Kathleen Creighton - Danger Signals

After a long moment she nodded. He saw her throat move as she swallowed.

"All right, then." He reached out to her. touched her shoulder. Then, taking her once more by the arm, he guided her through the busy hive of crime scene techs and law enforcement officers, some in uniform, some not. When he drew near to the cadre of officers standing guard around the gurney and the small, shrouded form that lay on it. he spoke to them in a low voice that was mindful of their taut, angry faces and grief-filled eyes. "Gonna ask you to step back for a few minutes, if you would, please." The line shifted, and drew in more tightly around the gurney. "Come on, guys, give us a minute, okay? Give this lady some room."

Finally, with nods and murmurs and shufflings, the line broke, then moved reluctantly back, opening a passage to admit the stranger, the civilian. The outsider.

Wade drew Tierney gently forward and positioned her beside the body, then knelt and drew back the sheetjust far enough to uncover the victim's face.

Someone had closed her eyes, he saw. But no way in hell did she look like she was sleeping. Her skin, he remembered, had been a rich warm shade of brown. Now it was a muddy gray, blotched with traces of tears and speckled with her own blood.

Steeling himself, he sat back on his haunches, pivoted and looked up at Tierney, who was standing frozen, staring down at the ravaged face. As he watched, her own drained of all color and her eyes went wide with shock and horror.

Well, hell. Okay, he'd pretty much expected that. What he didn't expect was when she then uttered a small, muffled cry, turned and pushed her way through the line of cops, and once free of the crowd, broke into a desperate, stumbling run.

Swearing to himself and muttering apologies to his fellow officers, Wade went after her.

He found her behind the CSI van, leaning one shoulder against it and looking as if her knees were about to buckle. She had one hand over her mouth and the other arm folded across her stomach, but even though she had her back to him he knew instantly she wasn't sick, as he'd supposed, but crying. He could see her shoulders shaking, hear the sobbing sounds she made even though she tried to muffle them with her hand.

He knew she was having a moment of pure panic, though only God knew why. He was accustomed to handling crying women; in his line of work he encountered more than his share of them. They just seemed to naturally gravitate to him. He'd taken some ribbing around the squad room, and earned the nickname "Papa Bear" because of it, too. He didn't like to think about why this particular woman's tears affected him differently. Why they made him hurt deep down in his chest. Why they made his belly quiver.

He hesitated, part of him wanting to turn tail and walk away and leave her there with her privacy and her grief. Lord knows he didn't need this, not now.

But then she turned and looked at him with her flooded cheeks and anguished eyes, and no surprise whatsoever. And he kicked himself for once again forgetting who and what she was. Of course she'd know he was there.

"I saw her," she said, and her voice was choked and thick. "Yesterday…when I-the uniforms. What I said about him-the k-killer. About hating uniforms. I didn't understand. It was her. He'd already chosen-if I'd only-"

He didn't remember moving, but somehow his arms were wrapped around her, holding her close, and the rest of her litany of blame was muffled by his chest. He felt his heart thumping against her cheek, and he cradled her head in his hand and nestled it more comfortably there.

"You couldn't have stopped it," he said, the words low and gruff and blown through her hair in soft puffs. "Even if you'd known what you were seeing. Feeling. Hey-we're gonna get this guy. It was too late for her, and that's not on you. But we will get him-I promise you. Okay? We will get him."

After a moment Tierney nodded and whispered. "Okay."

She should have pulled away then. Should have stepped back, put a discreet distance between herself and the safe and peaceful harbor of the police detective's arms. But for some reason she couldn't make herself move. She wasn't normally a toucher-didn't really like to be touched, either, especially by strangers. Touching someone, she'd found, opened too broad a channel to the emotions, often exposed even those emotions people kept buried, but shallowly, just under the facades they presented to the world. But here, enfolded in this man's arms, she felt only peace. A wondrous, restful stillness. As if the barricades he'd built to block his own emotions kept all others from intruding, as well. After the bombardment she'd just endured, the respite was almost too lovely to bear.

"Uh, Lieutenant- Oh. sorry…"

Just that easily the peace was shattered.

Tierney stiffened, and so did the arms that sheltered her. She moved away from her protector, wiping hastily at her cheeks, while he turned, frowning, to meet the intruder. She'd met him before-a tough-looking, middle-aged black man with kind eyes. She could feel concern and compassion rolling off of him in gentle waves, flowing over her like healing oil.

"Yeah, Ed." Wade said.

The black man's eyes slipped past him to find Tierney instead. "You doin' okay, ma'am?"

"She's fine. What've you got?"

"Crime scenes can be tough, I know." He was still looking at Tierney. "I believe I'd worry if you didn't feel bad."

She nodded. Wade made a growling sound low in his throat and the other cop turned his attention back to him without undue haste.

"Yeah, partner…got something over here I think you're gonna want to see."

The two men started off at a hurrying pace, and since no one told her she shouldn't, Tierney followed. The truth was, she felt a little ashamed about losing control the way she had, and was hoping for a chance to redeem herself.

Wade followed his former partner past the crime scene and the knot of official vehicles and into the maze of industrial buildings and loading docks that ran along the riverfront. He turned into a long, wide avenue that ran between two rows of buildings, bisected by a drainage channel and lined with trash bins, where several CSIs were busily setting out numbered markers and taking photographs. The primary object of their interest appeared to be a small pile of ashes and charred fabric located in the drainage channel about halfway down the row.

'"Couple of unis found it during a routine canvas of the area." Ed said. "Ashes were still warm and wet, so that puts the time about right."

"What makes you think it isn't just some wino's campfire?"

"This." Ed looked at the CSI hovering near the pile.

She nodded, and with a pair of tweezers carefully picked up a tiny scrap of partly charred fabric that had been marked with a numbered flag. She held it so Wade could get a close look at it. He did. and felt his stomach go cold. Small as it was, it was instantly recognizable as a piece of the Portland P.D. uniform's shoulder patch.

The CSI put the scrap back where she'd found it and stepped back to give him room. He squatted down to get a closer look, and that was when the smell hit him.

"Whoa," he said, rearing back, "tell me that's not-"

Ed snorted. "Yeah, it is. The dirtbag peed on it."

"It was the final insult."

Three heads jerked toward the new voice. Tierney was standing a few yards away, arms folded across her waist, so quietly they'd all but forgotten she was there. Her face had that pale, pinched look again, but this time she seemed to have herself in better control.

"It's the uniform he despises," she went on in the same uneven, almost-gentle voice. "Particularly women in uniform. He tortures them while they're wearing the uniform, then strips it off before he kills them. To make them see they're weak without it-that they're nothing at all, not even human. They can't hurt him. But in his mind the uniform is the source of power. It can hurt him. So he has to 'kill' it, too. He burns it. And when it's nothing but ashes, he…um-"