…"

Bree settled back on her legs and watched as David's entire body deflated. For the first time, she felt as though she was making a terrible mistake. David had certainly been struggling to hang on, but now, with both of them in the same hopeless position, life seemed to have instantly drained from him. Shame washed over Bree as she realized she was responsible for how he was feeling.

"Oh Davey, I'm sorry," Bree said, as she rested her forehead on his shoulder. "I only did this because I couldn't be somewhere safe knowing you weren't. I hate it that you're in pain—I'd do anything to make it go away if I could. Please, don't be mad at me."

Starsky leaned his head against hers. "I'm not mad at you…but I can't feel better knowing you're just throwing your life away." He paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath. "I guess I'm sorry, too…that you got caught up in this. You didn't have a choice in that…"

Bree saw David cringe and heard him release a soft moan. He looked so sick and Bree hated to think how long he'd been suffering like this. She pressed her head more firmly into his and softly said, "Hang on, Davey…just a little longer."



Hutch maneuvered through the last bit of heavy traffic before entering the less congested industrial district. During the drive over he had thought about what Starsky had said on the phone. It was one of just a couple of phrases they had invented some time ago during a very long and uneventful stakeout. While tossing back and forth ideas on how each would react in different scenarios, the two had thought of code words to use that only they would understand in a tight situation. Starsky's remark about "locking the car" symbolically meant the Torino, his one cherished material possession. In essence, he was saying he wasn't going to make it, because circumstances were beyond his control, and Hutch shouldn't put his life at risk.

But here he was, doing exactly what they had promised each other not to do. To Hutch, that didn't matter now. Since that stakeout, they had gone through a lot of bad situations together, each always watching the other's back. If trying to save Starsky's life cost Hutch his, that was his choice and he wouldn't have it any other way. Rothman would likely win the battle, maybe even the war, but Hutch would have spared himself a lifetime of regretting the fact that he'd left his partner to die. There was no question in his mind he was doing the right thing.

Hutch pulled up to the phone booth and parked along the curb. As he got out of the LTD, the telephone started to ring. He glanced around the immediate area, but other than some light traffic and a few pedestrians about a block away, there was nothing that looked suspicious. Hutch stepped into the booth and picked up the phone.

"Yeah," Hutch said tersely.

"You're three minutes late. If that's how you're gonna follow directions, maybe I need to end this call right now."

Although he wanted to let the voice know what he thought about that, Hutch bit his lip and played along.

"Sorry. I had to change the oil and a flat on the way over here."

"Oh, you're a cute one…just like your partner. I'm only gonna say this once, so pay attention. Get back in your car and go north five blocks. Turn right on Harding and keep going straight until you reach the dead end. Turn left and park in the lot off to your right. Get out of your car and walk towards the blue garage doors. And just one last thing, pig—once you leave that car, you'd better be alone—no weapons, no wires—or you and your partner die. You've got five minutes." The caller hung up.

Hutch left the booth and got back in the LTD. After arriving at the lot, he found the building with the blue doors and parked a short distance away. He pulled his Colt revolver from his holster and stuck the gun under the front seat. Taking one last moment to prepare himself for whatever lay ahead, he cautiously stepped out and started walking towards the building.

"Stop right there!"

The man's voice seemed to come from nowhere. Hutch froze, unsure if he should even look around.

"Take your jacket off—and your shirt."

Hutch slowly complied, taking off the jacket, followed by his empty holster and lastly the shirt.

"Very good. Now go in the side door to your left."

Keeping hold of his clothing, Hutch walked over and opened the door, stepping into the dimly lit interior. He found himself in a large room filled with tall stacks of boxes and sectioned off by shelves that reached nearly to the ceiling. Walking a few more feet, another voice called out.

"You can stop right there. Get rid of the holster and place your clothing on top of the table."

Hutch tossed his holster off to the side and placed the clothing on the table. A large man stepped out from behind a wall of shelving about ten feet in front of him, armed with a hand gun.

"Step over to that wall, "the man said, pointing the gun to where he wanted Hutch to go, "and, what do you guys call it? 'Assume the position?'"

Reluctantly, Hutch obeyed and placed his body, spread-eagled, up against the wall. While Vinetti kept a watch on the cop, Suko arrived from outside and searched through Hutch's jacket and shirt. When he was done, he nodded to Vinetti, who holstered his gun and stepped in behind Hutch. After patting him down, Vinetti took the clothing from Suko and handed the items to Hutch.

"Here, put these on then place your hands behind your back."

Hutch turned around and examined the two men closely. They both looked like ordinary scum, just dressed up in expensive three-piece suits. After he finished dressing, Hutch turned and faced Suko, allowing Vinetti to handcuff him.

"Where's my partner?" Hutch said, coolly staring at the hit man.

"When I want to hear you say anything—I'll ask." Suko answered. He then reached in his jacket and pulled out a small cloth bundle, and after folding it up, tied it around Hutch's head as a blindfold.

Without another word, he was escorted through the warehouse to a parked car and forced into the back seat. Vinetti slipped in behind him and pushed Hutch all the way down on the seat. After leaving the warehouse the sedan traveled for several minutes, constantly changing directions, until it entered into another building and parked.

Suko pulled Hutch from the car and took off the blindfold. Checking out the new location, Hutch noticed it resembled the first, both apparently being used as shipping warehouses. He was led to an area surrounded by tall stacks of crates and shelves full of cardboard boxes, along with a small office set off to one corner. Hutch looked through the large windows, not surprised at who he saw waiting inside.

"Well, Detective Hutchinson," Rothman said as he strolled out of the office, "so I finally meet the other half of this dynamic twosome. You know, for such highly qualified police officers, it didn't seem to take much effort to get you off the street." Rothman began examining Hutch as if he was a prized thoroughbred up for auction.

"I asked your goons, and now I'm asking you—where's my partner?"

"My…you certainly don't like to beat around the bush, do you?" Rothman admired the brazenness of the man. "All in good time, sergeant—but then, maybe time isn't something your partner has plenty of now, does he?"

"What do you want, Rothman?" Hutch wasn't going to let the man toy with his emotions.

"Yes, you really do get straight to the point. Alright detective, I'll tell you what I want." Rothman moved closer. "You and your hippy partner turning into sludge at the bottom of the bay!"

"Then why don't you just kill us and get it over with!?"

Rothman's mouth twisted into an evil smile. "Because even garbage like you can serve a purpose."

"And what purpose would that be?" Hutch asked.

"Oh, I could see occasions developing where both of us could benefit if you chose not to notice certain things, from time to time."

"So you'd expect me to look the other way while you run drugs in right under my nose. And just how would I benefit from that arrangement ?" Hutch despised Rothman's mind game, but he had no alternative but to play along, at least until he could find out where Starsky was.

"Despite what I personally think of you, Detective, I suspect that, given a choice, you could select your own kind of, shall we say, reimbursement?"

"What 'choices' are you talking about?" Hutch spat out.

Rothman nodded at Suko who turned and walked back towards the rear of the building. In just a few moments, he returned with Jenkins, the two of them dragging a barely conscious, but familiar-looking curly-haired man between them. Starsky!

Hutch tried to go over to his partner, but Vinetti quickly stepped in front of him and grabbed his arm. As Suko and Jenkins dropped Starsky to his knees, Hutch felt totally sickened at the condition of his partner. He looked like he was only hanging onto life by a thread, and a very thin one at that.

"I'd call this a choice." Rothman said, motioning towards Starsky. "His life in exchange for your cooperation. That would be one choice you might consider beneficial, although I honestly can't see how someone like him would be worth much. Then again, your other choice might be not to cooperate, in which case he dies right now."

Rothman looked at Suko, who grabbed a hold of Starsky's hair and pulled his head up. He then unholstered his handgun from underneath his jacket and pressed the barrel tip into the back of Starsky's head.

"Wait!" Hutch yelled, surprised by the sudden move. "So—, so I decide to go along with you. You think I'm gonna believe you'll just take my word and let us walk out of here?"

"Are you saying your word is no good then?"

"No…of course not." Hutch looked back at Starsky. His eyes were dulled over, but Hutch could still sense the presence of absolute trust behind Starsky's emotionless exterior.

Rothman noticed the subtle interaction going on between the two men. He had been told they were close, possibly even able to read each other's minds, but seeing it in person was intriguing. "Tell me, Sergeant—if you were offered the chance to leave right now, by yourself, would you do it?"

"Without him?" Hutch said, nodding to Starsky. "No way."

"Then you're a complete fool!" yelled Rothman. "You'd actually risk your life for someone who's already dying—for what? So you can be remembered as a hero?"

"Let me explain something, Rothman, so that even you might understand it. That man is my partner. He'd risk his life for me under any circumstance. And I wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing for him."

"Well, that is very touching. But how far does your gallantry extend?" As a puzzled look appeared on Hutch's face, Rothman continued, saying, "About those choices I mentioned—you've clearly indicated you'd have no problem sacrificing your life for his. But how easily could you decide someone else's fate?"

Jenkins took his cue and stepped away from the group. Hutch watched him leave, then shifted his gaze down to Starsky. The detached look on his partner's face was disturbing. It wasn't like Starsky to be so resigned—even with a gun held to his head he would instinctively be on alert, his eyes glued to Hutch, waiting for a signal that would spring him into action. The Starsky that sat kneeling on the floor right now was nowhere near that person.

The sound of footsteps drew Hutch's attention. Jenkins was returning, but not by himself. When Hutch saw who was with him, the diabolical nature of Rothman's plan suddenly emerged.

As Rothman studied Hutch's reaction, he was pleased to see the cop recognize the girl.

"I take it you know this woman?" Rothman asked.

Hutch smiled warmly at Bree, trying to project some comfort. She seemed okay, but the expression on her face almost mirrored her brother's. "Yeah," Hutch said.

"Good, so we can skip the introductions." Rothman slowly walked over towards Bree and Starsky. He made a quick hand gesture to Suko, who withdrew his weapon from Starsky's head. He turned to Hutch and said, "You have a decision to make, sergeant. Which one dies, and which one gets to live."

"What!?" Hutch shook his head in disbelief. "Are you insane!?"

"I think you understand perfectly. After all, you are a detective." Rothman approached Hutch and stood right in front of him. "You get to decide both of their fates—right now."

"And what if I refuse to play God?"

Rothman cracked a smile. "Then I stick with my original plan and take care of you and your partner permanently. Unfortunately, in that case, the girl gets to join you."

His head spinning in a panic, Hutch searched for a way out of the impossible situation. Could Rothman really intend for at least one of them to walk out of there alive? Before he could say anything, a quiet voice spoke out, breaking the tension in the room.

"This wouldn't be the first time you were responsible for causing a woman's death, Benny, so why would you call it 'unfortunate?'"

Rothman spun around, as did Suko and Vinetti, all trying to locate the speaker. Rothman took a few tentative steps forward, then focused hard on Bree.

"What did you just call me?" Rothman growled out.

"Have you forgotten her already? You claimed you loved her, until she got pregnant that is. She was so young, and she trusted you. You convinced her to have an abortion, but you thought taking her to some backstreet quack would solve the problem, didn't you?"

Rothman moved closer, his face tense and starting to redden. "What are you talking about?" he said, madder than before.

"After you brought her back home, you just said goodbye and took off. She was in terrible pain, but you didn't care. She lay in bed all night long, suffering and bleeding, afraid to tell her family what happened. But they learned, along with everyone else, when she was found dead the next morning."

Everyone was looking at Rothman, waiting for a response. Feeling the impact of their stares, he said, "That's a real nice story, sister. Did you just make that up—to use as some last minute ploy—hoping it might save your life?"

"Every bit of it is true, and you know it. You actually hated your father for kicking you out of the house. At least he had the integrity to feel disgusted by the whole thing, but you never did."

"That's enough!" Rothman charged forward and grabbed Bree by the throat.

"Hold it right there!" Vinetti yelled, as he reached out to break Rothman's stranglehold. Turning to Bree, he asked, "What was her name, the girl you're talking about? Who was she?"

Bree glanced up at Vinetti, looking as if she had just come out of a trance. "Gabriella—" she answered shakily, "Gabriella Rosa Vinetti." 


CHAPTER 11


Rothman jerked his arm out of Vinetti's grasp. "What the hell are you doing? Have you gone mad?"

Vinetti kept his eyes locked on Bree, shocked at what he had just heard. When he was seven years old, an older sister nicknamed "Gabby" had mysteriously died. All he knew at the time was that she'd gone to bed one night and never woken up. For months afterward, he was afraid to go to sleep, convinced the same thing would happen to him. Compounding his fear was the fact that his parents and older siblings never spoke about the circumstances of Gabby's death. Even after she was buried, her name was rarely, if ever, mentioned in the household.

As a teenager, Vinetti finally learned the sordid details from an uncle he was very close to. He could only imagine at how scared she must have been of telling anyone in their strict Catholic household about what she had done. What he didn't understand, though, was how Bree could know about any of this?

"Who told you about my sister?" Vinetti growled, puffing out his already sizeable frame.

Terrified, Bree stared back at the imposing thug. She barely had any recollection of what went on during the last few minutes. The only thing she did know was she hadn't heard someone from the other side speaking to her in the usual way. And if she didn't understand it, how could she explain it to the gorilla towering over her?

"I…I don't know! Sometimes I just…hear things…in my head."

Vinetti drew out his handgun, pointing it—for the moment—down at the floor. "I'm not asking again. How'd you know about my sister?"

"Honestly! I don't know!" Bree glanced at the gun, then fixed her eyes on Hutch, hoping he could do something to help her.

Hutch read Bree's pleading look, and while still stunned at what she had revealed about Rothman, gathered himself together and started to nudge towards Vinetti.

Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Vinetti raised the gun from his side and pointed it at Hutch. "Don't even think about it," he warned, keeping his eyes focused on Bree. "You gonna tell me, sister, or do I start shooting?"

"Please, I don't—"

"Hey!" Starsky gasped out. Catching Vinetti's attention, he said, "She's not lying. She's got a special gift."

"A special gift?" Vinetti said mockingly. "Like what?"

"I…I hear things from people that have…died." Bree finally said, cringing at the unwanted ridicule.

"Now I've heard everything. She talks to dead people?" Rothman took his first easy breath, feeling more confident that no one would take anything else the girl said seriously. Turning to Vinetti, he said, "I think we've listened to this nonsense long enough—go ahead and waste her, then take the other two back to the warehouse."

Rothman turned and walked away, but stopped after a few steps when he didn't hear a gunshot. Vinetti was still staring at Bree, and Suko appeared unsure of what to do next. "Did you hear me? I said waste her!"

When Vinetti didn't react, Suko raised his gun and pointed it at Bree. Vinetti quickly responded and aimed his revolver menacingly at a stunned Suko.

"What the hell you doin', Lou?" shouted Suko, keeping his firearm raised.

"She ain't gettin' clipped until I get some answers!" Vinetti growled, then turned a fierce glare on Rothman. "So is she telling the truth? You responsible for what happened to my sister?"

A rare look of panic appeared on Rothman's face. "You actually believe that garbage? The bitch is crazy. She says she talks to dead people. Well, let her go talk to all the dead people she wants to! I gave you an order, Vinetti—now do it!"

Hutch glanced over to Starsky, relieved to see his partner's eyes were staring back at him, no doubt sensing the same as he did —that an opportunity was beginning to form. He realized Starsky was in a bad position, on his knees by Suko's feet, but if there was any energy left in the injured body, Starsky would make the most of it. Hutch began to size up the arguing goons, trying to determine who was most likely to become the greatest threat.

"It was you—Benny—you and that beat up Chevy. I remember now. I can't believe I didn't recognize you." Vinetti turned the gun towards Rothman. "Did you even care about her?"

"You're crazy! Put that gun down!" Rothman started to step backwards, hoping to find cover behind some wooden crates. When he saw Vinetti taking deliberate aim, Rothman yelled, "Shoot him, Suko!"

It seemed like everybody went into motion except him. Suko grasped his gun with both hands and aimed it at Vinetti. Hutch dove towards Jenkins and laid him flat out on the floor with Hutch tangled on top. At the same time, Starsky lurched sideways into Suko as hard as he could, trying to knock him off balance. One shot echoed from Suko's gun before he tumbled to the floor.

Vinetti ducked down and missed being hit. Straightening up, he took a quick glance at Suko, then focused his attention on Rothman, who had spun around and was heading for the back entrance. Vinetti fired two quick shots—both bullets easily found their mark in the middle of Rothman's back.

Hutch rolled off of Jenkins and scrambled to his feet, briefly noting that the man was out cold. He kicked the gun away and turned his attention towards Bree, who was crouched down, trapped midway between Suko and Vinetti. Hutch stumbled over and plowed his body into hers, effectively pushing her out of the line of fire.

Suko got back onto his knees, wanting to shoot Starsky, but caught sight of Vinetti ready to take aim. Both hit men fired wildly at each other, and missed. While Suko got up and staggered backwards towards cover, Vinetti dashed into the office and got behind the doorframe.

Yelling, Suko said, "Lou! We ain't got no issues, you and me. What're you doin'!?"

"The hell we don't!" Vinetti poked his head out a bit. "You shot my brother, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"That was an order, Lou! I had no choice, and you know it!" Suko's stomach turned as he realized this was something Vinetti wasn't going to be talked out of. "I came to you first, though. I told ya what was gonna happen."

"You still shot him, you bastard!" Vinetti yelled, then blindly fired again at Suko.

Hutch laid himself on top of Bree, trying to use his body as a shield. He looked over at Starsky, scared at seeing him still lying out in the open. As their eyes met, Hutch could see a fearful look on his partner's face. Starsky was pinned down and in no shape to try and move out of the way. As he stared at Hutch, he nodded his head slightly, indicating he was in a bad situation, but still doing okay.

Seeing Hutch and Bree out of the line of fire was comforting, but Starsky was feeling anything but safe. Even the potshots being traded between the two hit men and flying over his head weren't enough to convince his wounded body to move. He was starting to believe the last thing he would ever feel was the unforgiving cold and hardness of a cement floor. As one more errant bullet flew by, Starsky tried to bury his face into the impenetrable surface beneath him.

Suddenly, the rising wail of approaching sirens began to filter into the large building. Hutch thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Bree heard it also, and raised her head slightly. Hutch looked over at Starsky, who remained frozen, his eyes shut and head pressed down.

"Lou!" Suko yelled, "Hear those sirens?"

"What about "em?"

Suko cursed under his breath. He scanned the front and back entrances, as he tried to figure out which one offered the quickest and safest way out of the building. Deciding on the rear, he reloaded his gun and prepared to make a dash for the exit.

"I'm not stayin', Lou. You shouldn't either, considering you're the one who shot somebody in the back today."

Vinetti hated to admit it, but Suko was right. He'd feel better about leaving if he could just plant a bullet in Suko first. Shooting Rothman felt right—in a small way, he had avenged Gabby's death—now if he could only do the same for Tony. As he peeked out from the doorway, he caught Suko starting to run from behind his cover. He shot at the moving figure, but had to duck back again when Suko returned fire.

Making it halfway across the open room, Suko slid in behind a large crate, barely avoiding being hit by Vinetti's fire. As he glanced around the container's edge, he had a straight shot into the opened doorway of the office and, even better, Starsky's prone body lay just a short distance away. Suko rose to a hunched position behind the crate, then slowly reached across the top and aimed directly at the brunet.

Starsky had heard Suko run behind him and moved his head to see where the man was. As he looked up, he saw the automatic pointed right at him. Not wanting to watch death coming at him in an exploding flash, Starsky tightly closed his eyes and braced himself, praying he wouldn't feel a thing.

Vinetti maneuvered around so that his left side was against the doorframe. Taking a deep breath, he flung his body into the open doorway, instantly aiming at the portion of Suko he could see over the top of a large crate.

Hutch had watched Suko try to run for the back exit, then dive behind cover as more bullets were fired. Now, seeing the hit man stand up and take aim at Starsky, Hutch felt absolutely powerless—he was only milliseconds away from seeing his best friend die and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

The sound of multiple gunshots filled the room. Hutch saw Starsky flinch then buried his head against Bree, unwilling to watch any more. He could only hope against impossible odds that his partner hadn't been hit. When the gunfire stopped and quietness arose, Hutch heard someone stumbling away, then another running in the same direction. He lifted his head and saw the r emnants of smoky haze drifting nearby, then focused on the deadly stillness of Starsky's body.

Telling Bree to stay put, Hutch rolled off her and quickly scooted over to his partner. Just as he got close, he heard the sound of someone entering the warehouse through the front door.

Seeing two uniformed officers warily approach, Hutch called out, "I'm a police officer! Get these cuffs off and get an ambulance rolling!" As one officer unlocked the handcu ffs, the other checked on Rothman's body lying nearby.

"This one's dead," the officer said, then moved over towards Bree.

Hutch finished removing his cuffs then spoke to the first officer. "Two suspects, both male, just took off through the back door. Get more back up here and see if they're still in the area."

"There's two other units just arriving—I'll get them heading that way," the officer said.

Hutch motioned towards Jenkins, who was starting to wake up. "He's a suspect, too."

As the officer headed towards the prone man, Hutch turned his attention to Starsky. He sighed in relief as he saw unsteady, but definite breathing. Freed from her restraints, Bree came up and knelt down at his side, joining him in searching Starsky's body for any bullet wounds.

"Here—" Bree said, her heart sinking at the sight of fresh blood.

Hutch looked at the top of Starsky's left shoulder. Pulling the shirt collar back, he could see an entry wound right at the base of the neck. "Oh God…" Hutch quietly groaned, and slid the handcuff key clasped between his fingertips into the palm of his hand. He couldn't risk uncuffing Starsky's arms, fearing it could aggravate the injury. Instead, he placed his hand on his partner's cheek, and while gently stroking said, "Hey, buddy—can you hear me?"

In a daze, Bree watched his actions. It didn't make sense. All that had happened, all that she had tried to do to avoid this, and she was still looking at David critically injured and barely clinging to life. She sat back on the floor, fighting the urge to let her emotions break loose.

Hutch continued talking to Starsky, wishing he would respond. He knew once the ambulance arrived, he would be relegated to the sidelines, and again at the hospital. It could be hours, maybe even days, before he'd get another chance to be this close with Starsky, and that was if he didn't…no. That wasn't going to happen…it couldn't.

"C'mon, Starsk. Let me know you're still here." Hutch glanced up at Bree. She sat like a statue, looking as though she were suspended in time, her face robbed of all expression.

Finally, Hutch heard a tiny groan and noticed Starsky's eye lids flutter. "How ya doin', huh?"

"…'utch?" The voice was weak, almost nonexistent.

Bending down closer, Hutch said, "Yeah, I'm right here."

The drawn lids partly separated, and a hint of blue peeked through. Starsky's throat bobbled as he tried to speak, but the effort was halted as a tremor ran through him. Hutch put a hand on Starsky's shoulder, hoping to calm him, but his body violently contorted at the touch.

"Hey, take it easy, okay? I'm right here."

Starsky's eyes opened wide, then darted around, until they locked onto his partner in a brief moment of recognition that quickly faded. As his expression folded into a pained grimace, he quietly moaned, "Oh Hutch…"

"Just hang on. You hear me, Starsk ?" Hutch couldn't hide the fear in his voice.

"Can't…don't wanna…"

Starsky's voice trailed off. Just as Hutch heard the paramedics approach them, he saw Starsky's body seize one last time, then go still. He sensed Bree moving beside him, coaxing him away so the medical team could get in.

After applying a cervical collar and strapping an oxygen mask on, the paramedics worked feverously to get an IV line in. Hutch sat nearby, holding onto Bree, and watched helplessly as the medics searched Starsky's limbs and body for an open vein. Finally, after several attempts, one was found by his collar bone that hadn't collapsed. Once the IV was secured, Hutch was asked to uncuff Starsky's hands. Silently, Hutch reminded himself that the ugly welts on his partner's wrists were the least of his injuries. The two medics then quickly loaded Starsky on a stretcher and wheeled him out to the ambulance.

Hutch wanted to go with them, but Bree asked him to keep her company as both were offered a ride to the hospital in one of the patrol cars. He could tell she was scared, and even though he was torn between staying with Starsky and going with Bree, he couldn't let her ride alone. But it was one of the longest trips of his life. Hutch couldn't get the thought out of his head of Starsky dying in the ambulance and not being there.

When the patrol car pulled up behind the ambulance at the hospital, Hutch and Bree got out and dashed over to the emergency entrance just as the medics were wheeling the gurney inside. One of them turned to Hutch and said, "He's still with us," then hurried to join the group of medical personnel descending on Starsky in the hallway. Watching as they disappeared into one of the trauma rooms, Hutch stood motionless outside the door, with Bree at his side. He let out a deep breath and said, "Well, he's got a chance now."

An admissions nurse approached the couple and asked if they could fill out the obligatory forms. Bree glanced at the paperwork, then nervously eyed Hutch.

"I…I don't think I'd know how to answer this," she said, feeling as if she had again failed David.

"It's okay," Hutch replied. He took the clipboard and started filling in the necessary information, hoping that Bree wouldn't ask how he knew so much about her brother's medical history.

Once the forms were taken care of, Hutch told Bree, "It might be awhile before they let us know anything. You want some coffee?"

Lifting up an exhausted face, she said, "Yeah, sounds good." Hutch helped her get up then both slowly made their way, hand in hand, down the hall to the cafeteria.



A gentle beeping sound entered into his foggy consciousness, prompting him to become aware of an intense brightness surrounding him. As he pulled out of his stupor, the smell of disinfectant and sound of mumbled voices combined to help convince his brain that he was still among the living. Slowly opening his eyes so they could adjust to the glaring examination lights over his head, Starsky tried to make sense of his fuzzy surroundings.

"David? Can you hear me?"

Starsky blinked his eyes a few times, but the blurry figure looming over him didn't change much.

"I'm Doctor McNeal, and you're at Memorial Hospital. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"

He tried to answer, but the first attempt got caught in his throat. Trying again, Starsky managed a very hoarse, "Been better."

A weak smile materialized on the young doctor's face. "Yeah, I'm sure you have." He placed both his hands into Starsky's. "Can you squeeze my hands? Good. How's your pain level right now?"

Starsky took a quick mental inventory of his body. Although he could feel some moderate aches, compared to what his pain had been, he wasn't feeling too bad. "S'okay." he slurred.

"I've given you a little morphine, probably just enough to take the edge off, but until we can get you upstairs into surgery, it'll have to do."

The concerned look on Starsky's face wasn't hard to interpret. "You've got quite an assortment of injuries, officer." McNeal said. "I won't lie to you, but a few of them have got me very concerned."

Dr. McNeal was glad to see his patient finally alert for the first time since being brought in. It had been touch and go for the last several hours, and the doctor was concerned about getting Starsky into surgery. But before he did, McNeal wanted to discuss the risks involved in trying to treat the more serious injuries. Not seeing a change in his patient's expression, he said, "If you're up to it, I think you should know what we're faced with here."

Starsky tried to gulp down the nervous lump stuck in his throat. He would have preferred just to be knocked out and woken up sewn back perfectly together again, but that wasn't likely to happen. As the doctor's image became clearer, he looked at the intense face and weakly nodded his head.

"You've got blood in your urine, which is usually an indication of some kidney damage. I'd say it's your left one judging from the large bruise on your back. Hopefully, it's something I can repair, but you need to be aware of the possibility that I may not be able to save it." Dr. McNeal paused for a moment to study his patient's reaction. "I think your other kidney is fine, but after surgery you might have to go on dialysis until we're sure everything can function on its own."

Seeing a feeble head nod, Dr. McNeal a dded, "The cut across your lower abdominis muscle appears to be infected. I've given you some strong antibiotics to treat it, and with some luck, we may have caught it in time before it turns septic. "

The doctor noticed a change in Starsky's face. "I know this isn't the best news you could be hearing," he said, "and you've got some rough times ahead of you, but from what you've already been through—I don't doubt you're going to come out of this just as strong as you went in."

Starsky felt his hand being squeezed. He almost let his feelings go, but managed to draw them back inside. Releasing a small sigh, Starsky gazed up at McNeal and muttered, "Did I get shot?"

"Twice. The one in your side," McNeal paused to choose his words carefully, "caused some muscle damage, but nothing that shouldn't eventually heal. The other one entered in along the base of your neck, but it missed your spine. From what I can see on the x-ray, the bullet may have hit your shoulder blade, which is fortunate because the bone probably stopped it from traveling deeper."

Starsky closed his eyes and turned his head until the pull of injured neck muscles stopped the effort. If there was anything else wrong with him, he didn't want to know. He concentrated on the soft feel of the mattress and the warmth of the knitted blankets covering his worn body. The only thing keeping him from slipping into a fantasy where he was fine and well was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Dr. McNeal knew his patient had reached his mental limit, but there was still one thing he wanted to say. "There's a couple of people out in the waiting room, wanting to see you." Starsky opened his eyes. "You really need to rest. If your vitals remain stable for the next hour, I'd like to get you into surgery. It's up to you, but they can only visit for just a couple of minutes."

Starsky nodded his head, then softly said, "Hey…"s'okay to tell "em…what you told me."

The doctor left the trauma room and walked out into the hall, making his way to the nearly empty waiting room. It had been a quiet evening in the emergency department, except for his last patient, so he had no problem locating the two people he had spoken to a few hours earlier.

"Sergeant Hutchingson?" he asked, spotting the tall blond. Seated next to him and David's sister was a man McNeal hadn't seen earlier.

"Hutchinson." Hutch corrected him, as he stood up. "And this is Harold Dobey. He's our captain."

Shaking hands with the man, Dr. McNeal said, "Pleasure to meet you, although I'm sure we all wish it could be under better circumstances." Motioning towards the bench seats, he said, "Let's sit down, shall we?"

After everyone was settled, Dr. McNeal continued. "David's awake now, he's stable but still in critical condition. If there are no significant changes in his condition over the next hour, we'll be taking him upstairs for surgery." Worried looks appeared on his audience's faces. "He's got some pressing concerns that I can only address by going in surgically."

For the next several minutes, he explained everything he had told Starsky. When he was done, there was only one question.

"Is he going to be okay?" asked Hutch.

"It's impossible for me to say at this point. David's young and in good shape, which will certainly help, but I need to know the extent of his internal injuries. He's severely dehydrated and anemic, and when he comes out of surgery he'll need to go to the ICU. The most critical issue is keeping the septicemia from turning into septic shock. I hate to have this sound like a cliché, but the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be crucial in determining how he will progress."

"I'd like to see him now, if that's okay," Bree said, not wanting to hear any more.

"Of course. You're each welcome to visit, but keep it short. No more than a minute, two at the most. He needs rest as well as support. And just one of you at a time."

Hutch turned to Bree. "Go ahead, we'll wait."

Dr. McNeal escorted Bree back to the trauma room. The initial sight of all the hanging IV bags, tubes and wires upset her, but she looked through the dizzying maze of equipment and just concentrated on her brother's face. As soon as the nurse moved away from David's side after checking one of his IV ports, Bree slipped in and stood along the bedside. She laid her hand on top of his forearm, and lightly pressed down. "Davey? It's me."

Starsky opened his eyes, and a slight smile emerged on the pale face when he recognized Bree. "Hey, " he said in a throaty voice. "Doin' okay?"

Bree moved her hand down and dipped her fingers into Starsky's. "I think I'm doin' better than you." As she studied his face, Bree noticed the thin, damp lines extending down along his temples. She raised her other hand and ran it gently across his forehead. "It's gonna be okay. I'm not letting you go."

Starsky broke eye contact and glanced up at the ceiling. He briefly examined the IV bags and tubing before returning his sad gaze to Bree. "Don't tell Mom…not yet."

"Okay. I won't." She wiped his temple with the back of her hand. "David, don't give up. They're gonna take good care of you, so you need to hang on."

He shut both eyes in affirmation, then opened them. Weakly, he mouthed, "Sure." He would try, but he was so damned tired.

Bree bent over and kissed his forehead. "I've gotta go now," she murmured. This was harder than she thought. She wished time could just stop at this moment while he was alive and still able to talk to her. But David's injuries were serious, and she had to accept the fact he wasn't going to get better until they operated on him. "Don't tell Mom'…are you kidding? I couldn't even begin to tell her anything about this, Davey. Clearing her voice, she said, "Hutch and your captain are here. Do you want to see them?"

Starsky nodded his head. Bree squeezed his arm one last time, wishing if there were any way to trade places with him, she could do it.

Dr. McNeal met her at the door and escorted her a little ways down the hall, where he asked, "So how did he seem to you?"

She could only think of one answer. "Scared."

McNeal offered her a slight grin. "I think that would be an understatement. Since you're his sister, I was wondering if he has any other relatives that should be contacted."

Bree immediately stopped walking. "Is David dying?" she asked, dreading a reply.

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean for my question to imply that. It's just if there's anyone else he's close to, they should be called."

"He's got a brother, and our mother is still alive. I wouldn't know how to contact Nicky. I'm not sure he would come here even if he did know. Our mother, she's in New York. David's already told me not to tell her anything yet. I'd have to agree with him. She'd just sit at home and be worried sick."

"I see. If that's your choice, I'll respect it."

Bree reflected on the doctor's words, not sure if he was implying something or not.

"Doctor, please don't take this wrong, but of course my choice would be for my brother not to be here at all. God knows, he didn't deserve any of this. He was just doing his job and pissed off someone who had no right to even walk this earth. Maybe our mother does deserve to know about this but I'm not about to do anything to add to my brother's worries right now. He's scared and he's hurting right now, and I have no idea how he's holding himself together." Bree hesitated for a moment, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I can't imagine what he's gone through, nobody can, but he deserves the best care you and this hospital can give him. So just do your best because he and I and his partner and boss are all counting on you to take care of his medical issues—we'll have enough on our hands trying to deal with his emotional ones."

Both Dr. McNeal and Bree turned to find Hutch and Dobey standing only a few feet away from them. Hutch had caught most of the conversation, and wanted to add something.

"Doctor, we know he's in bad shape—he'll hold up his end, he just needs you to hold up yours. If it's okay, I'd like to see my partner now."

"Of course—if you'll just follow me." Dr. McNeal said as he led Hutch down the hall.

Bree and Dobey returned to the waiting room and sat down on the stiff vinyl seats. Dobey glanced at his watch, wondering if he should call Edith now or wait until Starsky was in surgery.

He turned to Bree and said, "Can I get you something?"

"No, thank you. Maybe later."

Dobey let out a deep sigh. "You know, what you did was real gutsy." Bree looked at him apprehensively. "Hutch didn't go into a lot of detail, but from what he told me, if it hadn't been for you, things may not have ended as fortunately as they did."

"David got shot. I wouldn't call that fortunate."

"Look, there's a lot of "what ifs' that could've happened, young lady. But the only thing that matters is that you and Hutch and Starsky are alive, and Rothman's dead. And that's about as fortunate as you can get."

"Sure," Bree replied unemotionally.

Hutch slipped tentatively into his partner's room, trying to ignore the monitoring equipment engulfing his partner. He moved towards the bedside, noticing that Starsky looked more at ease, but hardly better than when he had last seen him. Finding an area free of tubes, Hutch laid his hand onto Starsky's arm.

"Hey, buddy, you still awake?"

Starsky open heavy eyelids and tried to focus his temperamental vision on the visitor beside him. "Hey…was wonderin' where you were."

"What? You thought I'd forgotten about you already?" Hutch said, with a grateful grin.

Starsky smiled, but with a glint of sadness. "What time is it?" he asked weakly.

Hutch couldn't see a clock, but had a good idea. "Around nine, I think. Why, you late for a date or something?"

"They're gonna operate…" Starsky said, his voice becoming shaky. "I don't want to lose my kidney, Hutch."

"Starsk," Hutch began, tightening his grasp, "you're in good hands. I know you're scared, but— "

"Hutch…"

Starsky didn't want to be patronized. He wanted to tell Hutch that he was tired of fighting, tired of dealing with pain, and scared that this nightmare was never going to end. "I'm sorry. Just really tired."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hutch saw Dr. McNeal standing in the doorway. Knowing he only had a few more moments, Hutch said, "Starsk, whatever happens, we'll deal with it. Try to get some rest now, okay?"

"…'kay."

Hutch straightened up, giving Starsky's arm a final comforting squeeze. Inside, though, he felt totally beaten down by the whole situation. There wasn't anything he could do to ease his friend's pain or apprehension. Even knowing about every one of Starsky's injuries, he could only guess at what happened each time one was inflicted. Jenkins had already been interviewed by a detective team Dobey assigned to Starsky's case, but he had pled the fifth. Rothman was dead, and Suko, along with one Louis Mario Vinetti, had disappeared. Before leaving the room, Hutch paused for a second, watching Starsky settle into what he hoped would be a restful nap.

"You two must work very closely together," Dr. McNeal said, as they left the room. "He seems to really trust you."

"Yeah." Hutch answered, his mind elsewhere. "Look, doctor," he said, stopping in the middle of the hall, "he's trusting you with his life. Just…keep that in mind."

"I look after all my patients, sergeant, even those with an ample supply of guardian angels. And I trust the police will do their job, and find the ones responsible for putting your partner here in the first place."

Hutch started to say something, then changed his mind. The doctor had a point, one that even Hutch couldn't argue with.



Six days later, Bree sat at Starsky's bedside, watching another episode of All My Children. She had never cared for daytime soaps, but since this was the time of day when she stayed with David while Hutch was working, she'd gotten interested in the show. Huggy had gotten information about one of Rothman's drug distributors and was helping Hutch track down the rest of the supply network . More importantly, was just that morning Dr. McNeal had upgraded David's condition to fair and he was moved out of ICU into a regular room.

The good news felt long overdue; the last several days had tested everyone's nerves. While the doctor was able to repair the injured kidney, David's vital signs had suddenly plummeted during surgery, and he had to be put on life support. Two days later, he started fighting the ventilator and was placed into a drug-induced coma until he got strong enough to be off all support. On top of everything, Rachel had called the precinct, frantic because she couldn't get a hold of either Bree or David, and was certain they were either missing or dead. Bree had called her mother, and while down-playing David's injuries and her own involvement in the kidnapping, she'd given Rachel a reasonable explanation of why no one had called sooner.

As Bree watched the previews for tomorrow's show on the television, David started to stir, waking up from one of his numerous naps.

"Hey there, sleepy head. How're you feeling?"

Starsky grunted and tried to shift over on his side. The pulling of still tender stitches stopped him cold and he rolled back, frustrated as he tried to untangle himself from the maze of IV tubes and heart monitor leads.

Bree went over to the bedside. "Here, let me help." She separated out the lines and raised the head of the bed. She then grabbed her chair and moved it closer. "You feel like trying to eat something?" she asked, sitting back down.

The disgusted look on David's face gave her his answer. "Is your side still hurting? Do you need some more pain pills?"

Starsky let out a muffled 'shit', then took a deep breath before turning tired eyes to Bree. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just sick of lying around like a beached whale."

"A beached whale?" Bree reached over and grabbed David's hand. "Hey, haven't you noticed? You're in a regular room. When I phoned Hutch this morning and told him you were out of ICU, he couldn't believe it." Getting no reaction, she said, "What is it, David? What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

Deciding not to press him further, Bree picked up a cup filled with apple juice from the tray table, and adjusting the straw, offered it to David. When he only took a small sip, she said, "You should try and drink some more. It's been sitting there since breakfast."

"'M not thirsty."

Bree sat the cup back down. Obviously, this wasn't going to be one of David's good days; then again, he hadn't really had one yet. She was just hoping the emotional lift from being out of ICU would have made him feel better. Bree glanced at the clock, noting it was about a quarter past one
.
"I wonder where Michael is; he's usually right on time," she said. Michael was a physical therapist that had been seeing Starsky since his second day in the hospital. Normally he arrived right at one o'clock. Hearing someone coming into the room, Bree said, "Oh, I bet that's him."

The first thing that struck Bree was the man who walked in was certainly larger than Michael. It wasn't until she looked at his face that her gasp caught Starsky's attention.

"What do you want?" she snarled, throwing an arm over David's chest. Starsky brought his free hand up and placed it over Bree's, trying to comfort her.

"Don't you dare scream or even think about pushing that call button." Dressed in an orderly's uniform, Vinetti was pointing an automatic with a silencer attached at the two siblings. "Just want to talk."

Dumbfounded, Bree asked, "Talk? About what?"

"About how you knew what happened to my sister. Who told you?"

Gathering her wits, Bree said, "Nobody told me. It's like I said—I can hear things people who have died say to me." When Vinetti gave her a doubtful glare, she nervously added, "Look, I don't know what else to tell you!"

Vinetti waved the gun towards Starsky. "Is he really your brother?"

"Of course he's my brother."

"He's looking better. I'd hate to see all that good work go to waste." Vinetti coldly eyed Starsky, who tensed up and gave the hit man a go to hell look. Continuing, Vinetti told Bree, "So, if that's what you can really do, I want you to talk to my sister. There's something I need to know."

Ignoring what he said, Bree nodded towards David and said angrily, "Were you the one who shot him, and sliced his gut open?"

"I might have punched him a couple of times, but I'd didn't shoot or cut him."

"But you were there, holding me so the other bastard could," Starsky broke in.

Stunned, Bree looked at David, then back at the mobster. "You son-of-a-bitch. Why should I do anything for you?"

"Okay. You made your point," Vinetti answered, lowering the gun, "but who pulled that bastard off, right when you were ready to get your ass reamed?"

Starsky's demeanor instantly changed. Humiliated, he lowered his head. There may have been a chance he could have forgotten about that particular attack, the only one that hadn't left a physical scar, but not anymore. As déjà vu struck, taking him back to that conversation in his kitchen with Bree, he glanced at her, not sure what to think of the empathetic look on her face.

Bree turned to Vinetti. David's reaction had convinced her the mobster wasn't lying, but did that mean she owed him anything? "I don't think I can give you what you want. It's not something that I can turn on anytime I feel like it."

Vinetti aimed the gun back at Starsky. "Either you're lying, sister, or this ability of yours sure has a convenient way of showing up just when you need it to!"

"Stop it!" Bree cried. "I'm not lying! If I could do it I would, just so you'd get the hell out of here and leave us alone!"

"Keep your voice down!" Vinetti growled. He stuck the gun inside of his pants pocket. With a softer tone, he said, "It's just that she always took care of me, and I wanted to..." Vinetti paused, lost in thought, then reached into his other pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it on the foot of Starsky's bed, and said to Bree, "It's all good and clean, what's in there. Regardless of what you would've done today, I figure I owed that to ya."

As he turned to leave, Bree called out, "Wait!" Starsky looked at her like she was crazy, but she had to ask. "Do you have something that belonged to her? Or a picture, maybe?"

Vinetti stopped, surprised at her request. He pulled out his wallet, and opening it, retrieved a small, black and white photo of a teenage girl. After looking at it longingly, he stepped over to the bed and handed it to Bree.

Bree took the photo and had to catch her breath when she saw the image. She showed it to David, who instantly mirrored her shocked reaction.

"What?" asked Vinetti. "Why the funny looks?"

Bree brought the picture back and held it close. "She…your sister, looks exactly like a girl named Terri. She was David's fiancé, but she died a couple of years ago."

Vinetti studied both of their faces. "Gabby died in 1947," he said. "She was sixteen years old."

"Terri was born in 1948." Starsky murmured, then glanced back at the image. "If I didn't know any better, I could swear that was a picture of Terri at that age."

Bree cradled the photo in her hand, and while staring at it asked Vinetti, "What did you want to know?"

He swallowed hard, then said, "I just want to know if…if she's still proud of me."

Bree closed her eyes and sat still, trying to concentrate. After a long moment, she looked back at Vinetti and handed him Gabby's picture. "I'm sorry," she said sadly, "I'm just not picking up anything."

Vinetti offered a slight smile, then took the photo and tucked it back in his wallet. As he let out a sigh, he started to turn towards the door.

"Hey!" Bree said, getting him to stop. "The other day, in the warehouse…I've never had that happen before. I can't explain it, but I wasn't hearing Gabriella talking to me, it was more like…she was me." Bree thought for a moment, then said, "I think she just didn't want to see Rothman kill another sister who really cared about her brother. Maybe that might answer your question."

Vinetti looked at Bree, then Starsky. With a contented smile, he said, "She's a good one to have around. As far as you and me…I leave here and we don't got no issues, right?"

Starsky shook his head. "No, not personal ones. I'm still a cop, though. And your partner, he's another matter."

"Only if you get him before me." With that, Vinetti turned and quickly left the room.

Bree and Starsky looked at each other, then dove into a comforting hug. "He was right, you know." Starsky said, as he pulled away. "You're a good one to have around."

"Hmpfh!" she answered, combing her hand through his hair. "Let's hear you say that a couple days from now when I'm trying to get you to eat more or get out of bed."

"Yeah, might have to take it all back then," he said, with a big grin. "Hey. What's in the envelope?"

"I don't know." Bree reached over and picked up the thickly wadded item. Tearing it open, her eyes lit up. "Oh my God, Davey!"

Starsky leaned forward, and glanced at the contents. Stunned, he said, "How much is in there?"

She was still thumbing through the bills. "There's at least five thousand dollars here. I've never seen that much money before!" Apprehensive, she asked, "What're we going do to with it?"

"We? I heard him say that belonged to you."

"But…I mean, what if it's hot money?"

Starsky chuckled. "I kinda doubt it. He made a point of saying it was clean. I could check the serial numbers, just to make sure it didn't come from some bank holdup."

"You mean this is probably all mine?"

"You want to give it back to him?"

Bree thumbed through all the hundred dollar bills again. "Well, he did say I earned it." A sudden thought hit her. "I think I know where at least some of this can go," she said, eyeing her brother.

"Yeah, where's that?"

"To get your car fixed."

Starsky glared at her. "My car? What's wrong with my car?"

"Oh, I guess Hutch didn't tell you…"

"Tell me what? What happened to my car, Bree?" h e said, sounding more desperate.

"Well, nothing a little reconstructive frame work and paint couldn't fix, " she said slyly.

"Breanna Starsky!