1. Sleepless in New York

**Step By Step**

**Summary:** Stella Bonasera is a professional dancer. Mac Taylor is the lead CSI in a grisly murder she's involved in. When they meet sparks will fly, but is Stella a victim or a suspect? As the investigation progresses, they both find themselves on a dangerous path that will change their lives forever.

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N:** **This is my first AU story so please be nice:-) **

**It took me quite some time to get over ****'**_**Pot of Gold'**_** and get down to this story but I figured writing something is actually the best antidote;-) So here it is, I really hope you'll like this!**

_I wanted to dedicate this first chapter__ to __**StellaBonaseraTaylor**__,__who is the godmother of this story ;-) Thanks for your great ideas and brainstorming! Hope you'll like this!_

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**Chapter 1 ****– Sleepless in New York**

When Mac Taylor looked back to the beginning of the events that would change his life forever, he always knew it was in fact his cursed sleeplessness that turned out to be his greatest blessing and the true starting point for what was to come.

It was nothing unusual for him to lose sleep over a case but this wasn't everything. His memories and nightmares kept him up even when there was no case on his mind. It was already six years after his wife Claire's tragic death on 9/11 but that day had left an indelible imprint on his memory and there were still moments when it felt like it was only yesterday. It was like there was a huge gaping hole in his chest which refused to scar over no matter how hard he tried. Maybe it was because he never got any closure. And probably never would.

Even after all this time, not all the remains had been recovered and identified. Claire's hadn't. There wasn't even a trace of her found on the site. Mac didn't know if finding her genetic material somewhere in the Ground Zero would make any difference to him. As it was, a part of him still desperately clung to the thought that somehow, somewhere, she was still alive.

It was of course ridiculous. His rational and analytical mind as well as years of experience as a crime investigator left no room for such preposterous notions. It was simply impossible that Claire would have stayed away for so long if she had indeed somehow made it out alive. She had died that day and there was no denying it. Still, in the rare moments of weakness when he would allow his heart a voice from behind the walls he had masterfully crafted around himself, the impossible and painful thoughts would rear their heads to torment him.

Why was there something in him that still held on? Why was there still this thread of absurd weaving through his scientific and logical mind? There was no easy and simple explanation.

One thing that was clear after all his years as a CSI was that everyone dealt with grief and loss in different ways. That was one of the main reasons why he still slept alone. He had tried to date and find someone who would manage to captivate his heart and mind the way his beloved wife once had but it had all come to nothing. He couldn't help but compare every woman to Claire. None withstood the comparison. He simply couldn't bring himself to open up and begin to share his life with someone that wasn't her. Even after all these years, every time he went out on a date, he still felt dishonest, cheating, dirty.

With all these thoughts flooding his brain whenever he was alone, sleep for longer than a couple of hours was not really an option. So he jogged late in the night or early in the morning when darkness still held sway over New York City. He had a set route around several blocks in the vicinity of his apartment block and found himself actually enjoying the exercise. As a former Marine major, he was used to putting lots of physical strain on his body but he had always liked to work with his head rather than his muscles. Still, this time around it was his head that was giving him troubles and his muscles that gave him the necessary moments of silent respite.

It was like that this night, too. Having closed another gruesome case, he ran faster and stronger only to make all the dreadful images his detail-oriented brain had accumulated in the last couple of days go away. Focused on not letting it all get to him, he made a few turns that made him divert from his usual route and he found himself in a more distant part of his neighbourhood he didn't know that well. He looked around trying to determine where he was when a brightly lit all-glass wall on the ground floor of one of the nearby buildings caught his attention. There was light on inside and he thought he caught a glimpse of movement behind the glass. He slowed down a little, a small frown building on his face as he wondered who would be up at such ungodly hour besides him.

And then he saw her. It was the hair that he saw first, actually. He had never seen such a mass of hair in his life. A mane of shoulder-long dark blonde curls looked like it had a life of its own as it bounced and swirled accentuating the graceful moves of its owner. An owner who was, to all intents and purposes, completely engrossed in performing a complex dancing choreography.

Mac had never been much of a dancer himself but he could appreciate mastery and artistic merit, which was precisely what he saw looking at the solitary figure of the woman immersed in her musical world. Even though he couldn't hear any music, he could almost discern the sounds by looking at her body, which was conjuring up a soft melody of its own with the gracefulness of her moves and the intensity of the feeling on her face, shining through her every step and figure. His jogging forgotten, he came to a halt as she swirled in an elaborate pirouette and her face became visible to him from underneath all the curls.

She was beautiful. The sharpness of her cheekbones, the olive tint of her skin and the sparkling depth in her chartreuse eyes made his heart beat faster. What hit him most was the sadness in them, though. There was an air of loneliness and melancholy in her features and movements that made him feel like she knew what true sorrow and loss meant. It made her even more beautiful in a sad, despondent way. Transfixed, he continued to watch in silent awe as her lithe silhouette pirouetted, bent and twisted in ways he never even thought possible before. It was spectacular and he felt like he was being included in something extraordinary.

Then the woman suddenly jumped high into the air only to tumble to her knees instead of gracefully land on her feet. Mac first reaction was to grab for the entrance door and check if she hadn't hurt herself but when he caught a glimpse of her face, he could see she was all right. Physically, at least. As for the other dimensions, he wasn't that sure. There were tears streaming down her face and the sorrow that was only subtly bubbling under the surface when she danced, was clear in her countenance and defeated stance now.

Then she hid her face in her hands and Mac was denied further glimpses into her face. He suddenly felt like he was intruding on something very intimate and personal. He backed out unseen and started back into his jog, his heart and mind still in an internal upheaval from the beauty and emotional intensity he had just witnessed. After running several yards, he chanced one last look over his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the solitary silhouette of the woman standing before the glass wall, her face turned in his direction. Even though he was hidden in the darkness, he somehow got the feeling that her eyes somehow managed to pierce the dark gloom of the night around him and were looking straight at him. He saw her crack a small smile and somehow he knew it was for him. Then the lights went off and she disappeared as if she was just a hallucination his overtired brain had produced.

**X****xXxXxX**

Stella Bonasera had always wanted to be a professional dancer. The combination of music and movement had stirred the gentler chords in her lonely heart ever since she was a child. The nuns at St. Basil's orphanage had always said with lenient smiles that it was her Greek-Italian temperament making itself known. It was much more than simply a matter of genetics or temperament for Stella, though. Dance was an escape. A safe haven away from the horrors of her everyday life.

Her childhood was a string of colourless days spent at the New York orphanage and school run by the Greek Orthodox Church, which became a cruel and heart-wrenching journey through a score of foster families when she was older. She never knew her parents, left on St. Basil's threshold at the age of two with nothing but a card with her name on it. No surname, no birth date, no nothing.

Life at the orphanage was quiet, simple and disciplined. With her fiery nature, innate stubbornness and a strong independent streak, little Stella had a hard time adjusting to the place. She would always remember the countless nights she spent in one of the bay windows in the dormitory she shared with a dozen other girls, peering into the darkness surrounding the world outside like a cocoon. She spent hours on end waiting and hoping that one day she would spot the figure of her mother and father coming through the main gate to retrieve their beloved daughter.

She still tasted the bitter tears of disappointment she shed every night they didn't come. Finally one night when she was thirteen she promised herself that she would never allow anyone to hurt her and make her cry for them again. It was a tough promise for a thirteen-year-old to keep but in the following years Stella built an impermeable wall around herself, managing to successfully close herself off and become self-reliant. That was how she managed to endure the orphanage and abusive foster families and didn't allow herself to be chewed alive and spat out by the system. That was what made her strong and independent. And alone. But she figured it was a small price to pay for not getting hurt again.

She was one of those incredibly lucky people who had managed to realise their childhood fantasies. She had become a professional dancer and a successful one at that. She had won just about any title in the world of professional dancing there was to win, from world cup championships to first place at the most prestigious ballroom dance competition, the Blackpool Dance Festival in England. A place on the hit TV show _Dancing with the Stars_ was only the logical next step. A win in the third edition elevated her to the status of a celebrity, something she had always shunned and despised, but it paid for her private dance studio in New York. When she had gathered enough money, she left the show and dragged her only friend and fellow-dancer, Jessica Angell, back with her to the Big Apple and together they started their own business. That was a year ago.

The night when Mac Taylor saw Stella Bonasera for the first time, she shouldn't have been in the dance studio in the first place. And she definitely shouldn't have been crying. She should have been happy and celebrating with her friends. The studio had just made its first thousand clients and Jess decided a big party was in order. Stella excused herself from the suffocating atmosphere of the party as fast as she could, though, and as always, her feet led her to her one true haven – dancing. A beautiful and talented woman, a champion in her profession, a successful businesswoman, a celebrity – people spat all that to her on one breath with jealousy and admiration. Stella didn't feel like any of it. What sounded like a fairy-tale on the outside was nothing but a life of hard work and loneliness peppered with moments of good luck. With a sigh, she entered the empty studio.

_All her relationships had been fiascos because she found it very hard to forge any kind of deeper connection.__ Distance was the only way she knew how to protect herself from getting hurt. Jess was an exception to that rule but still an exception that only confirmed the rule. _

She turned on the lights, let her coat fall to the floor and kicked her shoes off.

_N__o man had ever made it to more than a couple of dates. They all got quickly burned by her prickly and detached attitude. The truth was, it was a defence mechanism. Feelings scared her. They were unpredictable and all they ever did was cause pain in the end. _

She set the music and stood in the basic position waiting for the melody to start.

_She had allowed herself to feel before and she was bitterly disappointed. And it hurt like hell. So she constructed a cocoon around herself to stay safe though d__eep inside, she wanted to be drawn out of it. Still, no one had ever stayed long enough and cared enough to do that. _

The music flooded her senses and all thoughts dissolved as her body intuitively moved into figures and steps she had learned before she knew her ABCs. Valdez, back to erect position, diagonal walk, reverse turn, straddle split leap...

This time even this was not enough to drown out the painful realization of loneliness. One moment's loss of focus and she landed on her knees on the floor with a bone-jarring impact, angry tears scolding their way down her cheeks. She took a few deep breaths working through the pain and anger. It sobered her up. She heaved herself up, suddenly becoming aware of a second presence in the vicinity. She looked around but her scrutinizing gaze landed on nothing but silence interrupted only by her uneven breathing. The studio was empty.

She came up to the glass wall and looked out. She strained her eyes against the darkness and suddenly she was met with a pair of kind, blue eyes of a man gazing her way from a distance. There was an intensity and emotion in them that made her heart skip a beat. Did he see her? Had he watched her crush and burn just now? Did he catch a glimpse of her at her most intimate, a moment of weakness not even her best friend was allowed to see?

She got the feeling the answer to all of those questions was affirmative. Oddly enough, she didn't feel angry or embarrassed. Looking at the man, even though all she could see were his incredible eyes boring into hers, she felt a moment of silent understanding hang between and bind two lonely minds in torment. It brought her comfort. She smiled lightly hoping he would notice and turned off the lights.

That moment of silent connection with a complete stranger lingered with her as she dressed and left the studio. It made her aware that she did need other people. That they brought more than just pain and disappointment with them. She took out her phone and called Jess.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac couldn't get the picture of the woman out of his mind the whole next day. Scolding himself inwardly for his silly notions and ideas, he still did return there the next night. He gave himself an inward, wry 'I told you so' when he saw the lights were off and there was no one there. Somehow, he felt even more detached and alone in the world. Once again he felt like he had missed out on something, let a chance slip through his fingers. Little did he know that fate had other plans for him.

As if to make a point, his cell phone buzzed to life. When he looked at the caller ID, he knew his jogging was over for tonight.

**XxXxXxX**

Stella still couldn't believe she let Jess talk her into going with her to this posh party in uptown Manhattan in the first place. Still, after she had called yesterday night not in the best of shapes, Jess wouldn't hear no for an answer. Besides, Jess was still angry at Stella for bailing out of their party yesterday so Stella felt she had to make it up to her somehow.

"I know that face," came her friend's voice from behind.

Stella was standing a bit away from the wild throng of people wildly dancing and drinking. She had lost Jess somewhere in the crowd half an hour ago and din't think she would see her anytime soon. However, now Jessica Angell, an attractive brunette with sparkling brown eyes and a killer smile, came to stand beside her.

"What face?"

"The face that tells me that you're cursing me for bringing you here and are devising elaborate ways to torture me when we get back."

"Nah, nothing elaborate," Stella quipped, inwardly wondering at how well Jess knew her. "I figure simple Chinese water torture will do to make my point," she added conversationally.

"I'd hold that thought till the evening ends," Jessica said with a half-smile. "See that handsome dark-haired man over there? He's been eyeing you the whole evening."

Seeing Stella roll her eyes and opening her mouth to say something undoubtedly sarcastic, she added with a mischievous smile, "I did some digging and it turns out he's a wealthy internet entrepreneur, single... I guess that's more than enough," she gave her friend a suggestive wink.

"Jess, I do appreciate your concern but I don't need another blind date with some random..."

"Oh, and here he comes," Jess interrupted her in a sing-song voice flashing the man approaching them a wide smile. "I'll leave you alone, there's someone I've got to talk to."

She left accompanied by Stella's acrimonious gaze. She immediately plastered a smile to her face, though, as she looked at the smiling handsome entrepreneur.

"Hi, I'm Jayme Kurtz."

"Stella Bonasera," she said trying not to sound too off-putting. It wasn't the man's fault Jess was once again trying to play Emma.

"I usually hate places like this," he prattled on. She could see he was nervous. "Too much people I don't know. But my friend made me come with him."

Stella looked at him with renewed interest. There was a certain shyness and sincerity to him that she found quite endearing.

"Funny thing," she said feeling her lips curl upward. "That's my story, too. I guess we both have a thing for pushy friends."

He chuckled and seemed to loosen up a little. "I guess we do."

At that point Stella decided to give him a chance. His awkwardness lent him an air of genuineness she valued in people and she could see he was a nice guy.

As the evening passed and Jayme became more at ease, she was proved right as he turned out to be an interesting conversation partner and quite a good dancer. Nothing more, though. His blue eyes made her feel strange. They reminded her of last night and the stranger whom she saw in the distance. Instead of thinking about Jayme, her thoughts kept wandering towards him all evening.

When at some point she let her gaze cursorily wonder over the crowd, she suddenly felt herself stiffen with shock and anger as her eyes landed on one of the guests. She never thought she would see that face again in real life. It was enough she kept seeing it in her nightmares.

Steve Ballas, her dancing partner from her times as a professional dancer, was standing in the middle of the crowd, a smug grin on his face. Stella wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face. He caught her glance and nodded his head with a derisive smile. Stella felt her teeth clench and her palms curl into angry fists at her sides. Her anger and surprise must have shown on her face also because Jayme touched her shoulder in concern.

"Something wrong?"

Stella threw him a cursory glance, suddenly reminded that he was still there.

"Yeah. I'm leaving," she said curtly and made for the cloakroom without another glance back.

"Stella? What is it?" Jayme ran behind her. "Please stay."

She ignored him and continued to walk.

"Then let me at least drive you home."

She threw him an exasperated look.

"No need," she said curtly. "I'll walk."

"Then I'll walk you. Please?"

Stella was about to turn him down again but there was this strangely familiar spark in his blue eyes again. The mysterious man from last night swam in the back of her mind again and she was reminded of the comfort and peace his gaze infused her with. While Jayme's look was nowhere near his intensity or emotion, it still left an impact.

"All right," she conceded.

He handed her her wrap and after saying goodbye to Jess they left. Neither of them saw the dark figure that detached itself from the shadows as they passed and followed then as they turned a corner.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac answered his phone.

"Taylor."

"Hi, Mac," came detective Don Flack's voice from the other end. "Sorry to wake you up..."

"It's all right," Mac cut him off with a small smile on his face. "I wasn't sleeping."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Flack lightly chuckled. "Mac, you know you're human, right?" he added as an afterthought.

Mac rubbed the bridge of his nose with his other hand in a gesture of frustration. "Your point, Don?"

"Humans _sleep_, Mac," Flack spoke, irony shining through every syllable. "We kinda need it to stay alive and stuff."

"I'll try to remember that, Don," Mac said wryly. "Now can you tell me what's going on?"

"We've got a double homicide at Broadway and Worth."

"Don, I've got a night off," Mac reminded the younger detective, trying to sound patient. "Danny and Sheldon are on call tonight."

"I know but Sinclair wants you to handle this case personally, Mac."

That raised Mac's eyebrows. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. His relations with the chief of detectives were strained to say the least. It had to be something big for him to actually _want_ Mac on a case.

"This one's high-profile, Mac," Flack said in a tone that said how happy he was about this. "It's going to be all over the news tomorrow."

Mac groaned inwardly. Just what he liked best. The media and Sinclair breathing down his neck and tracing his every step.

"Ok," he said to Don with a sigh. "I'm on my way."

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**A/N: ****I hope you don't mind that this was bit 'wordy', but I had to make some introductions:-) There will be more action and dialogue in the next chapters, I promise;-) **

**Anyways, h****ow did you like this? Interested enough to read more? Do let me know in a review before going!**

**PS: ****A sequel to 'While You Were Sleeping' is in the works, I just wanted to post this first to see what you think about it and if I should continue with this new story:-)**


	2. First Impressions and Second Thoughts

**Step By Step**

**Summary: **Stella Bonasera is a professional dancer. Mac Taylor is the lead CSI in a grisly murder she's involved in. When they meet sparks will fly, but is Stella a victim or a suspect? As the investigation progresses, they both find themselves on a dangerous path that will change their lives forever.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: I am SO sorry this has taken sooo long to update**** but RL has been really busy these last couple of weeks:/ I hope you haven't given up on me and still want to read this story! I have lots planned here and now that life's back on its normal track again, the updates will be much more frequent, a scout's word;-)!**

**Also, thank you so much for all your favs, alerts and wonderful reviews! I was really nervous about this story but thanks to you, I'm far more confident about it and eager to continue:-) You really rock, guys! **

**And now on with the story and as always – enjoy!**

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**Chapter 2 – First Impressions**** and Second Thoughts**

Upon getting to the crime scene, Mac suppressed a deep sigh seeing a couple of news trucks already parked near the site, practically sealing it off from the outer world. The crime scene was in one of the back alleys of a big apartment building and the whole place was flooded with yellowish artificial light produced by cameras and flashes.

Mac parked his Avalanche on the other side of the street so as not to draw the attention of the reporters already curiously peeking his way. He took his kit from the back seat and headed straight for the row of unis encircling the scene. Steeling himself for the immediate onslaught of questions, he tried to make his way to the police perimeter as fast as possible. He was halfway when the reporters surrounded him like vultures. He patiently wedged through them, only an occasional "No comment" escaping his lips when the reporters got too persistent.

Finally on the safe side of the yellow tape, he allowed himself a brief sigh of relief. Then he spotted Don standing in the entrance to a small alleyway waving him in. Already in full CSI mode, Mac swept the perimeter with experienced eyes as he walked towards the younger detective. Had it not been for the police and TV crews, this would have been a dark and deserted spot. Mac noted that the only lamp-light in sight wasn't working and there were no open bars or any other locals nearby, which made it a perfect place for an ambush for a desperate junkie, mugger or any other thug. Considering that the next block was abundant with all sorts of clubs, this spot might have seemed out of place at first sight. Not for Mac, who had been living in Manhattan for over ten years. A certain paradox on the overcrowded island in the middle of the city, places like this were to be found along every second block. These silent and empty spots breathing their putrid smell of human decay and degradation, gaping black holes in the heart of the busiest city on the planet never spelt anything good. Mac had lost count of how many bodies he had processed in places exactly like this.

Continuing its searching scrutiny, Mac's gaze finally settled on the ambulance standing further to the left. The back door was open and he spotted a paramedic busily tending to someone. He frowned trying to remember if Flack had said anything about any civilians or officers injured. He hadn't. Then as he passed by to get to Don, the paramedic moved to the side and for a fleeting moment he was allowed a glimpse of the paramedic's patient.

Perched on the bumper of the ambulance was she. His mysterious dancer, as he had come to think of the woman who had moved him to the core with her sad eyes only yesterday. Try as he may, he couldn't stop his stomach from doing a somersault.

"Mac," Don's greeting brought Mac back to here and now, saving him from any further dwellings. He nodded to Flack, his focus shifting back only to the crime scene ahead.

"So, what have we got?" he asked as they both stepped into the alley and Mac took in the entire crime scene with a practiced glance.

"The first vic is Jayme Kurtz," Flack motioned at the man sprawled on his back near the entrance to the alley. "And the other one is Steve Ballas."

The two male bodies were lying in close vicinity from one another. The man closer to the mouth of the alley, Ballas, was lying in a puddle of blood. There was a huge crimson stain on his chest and Mac had a suspicion where all the blood had come from. One of his three top CSIs, the former Chief ME doctor Sheldon Hawkes was already working on the body.

Crisp and immaculately clothed in his dark shirt and slacks, Sheldon exuded an air of professionalism and intelligence as he systematically processed the body. The talented surgeon turned ME turned CSI was one of the best specialists Mac had ever worked with. And a good friend. Not to mention a true encyclopaedia of tidbit information. Even though he had every reason to be conceited and self-important, Sheldon always took his intelligence and expertise with distance and a modesty that won him friends wherever he went. This, however, didn't save him from the incessant friendly barbs about his 'nerdiness' from Mac's second top CSI, who was already busily snapping photos of the second body, Kurtz.

On first sight, Danny Messer was a complete opposite of Sheldon. Messy blond hair, a confident smirk on his face and his usual apparel of casual jeans, tee-shirt and leather jacket all gave him the look of a player, a slightly childish and narcissistic guy with a temper.

But then he put his glasses on and bent down over the victim, compassion and empathy shining through his eyes and Mac was once again reminded of how much his younger protégé was an example of 'don't judge a book by its cover'. No one got engaged in cases quite how he did, often verging on the passionate and forcing Mac to restrain him on numerous occasions. With his troubled history and a touchy temper, Danny was a handful for Mac, having cost him many headaches in the past. Danny wasn't exactly a stereotypical 'ace' CSI like Sheldon but the way he had grown into the job to become as accomplished an investigator as Hawkes never stopped to impress Mac.

The corpse he was working on was several feet further down the alley. It was eerily illuminated by the flashes of Danny's camera as the junior CSI snapped shots from all possible angles. There was more blood to be seen there and the man was lying face down with his hands spread on his sides as if he was standing and simply fell face down to the ground.

"Any witnesses?" Mac asked though in truth it was only wishful thinking – from his experience, people usually tended not to see anything, even if they did. It was one of the pains of the big city, complete anonymity and human indifference. This time, to his amazement, Flack's response was affirmative.

"Yeah, one. Stella Bonasera," Mac noted with slight surprise that Flack didn't consult his notes. "She was actually here with Kurtz when it all happened."

That raised Mac's eyebrows. "She all right?"

"Yeah, just a few scrapes and bruises," Don said indicating the ambulance behind him with a wave. "The paramedics are patching her up as we speak."

Mac's eyes followed the movements of Flack's hand, realization dawning on him.

"Apparently Kurtz was escorting miss Bonasera from a party when Ballas ambushed them here brandishing a gun," Don continued his report. "A scuffle ensued between Kurtz and Ballas and Kurtz got a hit straight in the heart. Then Ballas turned on Bonasera but she fought him," Flack said, a note of respect audible in his voice. "She fought really hard, Mac. She's a tough one. You should see her bruises," he added with anger and Mac could hardly blame him. He himself held utter disgust and a burning anger for any coward who dared to lay a hand on a woman.

"I will," he said with a raised eyebrow, making a mental note to photo and process the injuries their witness had sustained. "So Ballas was self-defense," he deducted looking down at the body Hawkes was processing.

"Well," Don started uneasily. "According to miss Bonasera, she didn't shoot Ballas. She claims there was a fourth person in the alley and he shot Ballas. Then he ran away. She never saw his face."

Mac nodded in acknowledgement. He turned his attention to the bodies, a frown building on his face when he noticed that both bodies were soaked – it had stopped raining not long ago and if they didn't act fast, important evidence could quickly become compromised. The witness could wait, now they had to work on the scene as fast as possible. He crouched near the first body, setting his kit in close reach and pulling a pair of latex gloves from his pocket.

"They seem regular guys," he remarked staring down at Ballas' immobile face. "Wanna tell me why the press is all over this?"

Flack chuckled in amazement. "Seriously?" he asked incredulously. "Do you watch TV, Mac?"

"Is this a trick question?" Mac retorted and Don just shook his head.

"Ever heard of the show _Dancing with the Stars_?"

"I'm not much of a reality show fan, Flack," Mac sighed.

"And I had you chalked off as a _Mythbusters_ kind of guy," he quipped in return and Mac offered him a sideways glance.

"Steve Ballas was a celebrity dancer," came Danny's voice from behind before Don managed to start with his explanation. "Though he was more famous for what he did off the dance-floor than on it...wild parties, flings with starlets, drugs, alcohol..."

"Let's just say his life was more along the lines of _Dancing with the Drugs_," Flack added snarkily.

"Let's see who was his last partner," Mac said with raised eyebrows and turned towards Sheldon with a questioning glance.

"The bullet did him in," Hawkes hurried with an answer, though his tone was somewhat thoughtful.

"But?"

Sheldon flashed Mac a brief smile, surprised at how easily Mac picked up on his tone. "But his skin has an unusual pinkish tint," Sheldon indicated the man's face and hands. "And his pupils are unusually dilated. Both are inconsistent with exsanguination from the gun-shot wound or the fight."

"Maybe he was sick from something?" Danny piped up.

"Other than a bullet in his heart, you mean?" Flack deadpanned.

"I don't want to hypothesize," Sheldon said to Mac ignoring Don. "We'll know more after Sid does an autopsy."

Mac nodded. "Bag and tag anything you can put your hands on and do it fast, Sheldon. The body's already drenched and I don't want to lose anything."

Hawkes nodded and went back to Ballas' body armed with his flashlight and tweezers.

"What about the other man?" Mac turned to Danny and Flack and motioned them to walk with him towards the other body. "Just don't tell me he's the American Idol."

Both chuckled.

"My man does watch TV after all," Flack remarked with a smirk. Then he consulted his notebook. "Jayme Kurtz was an up-and-coming Internet entrepreneur. Came to New York a couple of years ago, started from scratch, worked his way into some big bucks. That's all I've got for now."

Mac nodded. "What about the party?"

"My guys are already there starting on the interviews. Apparently Bonasera and Kurtz left early because when my guys got there, the party was still in full swing. The guests thought we were crashing the party," Flack smirked. "Anyways, I'm on my way there now. You need anything else?"

"Not for now. But I want to hear from you when you have the guests' statements."

"You'll be the first on my list."

Mac nodded and they both turned to their respective jobs, Flack walking away and ducking under the yellow tape and Mac turning towards the body of Jayme Kurtz with Danny hovering nearby in search of any trace evidence.

**XxXxXxXx**

When Don Flack arrived at the party, his guys had already done most of the work for him. They were still in the process of interviewing some of the guests but Don could see most of them were sitting down with resigned expressions, excitedly whispering among each other or talking on their phones.

Flack took a moment to look around the interior of the huge apartment in search of anything that might shed some light on the shooting. Situated on the highest floor, the place was no poor man's loft, though, and Don's eyebrows went up as he swept the place with an impressed glance before going down the few steps from the landing. His job brought him to many different places but this was one he could get used to. The middle of the apartment was made up of a sunken dance floor surrounded by dark leather couches and mahogany tables. There was a glass-and-steel bar to the left and he thought he even spotted a dancing pole in the corner. The ten-foot windows facing the East River made the lounge seem gigantic and the plush quality of the interior gave the place a laid-back, relaxed feel.

_I hang out with all the wrong people_, he thought wryly as he finished his examination and stepped down to meet up with his guys. Just as he was about to get over to them, a surly man with a mane of platinum blond hair stepped in his way. Flack didn't like people getting in his face like that and he didn't like the weasely expression on the man's face.

Then he spoke and Flack immediately wished Mac and Co. could find a way to link him to the murders.

"Hey, you the boss of this band of morons ruining my party?"

Oh, this was going to be fun.

"And you are?" Don raised an eyebrow at him.

"Francis McDonell the Third," the man said proudly lifting his chin, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the squeaky, nasal timbre of his voice. Flack wondered if they served helium at this party or if it was the guy's natural voice. "The owner of this apartment and host of the party. Care to tell me why there are cops scaring away my guests and sniffing all around my place?"

"In case you haven't heard, Mr. McDonell, let me enlighten you," Flack said with a snarky smile dancing on his lips. "Two of your guests were assaulted just after leaving your party. One of them is dead. Does this seem enough reason for you?"

"So it's true?" there were curious sparks in the man's eyes. Not what one would expect from a worried and shocked host. "I heard the officers over there say it was that yuppie Kurtz with the dancer, Bonasera."

"You knew them?"

"Nah. You know how many people come to my parties?" he asked with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Usually I don't know half of them. Kurtz was a friend of a friend, I've spoken to him once or twice but that's all. As for Stella Bonasera, I've heard _of_ her. Who hasn't, right? At one point she hooked up with Kurtz," he added with disgust and incredibility in his voice. "And that was the last I saw of them."

"What about Steve Ballas?"

"Jeez, you think this party was some kind of a cheap celebrity get-together or something?" he chuckled as if he had made a great joke. "I only invite respectable members of the society to my parties."

"Right," Flack said with a smirk. "Well, according to witnesses, he was here, too."

"If he was, he was crashing," he pouted. "I hated the guy."

Flack registered the change in the man's tone and decided to step things up a bit.

"That's a pretty strong statement considering that he's also dead."

"What?"

He didn't sound as surprised as Flack would expect, which aroused his suspicions even more.

"Where were you between eleven and twelve?"

"Should I be talking to a lawyer, detective?" McDonell bristled up.

"I don't know," Flack shrugged with an innocent expression. "Should you?"

The man scoffed. "Then you won't hear another word from me."

"Then I'll see you at the precinct," Flack shot back.

He flashed Don a disdainful look. "We'll see about that, _cop_."

With a wide grin on his face, Flack watched him stomp off. Oh, he would be definitely having round two with this guy. And he couldn't wait for it.

Then he resumed his initial course and walked up to his guys only to learn that McDonell was indeed the last person to be interrogated and they waited for Don to deal with him. Now that he was done with him, the guests could leave and the forensics team could step in.

"Sheesh, you guys are a bunch of wimps," Flack scoffed referring to the fact that none of the three uniforms he had assigned here dared to approach the pretentiously irksome host.

"We just wanted to leave the courteous host to our favourite detective," said Tommy Rodriguez, the eldest of the three, and gave Don a cheeky grin. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on all the fun, Flack."

"How thoughtful," Don quipped and they all burst into a companionable laugh when Flack felt a touch on his shoulder.

He turned around only to stand face to face with a ravishing brunette with creamy skin and tantalizing eyes the colour of dark wood, which were currently gleaming murder as she crossed her hands over her chest looking at him. He heard the guys discreetly whistle but waved an absent-minded hand at them, his eyes focused on the goddess standing before him. He found himself unable to tear his eyes from her.

"You're staring, _detective_," she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Um, sorry," he finally said and cleared his throat in embarrassment. "How can I help you?"

"I was just wondering how long you are going to keep us here?" she crossed her hands over her chest in a gesture of irritation. "It's been an hour since you guys came here and started your little Q&A without as much as a word of explanation."

"I'm sorry," Flack furrowed his eyebrows, irked by her tone. Was it his bad luck or did everyone with a temper seek him out today on purpose? "I didn't catch your name."

"It's because I didn't give it," she said with a pleasant smile that didn't reach her eyes. The copper was cute but she was really pissed and had no intention of making anything easy and pleasant for him.

He raised his eyebrows. "If you want me to flash my badge to make you more talkative…"

"I don't want you to flash anything in front of me, detective," she snapped but then immediately regretted her words. She gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just tired and all this isn't helping," she motioned at the seething crowd of guests surrounded by Don's unis. "I'm Jessica Angell," she added in a conciliatory tone but seeing a grin twitching at his mouth, she put her hands on her hips. "Don't even trying getting funny with me, detective, I'm not in the mood and we're not in kindergarten."

"Didn't even cross my mind," he said trying to keep a straight face.

"My question, detective?" she demanded.

"Actually, you're free to go."

"And what was this all about? Asking all those questions about Jayme?"

"You know him? How?"

"He's an acquaintance," she said with exasperation. "Look, I've already answered all of these questions to one of your buddies over there and I hate repeating myself."

"Humour me, miss Angell," Flack scoffed. "Because that's the least you can do for your _acquaintance_, help me explain why he was murdered just around this building."

"What?" she asked perplexed. Then as she looked at Flack's serious expression, his words sunk in. "Jayme…Oh my God!" she put a hand over her mouth, her eyes suddenly wide with shock. "And...and Stella Bonasera? Was she with him?" she asked in a frenzied tone, grabbing his forearm with shaking hands.

"How do you know her?"

"She's my friend, we came here together but she left early with Jayme. Detective, please, tell me if...if she's..." her voice caught in her throat and Flack's hard expression softened.

"She's fine. A couple of scrapes and bruises."

She exhaled with relief but then a determined look appeared on her face.

"I should be with her right now, detective. Can I finally go?"

Flack looked her in the eye searchingly but all his weathered cop gut was telling him was that this was a girl who sincerely feared for her friend. He could understand that.

He nodded his head and she was out the door before you could say 'NYPD'. Flack looked after her with a thoughtful expression.

**XxXxXxX**

When Mac was done with Kurtz's body and Sheldon and Danny had secured all the evidence they found, Mac took one last look at the scene with a deep frown on his face. They had found a revolver in one of the dumpsters along the street and by the looks of it, it was the murder weapon. Kurtz's murder seemed a slam dunk – Ballas attacked him, they fought for the gun and Kurtz ended up with a hole in his heart. What Mac didn't understand was the motive but that was for them to deal with when they got to the lab and analyzed the evidence and the vics' backgrounds. Ballas' murder was another matter. There were lots of unknowns here. Their initial search hadn't revealed any traces of a fourth person's presence in the alley and Mac hoped their witness could help him fill in some of the blanks. Armed with his camera, Mac turned towards the ambulance.

There was a sudden gap in the crowd of uniforms and paramedics and his gaze landed on the lonely figure still sitting patiently on the bumper of the truck. She seemed to sense his gaze because she turned straight towards him and landed those intense chartreuse eyes on him. They remained like that for a moment that seemed to last eternity, holding each other's gaze, neither letting go. Then Mac finally snapped out of it and reminded himself scornfully the reason why he was here.

Stella found she couldn't tear her eyes away from him when he suddenly appeared in the throng of officers. Surrounded by the toughest and best-trained men from the New York's finest, he still stood out, exuding a silent strength that commanded the attention and obedience of anyone he laid his eyes on. He seemed to brush it off in a gracious manner but she was sure that if need be, he could tap into it in a flash, ready to take on anything that came his way.

He felt her gaze on him the entire time as he made his way towards her, slowly taking off his gloves as he went and trying to keep his growing nervousness in check. When he came to a halt before her, he couldn't help but take in her high forehead and exotic features with silent admiration. She looked even more astounding this close. As he scrutinized her face, he saw a big bruise already turning to a vicious purple on her left temple and the cut on her cheekbone. He clenched his teeth in silent anger. Even though he was supposed to stay objective and emotionless, he found it really hard this time. Any coward who laid a hand on a woman deserved only deepest anger and disdain.

"That look can't mean anything good," she said with a half-smile tugging at her lips, effectively bringing his thoughts back to the task at hand.

He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed that he was caught staring. He chanced a sideways glance at her but all he was met with was a smile. Somehow, that made him even more nervous. _Get a grip, Taylor_, he scolded himself inwardly.

"I'm detective Taylor with the NYPD Crime Lab, miss Bonasera," he introduced himself stiffly brushing off her attempt at lightening the atmosphere. The smile faded on her face and he cursed himself inwardly.

He didn't want to be coarse but that was all he was able to do – this woman had an immediate effect on him and he had to offset it somehow or his shyness would get the better of him and he wouldn't be able to do any work at all.

"I'm sorry that you had to wait so long," he added in a kinder tone. "But we can't let you go until I've had time to..."

Before he could finish she straightened her hands towards him, palms down. "To photo the bruises and lacerations on my face, palms and legs," she finished for him, her tone all business now and her countenance serious. "And I've scratched the attacker so I guess you'll also want to take the residual material he probably left," she added.

Mac looked at her dumb-founded. How the hell did she…?

"Don't look so surprised, detective," she smirked. "I took criminology classes in college and know a thing or two about your job. If my life hadn't gone a different path, I'd have probably been taking those pictures. You've got a really fascinating job."

"Um, right," was the most brilliant answer Mac's overwhelmed mind could come up with. He kicked himself mentally.

He had his opinion of CSI-wannabes but this woman was different. Not only did she talk shop like no other non-CSI he had ever seen but she was smart and beautiful. He cleared his throat to get his distracted thoughts back on track.

"Hold your hands still, please," he tried to take on an indifferent professional tone as he put the camera to his face in an attempt at cutting himself off from her piercing gaze and infectious smile.

Stella watched him with growing fascination. She noticed him when he had arrived and she recognized him almost immediately as the man with the astounding blue eyes she had been thinking about the whole day. So he was a cop. And a CSI no less. She spotted the 'Detective Bureau' pin on the lapel of his suit jacket and knew he was not just some ordinary officer. The Chief of Detectives only awarded those to the best of the best. Silent and composed as he seemed, she saw the respect all the other officers and investigators looked at him with. She found herself wanting to know more about him and what lay underneath that commanding yet stoic exterior.

Her glance wandered over his frame clad in an immaculately cut black suit and blue button-down shirt all the way down to his pristinely polished black boots. He had to be either gay or former military, no normal man kept his shoes so clean. But considering the upright way he held himself in, the spring in his walk and his well-groomed but still very manly general appearance, he simply couldn't be gay. _Please let him not be gay_, she pleaded inwardly.

Then he crouched to take some shots of her slightly bruised legs and her eyes immediately focused on his short dark hair, mussed a little from the wind. It gave him a boyish charm and she felt the urge to touch it, thread her fingers into it and move the stray strand that fell on his forehead.

Then he stood up bringing her back from her silent reverie and she almost gasped. Her gaze wandered back to his face, which was still hidden behind his camera. Yes, 'hidden' was the right word. He was obviously a big fish but he behaved in a shy and nervous manner, which begged the question if she was the cause of it or if he was always like that.

He tried to cover his nervousness with a professional and stiff demeanour but underneath it all she sensed he was trying really hard to conceal something else altogether. Maybe what she remembered from last night? Now she understood that then, in that moment out of time they had shared, they both caught the other without the outer barriers they put up for the whole world to see. She sensed that the depth and intensity she had seen in his gaze then were still there, bubbling under the serene and stoic surface he was now offering to her and everyone else.

Then he looked up briefly from the camera and his eyes locked with hers once again. She thought she saw something flash behind his gaze and she was even more intrigued. Most people spoke only with their mouths, he spoke with his eyes. Volumes. If only she could decipher the hidden meanings they conveyed.

"Now your face," he instructed. She nodded and looked straight into the lens.

Mac felt like she wanted her gaze to pierce the camera's complex optical apparatus all the way to his eyes and deeper into his very soul. He suddenly felt uncomfortable, completely at a loss on how to explain the effect this woman was having on him. He nervously cleared his throat and asked her to turn her face to the right. She obliged him but the angle wasn't good and suddenly before he could think, he felt his hand shoot out and gently touch the outline of her jaw, careful not to touch any sore spot.

"A bit further to the right," he explained with a sheepish smile, his hand snapping away from her face as if she had electrocuted him.

She looked at him in amazement, the electric sparks from his butterfly of a touch still dancing under her skin. He really didn't realize how attractive he was nor what immediate effect he had on her. Had he been a player, he would have used the opportunity a hundred times but this here was a gentleman. A shy and sweet one at that.

All these thoughts flashed through her mind while she continued to watch him work, which was fascinating in itself. She had once wanted to be an investigator herself and she could appreciate true mastery. His every move had its purpose and he was quick and efficient with the whole procedure, knowing exactly what he was doing.

Done with the photographing, he took out a swab from his kit.

"Now the trace from underneath your fingernails," he informed her, gently taking her hand into his gloved fingers. He saw her wince and looked up at her. "Tell me if you want to stop. I'll try to be gentle …"

"Be thorough," she said looking at him with determination.

He nodded. He was more impressed with her with every passing moment. She was calm and collected even though she had just survived a small carnage. Flack was right, she was no wilting flower but a tough, strong woman. The intelligence and depth shining through her eyes were hypnotizing and he couldn't help but chance glances at her from time to time to make sure she was real. He tried not to show it but from the looks she gave him, he was getting suspicions that his usual mask wasn't working as well as it should. Or maybe somehow, subconsciously, he didn't want it to work this time? He wondered if she recognized him. If she even remembered him. He scoffed at himself inwardly. Surely not. Such a ravishing woman would hardly take notice of such a plain, ordinary guy like him.

It didn't change the fact, though, that he couldn't get her out of his mind ever since he had seen her for the first time. She had made an instant impression, something that didn't happen often to him, a weathered detective and experienced soldier. He had simply already seen it all and not much managed to make any effect on him at all these days, not to mention leave such a strong impression. But somehow, this woman was proving him wrong with every second he was with her. Maybe it was because he sensed that she was struggling to cover up whatever pain and damage she felt inside behind that strong, independent exterior. The pain and damage he had been an involuntary witness of. He had gotten a glimpse of what lay underneath her mask of confidence and toughness and the images of her tear-filled eyes refused to leave him. He knew she was bottling those things up. He knew she was fighting a constant struggle with herself and the world. He knew because each and every day for so many years, he had been doing the same.

He sneaked another look at her from his kit, where he was putting the samples, and found her looking into the distance with an inscrutable look on her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked straightening up and standing before her.

"Yeah," she replied quickly. Too quickly. "Just not exactly what I had in mind when I came to that party," she shook her head.

"You knew Mr. Kurtz well?" he asked. "Detective Flack told me you were at the party together."

"Um, no. We weren't together," she ran a hand though her hair. "I just met him there. I suddenly didn't feel very well and decided to leave. He insisted I shouldn't go alone and wanted to walk me back," she looked at her bloodied hands and then directed her gaze on him. "If only I had insisted that he shouldn't and left alone..."

"Then you would have been the corpse in that alley," Mac finished with s definite tone. "Miss Bonasera, you couldn't have known any of this would happen. Mr. Kurtz tried to protect you. As sorry as I am for his death, he behaved like a man should have."

"A fairy-tale knight kind of a man, you mean," she said, one corner of her mouth turned up. "I haven't met a man like that yet."

"Well, maybe you weren't looking hard enough," he said with a small smile hovering on his lips.

Stella raised an eyebrow at him, obviously intrigued.

"Would you care to give me a few pointers, then, detective?"

"I...," he cleared his throat in embarrassment. He had no idea what made him say his previous words. He felt his face turn a shade redder and he hoped she didn't notice. "I don't think I'm qualified, miss Bonasera," he said, backtracking and scolding himself. Was that a lame-ass attempt at _flirting _what he just did? At a _crime scene_? What was going on with him?

"Anyways," he tried to save himself by jumping back into his professional skin. "We'll need to take a formal statement from you at the precinct. Detective Flack will contact you about that. Also," he handed her his business card. "You can give me a call if you remember something else or if you need anything."

She looked at him with a strange expression on her face. "If I need anything?"

"You've been through a lot," he said sympathetically. "And I know how hard it can be to deal with such trauma so...the least I can do is try to offer my assistance," he frowned at the impersonal tone of his well-exercised lines. He looked into her eyes and knew she deserved something better. "If you need someone to talk to, I'm here, miss Bonasera," he said, still feeling a bit uneasily offering such personal words of comfort. But with her, here, now, it somehow seemed right.

His unease was alleviated by the smile she offered him – a genuine, megawatt smile that made his knees weak.

"I've been through worse, detective," she finally said. "But thanks," she gave him a wave with his card and turned to leave.

Mac watched her walk away, her head held high and shoulders straight. Immediately after ducking under the police tape, she was met by a horde of reporters but was saved but a fiery brunette, who ran to her and embraced her before whisking her out of the crowd and into the dark street.

Mac couldn't shake off the feeling that something he had said to her had made an impact that she wouldn't admit to. Before meeting her, he never suspected any woman could ever again leave such an impression on him. He wasn't sure he _wanted _any woman to have such an impact on him ever again. But now he found himself hoping that wasn't the last time they met and he could be impressed again.

**XxXxXxX**

To his frustration, the next day Mac was hardly at the lab and couldn't get down to the new case properly, what with two court hearings and a meeting with the DA. He thankfully managed to duck any press conferences and a meeting with Sinclair but he knew he would have to face it all tomorrow. That was the part of being the boss of one of the biggest crime labs in the US that he didn't appreciate. He was first and foremost a scientist who loved to bury himself in empirical work at the lab, not some PR expert flashing empty smiles and spouting out even emptier words. He could spend hours on end analyzing stria, dissecting mosquitoes or examining stomach contents but put him in a room with a reporter or any of the mayor's administrative aides, he felt like screaming after fifteen minutes.

By the time he was finished with all the bureaucracy and meetings, it was late evening and he decided to go home, knowing he wouldn't get much work done at the lab anyway. He figured he'd flip on the TV, grab a beer and spend another lonely evening until he fell asleep right there on the couch.

Little did he know that destiny had other plans for him.

**XxXxXxX**

As soon as he entered his apartment and took his suit jacket off, his cell buzzed. He seriously considered not picking up but knew it could be something serious.

"Detective Taylor," he answered with a sigh.

"I thought you wouldn't be asleep, detective," came the mellifluous voice from the other end. He recognized her immediately and his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.

"Miss Bonasera?"

"I'm sorry to call you at such an hour. But you said if I needed anything…" she let her voice hang in the air and he thought he heard a tone of playfulness in her voice.

"Investigation-wise…" Mac said trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

"Well, it is. I'd be helping the lead investigator in my case."

"How so?"

"Won't stimulating conversation with an interesting interlocutor help?"

He chuckled but had to admit he was intrigued.

"So, how about a coffee since we both can't sleep?"

"I don't think it's such a good…"

"Tea, then?" she asked and he could almost see her cheeky grin on the other side. "Oh, come on, detective, I'm not asking you out on a date," she continued in that amused tone. "Just two insomniacs sharing experiences."

This woman was adamant but somehow he didn't mind. Not when he was so much attracted to her.

He cleared his throat before answering. "I think there's a 24/7 coffee shop on the corner of 65th and Park."

"It's a _date_," she said teasingly and he pictured the mischievous smirk on her lips.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac fought an internal battle with himself the whole way. Twice he was very close to ordering the cabbie to turn around. What the hell was he doing? He had just met this woman and she was a witness in his investigation. Technically there were no regulations against officers meeting witnesses on private ground for an innocent coffee but he still felt uneasy. What bothered him most, though, wasn't proper protocol. That he could deal with. It was his own eagerness to accept her invitation.

He had tried to venture out into the dating world but after his nearly year-long relationship with his former ME Peyton Driscoll ended in an utter failure, he thought he was done for in the romantic department for good and had shelved himself up on the 'old, used and unwanted' shelf. As far as romantic went, he didn't expect anything ever to happen to him again. Yet this woman made him feel special and wanted. He knew her only briefly but the connection he sensed between them was much deeper than it had ever been with any woman other than Claire. But was this even possible? He tried to analyze the situation from every angle but always came to the same conclusion – it wasn't. How could one feel so strong about someone one barely knew? Especially if one was an inhibited, rational and reserved CSI keeping his feelings buried under tons of protocol, propriety and fear of getting hurt? He shook his head in frustration.

Fortunately, his brain was saved from getting into overdrive as he arrived at the place and saw her already waiting for him at the little coffee shop with that tantalizing smile that turned all his worries and doubts into distant memories. It somehow felt right for him to be with her.

"Hello, detective," she greeted him as he walked up to her.

"Hi," he replied with a small nod.

"I honestly didn't think you'd come," she said looking him searchingly in the eyes.

"I'm here," he said simply, a small smile tugging at his lips.

She nodded. "So you are. But tell me, how many times have you thought about turning around?" she asked teasingly.

He looked at her incredulously. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said aiming for a wounded expression.

"You're a lousy liar, detective," she chuckled.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he quipped and was rewarded with another of her mellifluous laughs.

They went inside and ordered but the evening was so warm and nice that Stella suggested they take their coffee with them and walk. When the pleasant evening breeze filled their lungs with its chilly breath, their coffees warm in their hands, Mac looked at her questioningly thinking how to begin. He dismissed a number of lame lines and decided to simply ask her what was on his mind the whole time.

"So...why _did_ you call me?"

She glanced at him and pouted her lips.

"Can't you just accept the fact that I wanted to have coffee in some quality company?"

He chuckled.

"No."

"Cops," she shook her head with a smirk. "Are you always that suspicious?"

"No, only when the coffee invitation is after ten pm."

She smiled but her eyes took on a ruminative look and she took out the business card he had given her the day before from her coat pocket.

"I guess you hand out countless cards like this to all the poor souls you see every day, detective?" she asked wistfully. "Any of them call?"

"Not that I remember," he answered carefully wondering where this was going.

"Was that why you were so surprised by my call?"

He could never tell her that he was surprised mostly because he didn't think such a gorgeous woman would even remember who he was, let alone that she would want to meet him again of her own will.

"I guess," he said in a neutral tone.

"Why do you think that is?"

Mac looked at her with a raised eyebrow, puzzlement clear on his face. He was usually the one to ask questions. Never before has any witness or vic show any interest in him personally or his job, which was natural and perfectly understandable considering the circumstances. Still, it also made her attitude all the more baffling.

"In my job I deal with the business of death," he sighed. "People usually get to know me when they're involved in a crime or when I'm about to tell them that someone they love died and that I need their DNA and fingerprints to eliminate them as suspects," he said with a shake of his head. "I understand that for people I'm a reminder of their trauma, loss and pain."

Mac had no idea where his speech came from. He was a private man and didn't share his feelings and thoughts with his friends let alone a stranger, not to mention a witness in a murder case. Yet there was something about her that made him instantly trust her. And his detective gut had never failed him before.

"You do realize that's not the truth, right?"

He raised his eyebrows at her.

"It's not about _you_, detective. It's those horrible things that happen to them. You...," she looked at him mustering the courage to tell him what she meant. "You are one of the warmest and kindest people I've ever met. I know you offered _me_ true comfort out there yesterday. And today. I think any other person would have simply laughed and hung up. But you...here you are having coffee with a complete stranger who called you in the middle of the night telling you she needed company."

"When you put it like that, I think I should have hung up," he quipped. "You might be a serial killer luring me into a trap."

"But I decided to be humane and allow you one last coffee before I lead you off to a dark alley and chop you into pieces with my brand new chainsaw," she chuckled.

"That actually sounds pretty...deliberate," he smiled.

"Too many horror movies, I guess," she shrugged. "My best friend loves them and I was forced to sit through all parts of Texas Chainsaw Massacre last week," she wrinkled her nose at the very memory and he chuckled.

"Then you are even tougher than I thought," he said lightly but realizing the personal note of his remark, he looked at her hoping he hadn't offended her.

"You think I'm tough?" she asked with a half-smile.

"Very," he said simply.

"I guess I had to be to survive," she shrugged. "I grew up in an orphanage," she went on to explain seeing the questioning look in his eyes. "If you were anything but, the system would spit you off chewed out like a used rug."

She looked at him nervously. This wasn't something that she shared often, it was all too painful and she shunned the usual reaction of pity and condescension people offered. She wanted neither. But once again he surprised her.

"I'm sorry," he said simply, without a hint of pity. Instead, there was heartfelt compassion mixed with admiration in his words.

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?" she said on a lighter note trying to brush off the sombre mood. She chanced a glance at him.

His eyes latched onto hers, telling her far more than words ever would. Just like two days ago, she was once again captivated by the intensity and depth in his gaze, now enriched by a silent understanding and respect for her. She couldn't move and she couldn't speak.

Mac had to once again wonder if she was real. His heart constricted at the thought of how much she must have gone through in her childhood and what she must have sacrificed to get where she was now. He marveled at her strength and the power she seemed to hold over him. When she looked at him like she was now, time stopped. The barriers he crafted around himself seemed to turn to dust under the warmth and emotion behind her chartreuse irises.

Soon enough, however, his brain took over once again. If he didn't stop now, he soon wouldn't be able to stop at all.

"It's…it's getting late," he looked at his watch trying to cover up his nervousness, which was on the rise once again. "I'll walk you home," he offered uneasily expecting her to turn him down and leave after the way he backtracked. Again.

He thought disappointment did flash through her face but it was soon replaced by a neutral expression that betrayed nothing.

"Last time someone walked me home, it didn't turn out that well," she finally said.

"I'm going to take my chances," he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Brave man," she teased. "Or reckless?" she added playfully.

"The first thing they teach you in the Marines is that there's a thin line between the two," he said with a half-smile. "And if you cross it, it will most probably get you killed."

"Wow, one hell of a pep talk that must have been," she chuckled. "So, you were a Marine?" she asked with renewed interest.

Before Mac knew it, he found himself sharing snippets from his past as a Marine corporal and major he hadn't shared with anyone apart from his late father and wife. But it was so easy talking to her. He felt no discomfort or uneasiness, only relief at being able to share the often haunting images with another.

Stella listened entranced to his story, the warm timbre of his voice filling the night air and her heart. She didn't even know when her arm found its way around his and landed hooked into it. It felt so natural, like she had done it a thousand times before.

When they turned into Central Park to make a short cut to her apartment, they passed a street guitar player and Stella could see that Mac was immediately captivated by the music and the instrument in the man's hands. So he liked music and probably played, judging by the expert look with which he assessed the other man's grip and skill with the instrument. Yet another surprising facet of this incredible man, who was getting under her skin with lightning-speed. He so wasn't what he seemed at first sight and she was fascinated by him. He seemed a weathered soldier and hardened cop but his kindness, gentle looks and touches and now a musical side all broke the stereotype. The truth was, she had never met such a complex and multi-faceted man in her life, nor one with whom she had bonded so quickly. She was glad she had mustered that courage to call him. Even if this was the last she ever saw of him, she felt privileged to get to know a more private side of this fascinating man.

They were passing by one of the larger field-sized lawns and she flashed him a wondering glance, trying to read from his expression whether she should go for her sudden idea or not. Then she made up her mind and stopped. Mac looked at her, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise.

"Wanna dance, detective?" she asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

Mac looked in surprise at her and then at the expanses of the Central Park around them.

"Don't worry, I'm a professional," she teased.

He cleared his throat before looking back at her.

"But I'm not," he said uneasily.

"Believe me, I've had so many men step on my toes before that I've developed scales on my feet, if that's what you're concerned with," she grinned.

He chuckled but made no move to oblige her. "I still don't think that's..." he began.

"You know what?" she cut him off. "That is your problem, detective. You think too much," she crossed her arms on her chest. "Or maybe you're just scared, Marine," she challenged with a grin twitching at her mouth.

"I'm not..." he tried to protest but she interrupted him again.

"Just allow yourself to do something impulsive for once, Mac," she whispered with a wisp of resignation in her voice. "Take a chance. What are you afraid of?"

He looked at her in surprise. How was it possible that she could read him like this? It was unnerving but also comforting at the same time. With her, he felt like a huge burden was lifted off his shoulders. She seemed to understand him just as he was and ever since they met, she was tactfully calling him out on his insecurities, trying to gently shake him up in his shell. To his surprise, he found it exhilarating.

"I don't know," he finally conceded in a weak tone, drowning in the green ocean of her eyes.

"You do know it's all right not to know _everything_ from time to time, right?" she asked teasingly.

He shook his head, a half-smile building on his lips. "Not in my job."

"Well, you're not at the crime lab right now," she crossed her hands over her chest. "And I'm telling you it's fine to be lost or scared every once in a while, even if you're some big hot-shot Rambo detective."

He chuckled at that and seemed to loosen up a little. "Well, that certainly boosted my ego."

"You're missing the point, detective," she said sternly though she couldn't help smiling back at him. She found he rarely smiled but when he did, it was that infectious, breath-taking kind of tender smile that lit up his whole face. "You don't always have to be strong and fearless. Sometimes showing your weakness is your true strength. And believe me, I know what I'm talking about."

He was still hesitant but when she took his hand in hers and led him to the lawn, all his words of protest died on his lips. Entranced, he watched her place her hands on his shoulders and draw slightly closer to him. He felt warmth spread through his body and course in his veins. His hands wandered automatically to her waist pulling her closer but careful not to cross any lines. And then they started to move slowly together to the rhythm their hearts were beating out for them.

"I saw you that night," she suddenly whispered into his ear and the gentle whiff of her breath on his skin made him shiver. "You saw me dance in the studio."

Mac looked at her in bewilderment. He was certain she hadn't seen him that night even though silently he hoped she had. Now that it turned out that she did, he felt the red hue of embarrassment creep onto his cheeks.

"I...," he began his excuse only to be silenced by her finger on his lips.

She quickly withdrew her hand as if she were amazed herself by her sudden boldness and the intimacy her gesture implicated. Mac stared at her, the memory of their brief contact still reverberating through him in electric sparks.

She lowered her head a little but when she looked up, there was no embarrassment or shyness in her eyes. Only an unspoken question, one Mac was afraid to even try to explain or comprehend.

"What did you see when you looked at me that night, detective?"

He had no idea what made him say his next words. Instead of drawing back into the safety of his protective shell, this woman made him want to open up and talk about what was inside. He felt like he had known her for years and he sensed he could trust her. He recognized in her a soul scarred by loneliness and a heart maimed by pain and loss, just like his.

"I saw a strong woman fighting a battle," he said earnestly.

She looked at him with intensity that took his breath away. Then her face broke into a mischievous smile and he was glad for it. Had she continued to glance at him like that, he wasn't sure he would be able to control himself and retain his professional self-restraint.

"Think I'd qualify for the Marines?"

"You'd make a great officer," he said finally with a half-smile.

"I think I could get used to brandishing an AK-40 and shouting out orders," she quipped.

"Yeah, definitely my favourite part of it," he said wryly.

He succeeded in eliciting a small smile from her, and they continued through the serene expanses of the park in companionable silence.

**XxXxXxX**

The ridiculous grin wouldn't get off his face.

After walking Stella back to her apartment, Mac had quickly said his goodbyes and left, though in truth he wanted nothing more than to kiss her breath out of her. The intensity of his feelings for this woman he had just met scared him. When he got back into the coolness of the night, his usually sharp brain was still reeling, unable to catch up with all the feelings and revelations his heart was throwing at him. He wandered aimlessly almost an hour longer before he got back to his apartment.

And when he woke up, the grin was already there, glued to his face.

However, life soon caught up with him and the grin got lost somewhere along the way. It wouldn't return for a long time.

When he was passing a newsstand on the way to the lab, his eyes landed on one of the newspapers. He came to an immediate halt and stared at the front page. It was one of the bigger tabloids in the city and its whole front was taken up by a big picture of Stella in the arms of a man, who was turned back and his face not visible. The whole picture was grainy and quite dark but Mac felt his heart rate jump. The headline read: "IT TAKES TWO TO TANGO. Dancing star Stella Bonasera seeks comfort in the arms of mystery guy after witnessing murder."

His lips a thin angry line, Mac snatched the paper from the stand. He looked up at the newsman, as if expecting he recognized him as the man in the photo. The man looked at him quizzically and Mac quickly paid for the paper and left.

He read through the article on his ride up, a frown deepening on his face. They didn't identify him and the picture was really poor but it was a problem that could jeopardize his investigation. How did the press got wind that Stella was a witness in a murder case in the first place? Was someone from the inside of the Police Department involved? And how could he miss a man with a camera following them yesterday? The answer to the last question he already knew, he admitted grudgingly. He wasn't looking because he was distracted and so taken with Stella that he didn't think he would notice if there had been an elephant strolling nearby. One more reason why he was once again proven yesterday wasn't a good idea to start with.

This wasn't the end of bad news for the morning, Mac sensed as he walked out from the elevator into the lab only to find Danny hovering outside his office. He nodded and the younger CSI followed him inside.

"Catching up on local gossip?" Danny asked, curiously peering at the paper Mac landed on his desk.

Mac gave him a sideways look and quickly shoved the paper into one of his drawers.

"What's the matter, Danny?"

"I've been going through some personal files for the Ballas case," Danny's countenance displayed a mixture of worry and surprise. "And there's something about Stella Bonasera you've got to know. She hasn't told us everything."

Mac took the manila folder from Danny with a sigh. His frown grew deeper as he began to read through the file.

tbc...

* * *

**A/N: So, I hope this looong chap managed to make up for my tardiness! How did you like it? I'm quite nervous about it and I'd love to know what you think:-) **

**What has Danny found? What did Stella conceal from Mac? How will it affect them both and the investigation? This and lots more in the next chapter:-) **


	3. Truth, Lies And Everything In Between

**Step by Step**

**Summary**: Stella Bonasera is a professional dancer. Mac Taylor is the lead CSI in a grisly murder she's involved in. When they meet sparks will fly, but is Stella a victim or a suspect? As the investigation progresses, they both find themselves on a dangerous path that will change their lives forever.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N: I wanted to thank you so much for your encouragement and all the fantastic reviews, favs and alerts! They really made my day and gave me a boost ****after a really tough time in RL! I'm still having a busy busy time but I decided to take the time and write this new chap because I didn't want to make you wait so long this time and didn't want to disappoint...So, ****I hope you'll like what I've come up with and just so you know – you really ROCK, guys!! **

_Special thanx to SBT for the read-thrus and __for being such a wonderful treasure trove of great ideas and to AiP for allowing me to bend her ear;-)_

* * *

**Chapter 3 – ****Truth, Lies And Everything In Between**

Peas. Sheldon Hawkes had always hated them. That had never stopped his mother from tormenting him with a daily portion as child, though. He still cringed at the memory. As an adult, he refused to even look at it but he remembered the first time he'd read with surprise that it was in fact due to the pesky greenish plant that humankind had learned about genetics and DNA. Breeding experiments with garden peas had led the Austrian monk Karl Mendel to formulate the basic laws of heredity and provided a milestone for contemporary genetics. Hawkes still hated peas after that but he started treating them with more respect. It showed that even the smallest thing could change the course of history.

Another truth that lay in the foundations of genetics was that greatest discoveries in humankind had been made by chance. The apple falling on Newton's head, a tear falling on Fleming's Petri dish and making him discover penicillin, Art Fry's realization that the failed adhesive his co-worker discarded was in fact perfect for what he later called Post-Its…examples were numerous and DNA was no different.

The first time the world heard about deoxyribonucleic acid, more commonly known as DNA, was when a Swiss physician Friedrich Miescher discovered a microscopic substance in the blood of discarded surgical bandages in 1869. It remained a fantastic notion for more than a century and was rejected as too fanciful and basically useless.

Sheldon often wondered if the people who had dismissed DNA ever realized their mistake. He guessed it was a matter of human self-contentment and vanity – it was like the people in the 1940s who saw TV as a passing fad or the people in the 1970s who couldn't imagine what possible use could anyone have for a computer in their home.

DNA gained the limelight once again more than a century after it had been discovered when Watson and Crick announced their double helix model. It wasn't until 1984, however, that it was first used as a tool for identification purposes. The first known such instance was when sir Alec Jeffreys used DNA trace to identify a homicide victim. When it came out not long afterwards, his book on DNA profiling became a ground-breaking work in forensics and the basis for today's CODIS system, the biggest database of human DNA in the world. Sheldon managed to get his hands on the first edition of Jeffreys' book in the Strand some months ago and bought it for Mac as a combination belated thank-you gift for moving him to field work and a Christmas gift.

Hawkes had always wanted to be a doctor but after one too many of his patients died on the operating table because medicine didn't have all the answers, he decided he had had enough and he moved to the ME Office where he quickly advanced to Chief ME. Still, as he bonded with Mac Taylor's team of CSI, he became more and more intrigued and fascinated by their job. They really did make a difference with their job and gave many people peace of mind and closure, something his job as a doctor often failed to give. And they always had the answers. So he applied for the job and unexpectedly, Mac gave him a shot. Sheldon hoped Mac never regretted this decision. He knew he didn't. For one, he got to play with DNA.

From a forensic perspective, the good thing about DNA was that it was everywhere. Unknowingly, people left thousands of DNA 'fingerprints' behind them wherever they went in form of their blood, skin cells, tissue, hair, saliva, fingernails – every cell in human body contained DNA, which could be analyzed and compared. The curious thing was that 99.9% of human DNA sequences were the same in every person, with only the remaining 0.1% making up for all the variety and differences among humans. Still, it was more than enough. The odds that two individuals had the same DNA profile made up of 13 specific markers, was about one in one billion.

The bad thing was, however, that any DNA sample had to be compared to something. Seeing that the first DNA databases were introduced less than a decade ago, the grey field in that area was still considerable. If the perp was in the wind and hadn't been convicted earlier, there was no way of a positive ID.

Sheldon was painfully reminded of that fact as he looked at the big red letters 'NO MATCH FOUND' on his screen. He eyed the cigarette butt he got the sample from in frustration. This was the last piece of evidence they got from the crime scene and the only one that had DNA other than Ballas', Kurtz's or Bonasera's on it. Everything else – blood, tissue, fingerprints on the revolver, residual material from underneath the vics' and Bonasera's fingernails belonged to one of the three of them.

The cigarette butt might have just as well lain there longer, thrown by some passerby and completely not connected with their investigation. They couldn't be sure either way because the ground was wet when they collected the evidence and it made such a time-span analysis almost impossible. However, taking the cigarette butt out of the equation made everything else fit and a clear picture of what happened at the scene emerged. And it didn't confirm what their only witness had told them.

Sheldon looked in the direction of Mac's office. Danny was inside and the two of them were engaged in an animated conversation. Hawkes copied the results to a tablet and made his way to meet them.

**XxXxXxX**

"Danny, this changes everything," Mac sighed and looked at the younger CSI.

"Yeah, I know," he nodded. "And it's not looking good for miss Bonasera's career," he added wryly.

Mac looked at him with a frown.

"This doesn't make her the perp, Danny. All it does is shows she had motive," he enunciated. "Like half of New York, from what I see in his file," he landed the manila folder on his desk with a sigh. "What about that fourth person? Anything on that?"

Danny ran an embarrassed hand through his head. "I haven't gotten to that yet, actually…"

"Maybe I can help with that," came Sheldon's voice from the door as he pushed himself inside with an all-knowing expression.

"Enter the boss' pet," Danny muttered snarkily.

Sheldon gave him a sideways look and handed Mac the tablet with the newest DNA results.

"All evidence that we've gathered doesn't show any trace of there ever being a fourth person in that alley," he reported.

Mac scrolled through the results, his frown growing deeper with every line and numerous questions swirling in his mind. Why had she concealed all this? What was her true role in all of this?

Then his eyes rested on the final line and he looked at Sheldon, his interest sparked.

"And the cigarette butt?"

Nothing ever escaped Mac. Sheldon sighed knowing he didn't have a satisfactory answer here.

"The DNA was degraded so I think it was there before the crime."

"But it was wet in that alley," Mac frowned checking the crime scene's humidity level on the tablet's sidebar. "DNA could have been easily degraded not by time but by exposure to atmospheric conditions."

"Either way, it's not in CODIS, Mac."

"Expand your search to all the civilian databases," Mac ordered. "All companies that require DNA profiling and everything you can tap into."

Sheldon nodded. "Still, it seems a red herring, Mac. I really think it's much more probable it was already there when the shooting happened. Everything else fits."

"Until we know for sure, we can't exclude it as evidence," Mac said with finality. "It isn't about what we _think_ but what we _know_, Sheldon," he enunciated dryly. "And for all we know, this could just as well belong to that fourth person…"

"If there even was a fourth one there…" Danny piped up.

"For now the evidence is inconclusive and we're going to go with that and what the witness tells us," Mac stressed. "We don't make assumptions or educated guesses. We work with facts. We hold people's life in our hands and we have to be sure before we make any accusations."

Sheldon and Danny looked at each other in surprise. This was a rather sharp reaction. Especially since all that they had gathered, which was a lot, pointed to one person. There could be no question about that.

"Mac, shouldn't we at least bring miss Bonasera in and interrogate her?"

Mac looked up at him.

"I'll deal with it," he snapped. "You'd better process the evidence properly so that we can _know_ not guess."

"But Mac…"

"End of conversation, Danny."

And with that Mac handed Sheldon back the tablet and turned to his papers. They both took the cue and went out.

"What was that about?" Sheldon asked Danny in bewilderment when they were in a safe distance from Mac's office. "What did you do to him?"

"Me? I didn't do anything," Danny said with a look of wounded innocence. "It was you sauntering in like you owned the place and giving Mac a big fat _nothing_. No wonder he got pissed."

"Hey," Hawkes said in a warning voice. "If this is nothing…" he shoved the tablet into his hands.

Danny adjusted his glasses and scanned the results with a skeptically raised eyebrow. Then he looked at Sheldon.

"It makes even more sense," he muttered to himself.

"What?" Hawkes demanded. "What did _you_ find?"

"Well, for one, Bonasera shot her boyfriend to death three years ago," Danny said. "The DA didn't go forward with the case because it was ruled self-defense but still, it makes her capable of pulling the trigger."

Sheldon frowned. "Ok," he said slowly. "Any reason why she would pull it on Ballas or Kurtz?"

"Apparently, she and Ballas were engaged. Up until he ended up beaten with a golf club in the ER."

"What?"

"There were several domestic calls but she never filed any complaints," Danny shrugged. "So the cops could do nothing. Until one day he ends up in the ER beaten up pretty bad. Told the officers he was ambushed by some punks in the park but the injuries were inconsistent with what he told them. What they were consistent with were the places where Bonasera was hit according to her earlier examination. No one bothered to cross-check this then but I did it and this doesn't look good for her right now."

Sheldon nodded.

"The way I see it," Danny continued. "She decided to fight the bastard back. And maybe now she decided a golf club wasn't enough."

"Either she's got incredible bad luck with guys…" Sheldon said with a shake of his head.

"Or dancing with death has suddenly gotten a new meaning," Danny said seriously.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac pretended to be lost in his papers but in truth he didn't see a word from the file in front of him. His mind was reeling from all the revelations that had been thrown at him within the last half hour. He wondered at how easily one can fall from cloud number nine to the ninth circle of hell.

Though he had cautioned his CSIs against drawing rash conclusions, he couldn't help but draw one himself. And it wasn't rash. It was simply the most logical explanation they had right now. He clung to that DNA from the cigarette butt but in truth he was ready to agree with Sheldon. More than one million New Yorkers smoked and your average John smoked circa ten thousand cigarettes yearly. This statistic alone made their only contradictory evidence shady and very circumstantial. And they couldn't base their investigation on one inconclusive piece of evidence when they had a number of very conclusive pieces that pointed to one person. Until they didn't find anything that corroborated her story about the fourth person, Stella Bonasera became their prime suspect.

He let the pen his was holding slip from his hand onto the files with a despondent, dull sound. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he pushed himself out of his chair and turned around. Hands on hips, he looked at the view of Broadway out his large window in thought.

Going on some wild goose chase after a person that probably didn't exist when they had an obvious suspect would be completely irrational, and he had always prided himself on his cool, rational attitude. Usually he was able to quell what his heart told him and listen to his mind. His job and personal experience had taught him emotions and feelings weren't the best advisors when it came to people. People lied and cheated and retaining your professional cool was the only way to separate the truth from the lies. If you wanted the job done and the guilty person behind bars, there was only one way to do it. Go with the evidence. It trumped emotion every time.

He saw forensic evidence like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Put it together and you got a picture of the crime that faultlessly led you to the person responsible. It didn't matter what you felt. It didn't matter that his gut told him Stella couldn't have done it. The pieces of the puzzle told a different story. She was there, she had the motive and her fingerprints were on the murder weapon. It made her the prime suspect in his book regardless of what his heart was telling him.

It only proved once again that going with his heart was never a good thing. In fact, if she was indeed the perp, she could have arranged yesterday to mess with him and try to create some sort of personal connection to make him think twice about her as a suspect. Just like he was now. It would have been very smart, if devious and cold-blooded, to try to get under the skin of the lead detective in your case. She _was_ very smart and she certainly had the means to wind any man around her little finger and to top it all, she had training in forensics. That made it all the more probable. And made her a formidable enemy.

_Enemy__?_ He cringed inwardly at the thought remembering her chartreuse, sparkling eyes. They seemed so sincere when she told him about her painful past. It certainly wasn't something she offered to just anyone and he remembered her uneasiness and the steely sorrow her voice had held. He couldn't shake off the feeling of a deeply-rooted understanding they seemed to share. However angry he was now starting to be, he couldn't deny the effect she had on him. He couldn't brush off the way she made him feel – a kindred spirit, though he cringed at how trite that sounded. It didn't make it any less true, though. What it did, was make all this even harder on him.

_Dammit_, he cursed under his breath. She had gotten under his skin far more than he would have imagined. Far more than anyone since Claire ever had. Which stoked a new flare of anger that quickly spread through his mind to reach his heart. If she had used him…

His thoughts were interrupted as he heard his cell ring. Taking it from the desk, he saw it was Flack.

"Yeah, Don, what is it?"

"Mac, you wanna come down to the morgue," Flack said gravely. "Someone's broken in and tried to get to Kurtz's body."

"I'm on my way," Mac said curtly, a feeling of foreboding lodging itself in his stomach. Could anything go any worse today?

Little did he know that indeed it could.

**XxXxXxX**

Lindsay Monroe had had some troubles adjusting to New York when she first came to the busiest city on the planet from Montana to work for the Crime Lab. But then she got sucked into the world of cutting-edge forensics and she fell in love with a through and through New Yorker. And she started a family with him.

Now here she was, as far from the mountains and fields of Montana as she could have imagined, surrounded by a crowd of New Yorkers speeding to work, living their life in the fast lane and never looking back, just like she was. She had once promised herself she'd never get entangled in that particular web but she hadn't factored love into the equation.

With a sigh, she started to climb the stairs that led to the main entrance of Police Plaza when she was suddenly pushed away by a man speeding downstairs. She didn't see his face but she turned around when she saw he had dropped a black cap. A strange choice for a warm May morning.

"Hey!" she shouted after him but he didn't hear her.

She shook her head and with a shrug threw the cap into her purse with the intent to give it to the receptionist in case the man came back for it. Then she went inside.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. Together with Don they had just spoken to the Chief ME, Sid Hammerback, and it was clear that someone had tried to search Jayme Kurtz's body. Sid had scared them away but this was still a serious problem. The intruder had disguised himself as a family member called in to identify one of the victims and the guard at the entrance didn't even bother to check with the list. Mac knew the city was making cuts and hiring civilians, who were cheaper, instead of trained cops but this situation was unacceptable and it endangered his lab's integrity. He felt like hitting something.

"Those reductions are threatening the safety of this lab and all its investigations!" Mac seethed as he emerged from the elevator back in the lab, accompanied by Flack. "I'd like to smack the pencil-pushing bureaucrat who's responsible for this."

"That would be me," came Chief Sinclair's voice from the side as the chief of detectives made his way towards them as if he had appeared out of thin air.

"Chief Sinclair," Mac said, skillfully keeping a straight and neutral face when faced with his boss.

"Detectives," Sinclair nodded and looked at Mac with raised eyebrows. "You were saying, Taylor?"

Flack made a shuffling noise with his feet and reached for his walkie-talkie. Then he looked at them, hostility making the air around them electrostatic. The verbal duels between the two were famous in all of the department, and while always thrilled to watch them from the sidelines, Don didn't want to get caught in the crossfire.

"Mac, I've gotta get down to the security guys," Flack said quickly. "Chief," he nodded to Sinclair and disappeared down the corridor.

Sinclair looked after him with a wry expression and a raised eyebrow.

"It's nice to see I still have at least _some_ clout around here," he looked at Mac meaningfully.

The best expert and detective Brigham Sinclair had ever worked with, Mac Taylor never failed to be a thorn in his side, always doing things far more independently than the Chief would have wished and calling him on his ethics and professional conduct. Not to mention his contempt for politics and all PR considerations. Sinclair held a grudging respect for him as a cop and professional but that didn't mean he had to like him. And right now he wasn't giving him that many reason, either.

"Is that why you're here?" Mac asked, irked. "To see if I haven't rebelled yet? Or to simply tell me how to do my job again?"

"Maybe I should," Sinclair said with a frown. "Because apparently you've got problems with security around here."

"The only problems I have are because of the staff cuts _you_'ve authorized."

"We've been through his before, Taylor," he sighed. "My boss gives me my budget and I give you yours. It's the crisis, the city has huge debts and doesn't have as much means for your fancy toys as it used to."

"These _toys_ help get murderers and rapists off the streets of this city," Mac said through clenched teeth and pushed his way into his office.

"That is why I give you money for them," Sinclair enunciated as he went after Mac. "But I have to get it from somewhere."

"Maybe you should be looking at the extremely generous golden parachutes the city brass gets in these days of _crisis _instead of cutting on security?"

Sinclair eyed him with a frown. "These are dangerous waters you're venturing on here, Taylor. I told you before, you'd better leave the politics to me. I have your back there, you have mine here."

"Really?" Mac scoffed. "It's high time you started showing it."

"That's what I'm doing here now," Sinclair said and landed the file he was holding on Mac's desk.

"When I told you to handle the Ballas/Bonasera case personally, I didn't mean _this_ _personally_, Taylor," Sinclair continued as Mac leafed through the file. It contained more pictures of him and Stella from yesterday.

"I've just received these followed by a surprise call from the chief photographer of your little photo shoot."

Mac looked at him in surprise.

"Apparently he wants his paycheck," Sinclair continued, an angry undertone vibrating through his every word. "If not, he threatens to go public and reveal your identity."

"Well, you always wanted the lab to get more publicity," Mac said wryly.

"You think this is a joke, Taylor?"

"Honestly, yes," Mac said, hands on hips. "This was just a private coffee with a friend and has nothing to do with you or this department! I can't see how anyone could blackmail you with that."

"It has everything to do with me and this department!" Sinclair growled. "She's a witness in a case you're investigating! Even the slightest hint of foul play in the press and the whole investigation is…"

"Don't teach me about investigation procedure!" Mac exclaimed. "Procedurally, legally and rationally, I've done _nothing_ wrong! And I refuse to let myself be led by the nose by the press and dictate what I can and cannot do. I think I've worked hard enough and earned enough of your respect for you to know I wouldn't put this department or my lab at any risk!"

"And as a sign of my respect for your professionalism and outstanding line of service, I'm giving you twenty four hours to deal with this yourself," Sinclair said. "Then I'll have to call in a press conference before that cheap blackmailer does. Nobody knows for now but it won't stay this way for long. He's given us thirty six hours so you'd better act fast, Taylor."

**XxXxXxX**

"Hey, what are you up to?" Jessica peeked her head through the door to Stella's office at the dance studio.

It was early morning and the classes didn't start until noon so Jess was quite surprised to find that Stella was already here. Usually it was her who covered the mornings and Stella the afternoons. Stella wouldn't tell Jess what she did in the mornings but somehow she doubted it was jogging or simply sleeping. Either way, it was unusual to find her here this early.

"What do you think?" Stella flashed her a discouraging glance from the papers she was poring over.

"Judging by your enthusiasm, it must be something thrilling," Jess deadpanned as she came inside and plopped herself in a chair opposite her friend.

Stella let out a frustrated sigh and threw the pen she was holding over the papers with slightly too much energy.

"Remind me again why I agreed to do our accounting by myself?"

Jess gave her a cheeky grin.

"As far as I remember, you said it was cheaper and that you wouldn't allow a couple of columns of numbers get the better of you."

"Smack me over the head next time I start getting overly ambitious," Stella scoffed and hid her face in her hands.

Jessica chuckled. "I think it had more to do with the amount of liquor you consumed and some wounded pride…"

Stella groaned. "Remind me again, you're my _friend_, right? Where were _you_ then?"

"Standing beside you with a basin," Jess said wryly and Stella rolled her eyes.

"Anyways, if you have troubles, I bet you can ask Adam, he's a smart kid," Jess offered referring to their client turned IT guy and receptionist.

"He is," Stella agreed. "That's why I can't understand why he wants to work _here_."

"You really have _no_ idea?" Jess asked looking at her meaningfully. "Stell, he's had a crush on you ever since he first stumbled in here with his ex-girlfriend bending his arm into learning to dance."

Stella scoffed.

"I have to say," Jessica teased. "I thought you could learn an elephant how to dance but Adam proved me wrong."

"My one and only failure," Stella chuckled. "Though you have to admit, any elephant has more sense of rhythm and grace than Adam."

"You think that's why he wants part of his payment in private dancing lessons?" she quirked an eyebrow at her friend.

Stella shook her head and turned her gaze back to the accounting books, which didn't want to disappear however much she willed them to.

Jessica looked at her searchingly for a moment. Something was up with her friend. She was smiling like a fool the whole time and her gaze kept unfocusing. Jess hadn't seen her like that – so happy – in a long time.

"Stell, you didn't come here because you suddenly felt an overpowering urge to deal with our yearly financial statement," she said pointedly. "What are you really doing here so early?"

Stella gave her a long, scrutinizing gaze as if she was weighing something in her mind.

"Stell, you're starting to scare me," Jess chuckled, then became serious. "You know you can tell me anything."

Stella continued to look at her silently.

"Don't tell me you've finally killed that pesky, clingy little snot that comes to your Thursday classes," she said straightening up in her chair with an excited expression on her face. "Because if you did, I'll be really mad cause you've beat me to it."

That did elicit a slight chuckle from her.

"No, though now that you mention it..." she said with a grin. Then her face became serious and she sighed. "I couldn't sleep. Too many…thoughts spinning in my head. So I got up at six, wandered god knows how long through Manhattan and ended up here…with our accounting," she ended with a small shrug.

Jessica didn't buy it. She knew her friend and was sure there was more to it. Something had moved her really deeply, she could see it in her eyes. In fact, she had already seen it when she saw her at the crime scene.

"Wow, that is a story to tell your grandchildren," Jess said snarkily. "Now tell me what's really bothering you. Is it the murders?"

"Yes and no," she laced her fingers together, a gesture that told Jess she was nervous. "I mean, it was awful…I thought I was going out of that alley in a plastic bag myself…and all those memories…and Steve…"

"He deserved what he got," Jess said vindictively, steel audible in her voice at Stella's mention of him.

"I know. And I'm not sorry for him," Stella said with a thin-lipped expression. "I'm sorry for Jayme, though. He seemed a nice guy."

"He was. But don't worry, the cops will sort this all out," she tried reassuringly but that didn't seem to help. She noticed a slight blush creeping over Stella's face at her mention of the police.

"I knew it!" Jess exclaimed with a look of triumph on her face. "It's that detective I saw you talking to at the crime scene, right? I saw how he looked at you."

"What?" Stella exclaimed trying to sound indignant though in truth she was surprised at how easy her friend deciphered her.

"Did he call you?"

Stella sighed deciding it was no use to keep this a secret.

"I called him," she admitted. "And we went for a coffee and a walk in the Central Park."

"That was…really brave, Stell," Jessica said with amazement. "And totally unlike you. Men usually beg _you_ to as much as _look_ their way…and you don't," she enunciated. "You haven't dated for over a year, you keep to yourself, shut everyone out…"

"Can you blame me?" she cut her off, slightly irked.

"Of course not, Stell," Jess put her hand over her friend's and lightly squeezed it. "But that's why I'm so surprised. I mean, you're not the kind of person who goes out on an emotional limb. Ever. Especially for any _man_. That guy has to be really special."

"He is," she said simply. "There's something about him…I don't know, he just seems…to be like me," she shook her head. "Scarred. Damaged. I feel that he can understand me like no man I've ever met. And I feel I can trust him."

"And you know all that after one coffee date?" Jess asked with a skeptically raised eyebrow. She was happy to see her friend this animated and apparently infatuated. She hadn't been like that for a long time. But she also didn't want to see her best friend getting hurt by some random guy she had just met.

"I know how this sounds, Jess," Stella said, her features creasing into a frown. "But he's really different."

"Well, he'd better be or he'll get a taste of my new kick-boxing skills."

"Did someone mention kick-boxing?" came an excited voice from the door.

They both turned to see Adam walk in.

"I love kick-boxing," he added.

"You train kick-boxing?" Stella asked incredulously measuring him up and down. He could barely walk without stumbling and Stella knew what he was capable of on the dance-floor. A cow on roller skates had more grace than he. And that was when he really tried.

"I…umm…not exactly," he stuttered. "Unless you count in several hundred hours on Nintendo," he added hopefully.

"I bet the next thug that goes for your wallet will be really impressed," Jess teased.

Stella chuckled lightly but decided to put Adam out of his misery as he was starting to turn purple already.

"What did you want, Adam?"

"Actually, Stell, there's a man to see you."

She frowned. "What man?"

"Looks really stern and intimidating. I mean like a Marine or SWAT or something," Adam said with admiration in his voice. "Trains kick-boxing for sure," he muttered. "Oh, and he said he's from the Crime Lab."

Stella exchanged glances with Jessica, who stood up.

"I'll bring him in," she offered with a mischievous glance and Stella knew fully well she wanted to check him out for herself. She shook her head as both Jess and Adam left, wondering what this was about. Not that she wasn't suddenly getting the oh-so-high-school butterflies in her stomach.

**XxXxXxX **

Mac looked around the studio waiting for the quirky receptionist to come back with Stella. Had he not been so furious, he would have been amazed at how an interior can reflect a person's character and individuality. For this place was entirely Stella Bonasera. It was elegantly furnished, brightly lit with the light coming through the large windows and had a serene ambience to it. There were plush sofas in the waiting space opposite the reception desk and next to it there was a door he expected led to the exercise space. The walls were painted emerald green and there was lots of plants and exotic adornments decorating the whole space. Mac wondered if they were travelling souvenirs or just imports bought on the local flee market. They sure looked authentic and strangely 'in place'. Mac, to the contrary, felt completely out of place. He sighed, finally losing his patience.

Just as he was about to make his way to where he supposed the office was himself, the brunette he had seen with Stella at the crime scene came to stand in the corridor.

"I'm Jessica Angell, Stella's friend and partner," she introduced herself eyeing him closely.

"Is she in? I'm detective Taylor and I need to talk to her right now," he said curtly, perhaps too much so, but he was in no mood for niceties right now.

She seemed to be slightly taken aback but she nodded her head. "Second door to the right," she instructed him in a dry tone.

Mac nodded and followed her instructions. Soon he was opening the door to another brightly-lit and cozy space, this time much smaller but hosting Stella. Upon noticing him, she stood up and gave him a bright smile. As he looked at her, he knew that whatever place had her inside, was all the better for it. For a moment he stopped dead in his tracks and had to remind himself why he was here and that he was furious with her.

"Detective, hi," she said standing up.

"You've concealed information from me, miss Bonasera," he said straight off the bat.

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were engaged to Ballas and that you had a violent history?"

Anger and shock shot through her face.

"That's not exactly the first thing I share with people," she said through clenched teeth. "Besides, it was a long time ago. We parted ways two years ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Apart from when you stood over his dead body, a gun that shot him lying nearby with your fingerprints on it!"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that why you're here? To accuse me of murder?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you pulled the trigger, would it?"

He could see he had hit a soft spot.

"You can't really believe that I killed Steve! That's ridiculous!"

"It doesn't matter _what_ I believe," he shook his head. "The evidence is clear. Or rather the lack of it – there is no indication that there ever was another person in that alley with you and Ballas," he said with finality. "And you had the motive to kill him and your fingerprints are on the murder weapon!"

"Because I fought for my life with him! Not for the first time!" she spat, the realization that he was clearly taking her as his prime suspect sinking in. "Of course my fingerprints are on the gun, I knocked it out of his hand!"

"And you mean to tell me that suddenly, out of nowhere, some mystery guy appeared, took the gun, shot Ballas and ran away not leaving even a strand of trace behind," he pushed an angry hand through his hair. "Just how naïve do you think I am?"

"Mac, I know how this looks but…" she sighed gathering her thoughts. Then she looked back at him. "You know my history with Steve. After shooting Jayme he knew that I was the only witness of what he had done so he tried to kill me, too! And then that man appeared."

He looked at her, an unconvinced frown on his face.

"That's what happened! You've got to trust me, Mac."

"How?" he asked, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment. "How do you imagine that I could trust you after what I've learned about you today? You've withheld information and you've misled me!"

"Misled you? How?"

Mac threw the paper with the fateful picture on her desk. She looked at it with a frown, then her eyes widened in realization.

"The paparazzo who took this picture is now threatening my boss to go public with this and reveal it was me with you if he doesn't get a 'reward'!" Mac said, barely able to contain his anger any more. "In light of the fact that you're suspect number one since this morning, it would jeopardize the department, destroy my lab's integrity and seriously hinder the investigation! All the evidence that I've collected would be compromised! But you studied criminology, you knew perfectly well what you were doing, didn't you?" he ended spitefully.

"Mac, that's not how…"

He didn't let her put in a word.

"What's your share?" he asked angrily. "How long have you planned this? Or did it just come to your mind when you saw me at the crime scene and decided I was the perfect target to use and get yourself a nice little paycheck from the NYPD? You lured me to that park…"

Stella had had enough.

"Stop it!" she shouted and slapped him.

The silence that followed was in such contrast with the shouting that it rang in their ears. They stood motionlessly opposite each other, both of them breathing heavily and staring at the other with shock and incredulity.

"That man, the paparazzo, has been stalking me for the last six months! His name is Ron Haziel and had you actually done your job and _checked_ the facts," she said, her eyes flashing furious sparks. "You'd have found that he has a restraining order against me and I won a lawsuit against him for harassment!"

He looked at her in amazement.

"But you were so quick to jump to conclusions based on some circumstantial evidence and so inclined to think the worst about me straight away that you didn't even bother to check this, did you?"

"I…"

"I'm not finished, _detective_," she raised her voice in a warning tone, her eyes glinting murder. "Do you really think the reason I invited you to coffee was to _blackmail_ you?" she asked incredulously. "Just because I am a dancer and entertainer, it doesn't mean that I go after men to extort money from them like some cheap...!" her breath caught in her throat as she once again realized the insinuation his accusations had held. "Do you really think so low about me…or about yourself?" she finished calmly with a shake of her head, a note of sadness vibrating in her voice.

"As I've said, it doesn't matter what I think," he said stiffly, not allowing her sound reasoning to get to him in his blind rage.

"It does to me!"

He shot her an angry look. How dare she still play that game with him? How dare she pretend to actually care? He made for the door.

"Don't leave the city," he snapped over his shoulder before he left.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac was so angry that he almost didn't notice the man lurking behind a dumpster on the opposite side of the street. What drew his attention was a photo flash. Realization dawning on him, he frowned and made his way towards the man. When he was about ten feet away, the man started to run.

"NYPD! Freeze!"

The man didn't freeze. He continued to run and he might have actually had a slim chance of getting away but unfortunately for him, Mac's usual good speed was now further fuelled by his rage.

In his wild run, the man overturned a couple of garbage cans but Mac jumped over them without losing a breath and continued after him, closing the distance between them with every step. Then he turned a corner and Mac saw where he was heading. A scooter was parked in the mouth of the alley. If he got on, he'd get away. Mac's pace quickened and he got him just as he was about to mount the bike. They tumbled to the ground and the man managed to find himself on top of Mac. Something clattered beside them and Mac could hear a muffled 'No!'. It was as if the man had gotten a shot of adrenaline. He began to struggle so hard that he managed to somehow wriggle himself out of Mac's iron grip. But instead of running away, he went for the discarded item. He was just picking up his camera, when Mac got him, pushing him up against the wall, the camera flying from his hands with a loud clatter.

"What part of 'freeze' don't you understand, Mr. Haziel?" Mac said through clenched teeth as he shoved him roughly up against the wall.

**XxXxXxX**

"Miss Bonasera, is this the man who has been stalking you?" Flack asked leading Stella into the interrogation room.

She had been amazed to have two visits from the police in one day and when she saw detective Flack, she was sure he was there to arrest her. To her amazement, he said he needed her for an ID.

And now Stella found herself looking at Ron Haziel, the man who had made her life living hell in the last couple of months. And now the police finally had him in custody and she could finally sleep at peace in the night. She thought she could guess who had made the arrest. She turned her gaze towards the two-way mirror.

If he hadn't known it was impossible, Mac would have sworn Stella's gaze pierced straight through the glass and landed on him as he watched the ID from the observation room. This feeling was further exacerbated when he noticed the shift in her expression – disbelief and tenderness at the same time. But it lasted only a flash and he could have been easily mistaken. She quickly turned her eyes back towards the paparazzo, her face returning to its usual unreadable expression.

"Yes, it's him, detective," she said with finality.

"Come on, Stella, I'm no stalker..." Haziel started.

"...but an honest citizen. Yeah, yeah, we know," Don cut him off snarkily. Then he turned to Stella. "Thanks, miss Bonasera, and sorry for the trouble. You're free to go."

"My pleasure," she replied with a small smile and went out.

In the silence of the watching room, Mac nodded trying to convince himself he was satisfied with how it all went down. He had finally gotten it right and hopefully made some amends. Though he doubted Stella would ever want to see him again, at least now he proved to her he wasn't such a complete jerk. Though he doubted she viewed it this way. He had offended her and falsely accused her of murder, blackmail and deception. He _was_ a jerk. He shook his head in a self-deprecating manner and was about to go out when the door on the other side of the room opened.

"Don, I think that's all we..." he began only to stop mid-sentence when he saw it wasn't Don. He was still with Haziel in the interview room.

Stella closed the door behind her and made a tentative step towards him.

"If you want to slap me again, go ahead," he said with a frown. "I deserve it."

"How you've found Haziel, I have no idea," she dismissed his self-deprecating tone and shook her head with a small smile tugging at her lips.

"You don't want to know," he said wryly.

"So, he's talking?"

"Yes," Mac said lowering his head. How could he ever apologize to her? "He decided to give up all his photos after we've persuaded him blackmailing the chief of detectives isn't exactly the brightest thing to do," he said with a half-smile. "And in the photos he gave us, there are some from the night of the murder. He was stalking you on that day and confirmed there was a fourth person in that alley. You're cleared of all suspicion."

"I guess I owe him a thank-you in the end, huh?" she asked wryly.

"_I_ owe _you_ a big apology, miss Bonasera," Mac said quietly, not daring to look her in the eye. "The way I behaved this morning..."

"You mean allowing your actual emotions to show for once?" she challenged.

This made him look up at her. He shook his head.

"That was unprofessional and..."

"You were angry," she interrupted. "And I can't imagine what it all must have looked like from your perspective...the coffee, the photos, then learning about my past with Steve. It was a lot to take in, even for a hard-ass detective," she softly teased.

He looked up at her. Was she really letting him off the hook that easily? He didn't deserve it. Her.

"It's just that..." he paused in search of the right words. "I don't usually do this sorts of things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Go out after a day's acquaintance, confide about my past...But with you, it was so easy and natural. Like I've done it a hundred times."

She looked at him hard. She was trying really hard not to show him that it was the same for her and how much him admitting to it meant to her. How much it meant what he did for her after she had indeed concealed some vital facts from him, inadvertently endangered his job, which he obviously valued above anything else in his life, and to top it all, slapped him. She knew she was as much to blame as he was for what happened in the morning. He had every right to be angry and disappointed and never speak to her again. Yet he was able to put that all aside, including his pride, and get to the truth even though it would have been so much easier to just leave it be and leave her to fend for herself from behind bars.

"So you obviously thought that I had to have some ulterior motive?" she shook her head. "That it was all pretend and that I couldn't simply be attracted to you?"

Mac's head snapped up. Did she just say she was…

She chuckled seeing the change in his expression. It was the first time this day that he saw her face lighten up. And it was instantly as if the whole room was brighter.

"How did you get so high in this city with such low self-esteem, detective?"

It was his turn to chuckle but he became serious when he heard her speak again.

"I wanted to thank you, detective," she said levelly, though her eyes were glistening somewhat.

"For what?" he asked incredulously as he watched her make another step in his direction.

"For clearing my name," she shrugged and her mouth curled slightly upward in a half-smile. "You had no reason to believe that I was telling you the truth. I've concealed information from you and it would have been easiest to simply put me behind bars straight away and be done with it. But you didn't," she finished pointedly and shortened the distance between them by another step.

"That's my job," Mac said though he felt his face turning redder with each step closer to him she took. "It's my duty to follow all leads."

"What you did went beyond your job or duty, detective," she enunciated. "You believed me and gave me a chance though you had no reason to," she said quietly as she came to stand before him. She looked up into his face, that look of disbelief and tenderness back in her face as her eyes locked with his. "And that's more than anyone has done for me in a long time. So, thank you."

With that she slightly leaned in and his senses became immediately numbed by the sweet scent of her perfume. Then all his senses came to an overload as her lips grazed his cheek in a butterfly of a kiss. It lasted less than a second but he felt a rush of warmth spread through his body in an overpowering wave that left him speechless.

She pulled back but didn't step away, her eyes locked onto his again. Before he knew it, his right hand wandered upwards and his right thumb rested gently on her lush lips. He slowly guided it along her upper lip, tracing its perfect shape and marveling at its velvety softness and the small smile it curled into under his touch. He felt the air around them sizzle with electricity.

Stella looked in fascination at his tender gesture and the intensity and desire that shone in his eyes. He tried so hard to be a cool scientist, a rigid and disciplined professional, but he couldn't stop the deep emotion beneath all that stoicism from seeping through from time to time. And every time that happened, she couldn't help but fall just a little bit more for him.

But then there was movement on the other side of the mirror as Flack led Haziel away and Mac almost jumped away from her, shutters back over his face and eyes.

He cleared his throat. "It was the least I could do after the way I acted," he said stiffly. "Once again, I'm sorry for that, miss Bonasera."

"I think after a slap on the cheek, you're entitled to call me Stella, detective," she said wryly.

He looked at her with an amazed glance. She smiled at him and with a nod of her head, left. Mac stood there for a long while, looking at the spot where she had just stood but not really seeing anything other than her face so close to his.

**XxXxXxX**

Mac rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling fatigue weigh him down and the toll of this day finally starting to get the best of him. Even in this job days such as this were rare – the investigation had taken two sharp turns within twelve hours, they found a suspect only to clear her of all charges and found a witness who turned out to rise more questions than answers.

Haziel's photos were shady and there was no way of getting the face of the shooter from it. And he couldn't describe him apart from '_medium built, about 5'8"'_', which was characteristic of about half the men walking the streets of New York. As far as Ballas' murder was concerned, they were back to square one. And then there was the morning break-in. Not only did they find nothing but Mac got the feeling that Kurtz's murder wasn't such a dunker as they had assumed in the beginning. He had ordered Danny and Lindsay to go over the evidence again while he would be going with Flack to visit Kurtz's partner at their company tomorrow.

But that was tomorrow. Right now his eyes, spine and head screamed for a break and for once he had to agree with them. He donned his suit jacket and coat and left. He allowed his feet to think for him, deciding he could just as well walk and clear his mind after this rollercoaster of a day. Unsurprisingly, his thoughts quickly settled on Stella. Ever since he met her, they seemed to be doing that whenever he drifted off from work even for a while. From the anger and disappointment of the morning to the tenderness and disbelief of the afternoon, she held an unprecedented rule over his mind and heart. No woman had done that in a long time. It made him scared to death but also strangely elated. And what if she had been the murderer? What if the paparazzo wasn't as greedy and hadn't decided to try his luck and get more photos of Stella at the studio? What if he hadn't caught him? What if... he shivered realizing that he was ready to bend a lot of rules for Stella, even though he wouldn't admit to that on pain of death and torture. And even if it came to the worst-case scenario, he would do anything to protect her and prove she was innocent. The strength of his conviction and feelings for her frightened and angered him. No one should be able to hold such power over him. No one.

His step became quicker and more purposeful and soon he found himself at her studio again. The light was on and his heart skipped a beat when he saw her inside, all alone again. This time, he did go in.

Stella was turned with her side to him, one of her long legs stretched out and leaned against the bar that ran along the mirrored walls of the studio. Upon hearing the door open, she turned to see who it was. Seeing Mac, she straightened up.

"Why do you seek me out?" he asked without preamble.

She frowned. "Hello to you, too, detective," she said, slightly taken aback by his unexpected question and harsh tone. "And I don't _seek you out_. You came here."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"You must know," he insisted. "Because I don't. And usually I am the man with all the answers. But ever since you've appeared in my life, I can't seem to find any. Only more questions."

"And that scares you," she stated and he looked at her in amazement. "Because your feelings are something you can't rationally explain."

"I..."

"But sometimes there's simply _nothing_ to explain, detective," she enunciated. "Sometimes emotions take over and all you can do is let them. Release what's inside, not bottle it up. Because sooner or later, they will come back to haunt you."

"Is that why you dance?"

She smiled. His perspicacity was indeed amazing. And as much as he claimed to be a man of reason and tried to shut his heart out, she could see it beating and very much alive and present in everything he did.

She went to the CD player and placed a new CD in it.

Mac watched entranced as she slowly made her way back to him, the first notes of music he thought he recognized coming from the loudspeakers.

Then she was standing mere inches from him, gently taking one of his hands into her and moving their clasped hands up slowly.

"Don't say anything," she instructed just as he was opening his mouth.

She suddenly let go of his hand and slowly, deliberately started circling him. "Don't think."

She was now behind him and he felt the whiff of her breath just next to his ear. "Let the music think for you. Let your emotions take over, Mac," she whispered and he could feel a small shiver travel all the way from his ear, down his nape and spine.

Then she was before him again and he couldn't do anything but comply with her words. He was lost in her tantalizing voice, her sensuous body hypnotized him. She allowed her left hand to glide over his shoulder, down his shoulder-blade, to finally rest gently on his lower back, her touch leaving a scalding path on his skin. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would jump out of his chest any second now.

She looked him in the eye then and he followed her silent instruction. He took her left hand in his while his right wandered gingerly to the small of her back. They stood like that for a moment, Stella obviously waiting for something. He didn't really care. He found that he could stand like with her in his arms till kingdom come.

Then the intro ended and Mac recognized the melody as tango. He had danced it, more than once in fact, because Claire loved it and she had even made him attend a dancing course before the yearly Marine Corps Birthday Ball. He wasn't ready, however, for what Stella had in store for him.

He looked at her with a small frown that was however quickly erased when she slowly, purposefully stepped with one long leg to the back, straightening it and leaning her body back and giving him an enticing view on her long, olive-tinged neck and her perfect neckline down to her cleavage. Then she quickly straightened up, her face inches from him. He followed suit, moving his opposite leg to the front so that her outstretched leg lay supported on his and they were almost touching once again. Then they moved as one in the opposite direction, this time him stepping back and she following after him to appear inches before him in one graceful, dynamic movement. The light scent of her perfume enveloped him, enticing his senses immediately, and he wanted to hold her closer but she moved a step to the side leading their still clasped hands outwards. Mac let his feet take over and moved forward, Stella keeping pace while taking her steps backwards. Then she allowed herself to land in his arms once again only to jump away as a sudden crescendo in the music boomed through the studio. She lost herself in a pivot that left her dress flapping around her revealing more of her long, olive legs. Before he had time to relish the sight before him, she stepped back to him again, this time covering the whole distance and putting her body flat against his. She slowly bent one of her legs in the knee and sensuously slid it up along the length of his thigh. He slowly moved his hand over her leg until she stopped him mid-way and detached herself from him in a pirouette. Mac could see a fire like he had never seen before blaze behind her eyes and he was transfixed by its strength and vigour. Then he took her into his arms again.

He had no idea how long their dancing seduction and struggle with each other lasted. All he knew was that with her every step, every movement and every blazing glance he was falling for her more. Every inch of her now slightly sweaty, voluptuous body was etched in his memory and heart and would forever remain there. The passion and life he witnessed in her as she danced were the purest and most beautiful things he had ever seen.

And then the music stopped and she stopped with it, effectively bringing them both to a halt. Their breathing labored with the exertion and passion, their bodies sweaty and radiating heat, they stood rooted to the spot drowning in each other's gaze.

"Do you understand now?" came her whispered voice and he felt like she wanted to pierce straight through him with her intense, fiery gaze in an attempt to make him understand.

And he did.

He drew closer, not allowing her to move away this time and pulling her tightly to his chest. Surprisingly, she didn't oppose but held onto his waist, her eyes never leaving his.

"I do," he said and leaned forward, brushing his lips against her forehead.

Stella felt the familiar sparks explode in a thrilling wave underneath her skin as his lips wandered across her forehead down the side of her face to her temple, where he placed another sensuous kiss. She closed her eyes in utter pleasure and allowed her other senses to take over. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips continued their journey further down to hover over her cheek where the ear lobe met with the delicate skin of her neck. She shivered feeling the gentle pressure of his mouth there and the world started to spin. Then his butterfly of a kiss was over and she felt his lips move away from their silent exploration only to hover above her slightly open mouth.

When the kiss she had been craving for didn't come, she opened her eyes only to be met with a gaze so full of emotion that she felt her heart skip a beat. His face was but an inch from hers as he continued to look at her as if he was trying to memorize every little detail of her face. He leaned further in and she could almost brush his lips with hers. Almost. As much as she wanted this, she was leaving him a choice. This was his decision to make. He had more to lose. As she focused her gaze on him, she could a see a struggle waging behind his eyes.

Then as suddenly as he had taken her into his arms, he let her go and moved away.

"I...should go," he said uneasily with a wisp of self-deprecation in his voice.

She silently nodded, still reeling from the amount of emotion he had just poured over her only to shut it out like he was closing the door after a visit of an unwanted guest.

"Good night," he said curtly and was out the door.

Stella looked after him a long time, watching his strong frame that she had just leaned against disappear in the gloom of the night. No matter how hard he tried to prove otherwise, she now knew for sure there was a gentle and feeling soul underneath that stoic and composed exterior. One that could feel utter passion and dance a fiery tango. Finally, one who was so inhibited and insecure that he was able to douse that passion like you doused a flame with water. In those mere minutes she was able to witness more faces of Mac Taylor than she thought anyone else saw in a year.

Standing there and looking at the dark spot where he had disappeared, she suddenly knew with astounding clarity that she was falling for that complicated man. She also knew it was not possible. Not when she had betrayed his trust. She could sense the struggle within him and the reserve he still seemed to hold. Remembering the passion she had just seen in his eyes, she also remembered the cold steel she had seen in them just this morning when he came here so angry. She knew without a doubt that when it came to passion, nothing compared to his passion for law and justice. He would never put anything before that. She admired that about him. Now she had to prove to him that he could trust her not to betray his trust again or hurt him. And she would do all it took.

tbc.

* * *

**A/N: So, how did you like this? How was the tango;-)? I'm slightly nervous b/c the flow of this chap might seem slightly different but it was necessary plot-wise...I hope it was ok, though! Feel free to comment and review, I truly appreciate your thoughts and opinions!**


	4. First Day Of The Rest of Your Life

**Step By Step**

**Disclaimer:**I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

**A/N:**** So, am finally back with this story! Am really sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience, now the updates will be much more frequent! **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4 – First Day Of The Rest of Your Life**

It had been a warm, rainy night in New York and even after the rain stopped a layer of clouds moved slow and heavy over the city, obscuring the morning sun that tried to penetrate their gloomy cocoon and filling the air with the fresh scent of the East River. Stella Bonasera breathed a lungful of the brisk morning air as she made her way through the sleepy streets. She herself was far from sleepy, though. On the contrary, she didn't remember a time when she had last felt so elated and alive.

After leaving the studio, Stella didn't feel like she could sleep any time tonight so she went straight for Jess's where they had spent the rest of the night talking. She didn't reveal the details but she could tell from the look on her friend's face what Jess was thinking. That she had fallen for the secretive CSI detective. Had she?

Her attention turned to a man who was groggily stumbling in the opposite direction dragged by his Labrador eager to have its morning walk. The man looked at her with sleepy blue eyes, which instantly made the face of another man swim in front of her eyes. She sighed.

It wasn't as simple as Jess thought. This wasn't just some random man you meet at the bar. Mac Taylor was the real thing. So real that it was frightening. She had never felt so strong about any man before and the intensity of her feelings scared her.

She knew next to nothing about his life and his past but she felt like she knew _him_. Not the cop, not the scientist and not the man of reason. Those were all masks designed to protect his heart. For some unfathomable reason, though, yesterday he came to her, let all those masks fall from his face and allowed her to see _him_. The real Mac Taylor, without the thick layers of stoicism and reserve concealing his loving and compassionate heart.

She knew why he did it, though – he had been hurt before and this was the only way he knew how to protect himself and the people around him. Oh, he knew loss and heartache. She could tell because she had had enough of that in her own life. Still, when he did let his heart out of his chest like he had yesterday…it took her breath away.

Completely engrossed in thought, Stella didn't even notice that she had found herself at her door. As she fumbled with the keys to find the right one she noticed scrapes on the doorjamb and around the door lock. Feeling her heart rate skyrocket, she pushed the door.

The duffel bag she was carrying fell to the ground.

**XxXxXxX**

"Morning," Lindsay said walking into the lab and donning her lab coat.

Danny looked up from the microscope he was working on and Lindsay had to smile at him. He had his glasses shoved up on his forehead and that goofy smile that she had come to recognize as his trade mark.

"Hi, Montana. Sleep well?" he asked mischievously.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I would have slept better if your daughter hadn't woken up every half an hour."

"Unrelenting character. Perseverance. Strength of spirit. Definitely my daughter," Danny flashed her a wide innocent grin.

"You forgot selfishness and narcissism," Lindsay quipped. "I hope she doesn't get that after you."

"Ouch," he frowned playfully. "Someone really did get up the wrong side of the bed today."

Lindsay flashed him an annoyed look as she walked up to him putting latex gloves on with a rubberized snap. "What have you got?"

"Mac told me to go through all the trace evidence we've got from the Ballas/Kurtz crime scene again," he sighed looking at more than a couple of dozen various samples laid out on the whole lab table. "And there's lots," he huffed.

"Lots and nothing conclusive," Lindsay frowned. "Think we'll find something new?"

"Mac seems to think so," Danny shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "And I hope we will because otherwise we're at a dead end."

"Maybe not completely," Sheldon announced with a satisfied smile as he went into the room with that spring in his gait that always signaled he had something good. "Hey, Linds."

"Hey," she smiled at him.

"Please tell me you've got something and we don't have to go through all the samples again," Danny said in a whiney tone.

Sheldon flashed him a mysterious smile as he went up to the computer. "I've got something all right. But you won't like it," he said calling up the results he had gotten from Sid onto the screen. "Kurtz's tox screen just came up. He was poisoned."

Both Danny and Lindsay looked at him in surprise.

"The bullet did him in but he was dead anyway," Hawkes explained. "The tox showed traces of thallium sulfate in his kidneys and liver."

"Someone fed him rat poison?" Lindsay asked incredulously.

"Nice," Danny huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "There goes our slum dunk. I thought we had at least Kurtz's murder sorted out. Ballas shoots him in rage and boom. Now it turns out we've got two unsolved murders and possibly three killers, two of them still on the loose?"

Sheldon looked at him with a sympathetic sigh.

"Want me to help you with those samples?" he asked with resignation.

**XxXxXxX **

Mac Taylor looked with interest around the modern and very neat office he was led into with Flack in tow. His eyes swept over the probably very uncomfortable furniture, the mahogany desk and a state-of-the-art computer perched in one of the corners of the room. Then his attention turned to the owner of the office, one Tony Boyd, the business partner and best friend of Jayme Kurtz. When they came in, Mac noticed the instant stiff pose he took on and the abrupt way in which he stood up to greet them. Too abrupt.

His job took him to many different places and what Mac had learned in all his years as a CSI was that a person's space, be it working or leaving, tended to tell more about its inhabitant that the person themselves. Or at least it didn't lie. People did. Notoriously. He had a feeling that Tony Boyd was no different.

Mac noticed his slightly blood shot eyes and swollen nose and he didn't have to wait long. Before he had the time to utter a word, Boyd made a desperate lunge for a box of tissues standing on the corner of his desk right before he sneezed.

"Allergy?" Mac asked with a small smile.

"Just a pesky bout of cold," Boyd waved a hand. "You're the police?"

"I'm detective Flack and this is detective Taylor from the Crime Lab, Mr. Boyd," Don said.

"And we'd like to ask you a couple of questions concerning your partner, Mr. Kurtz."

"I'm sorry, detectives, but I thought my lawyer told you that I would come to the precinct myself," Boyd cut him off. "Do you have any idea what the death of a partner does to a company?" he buttoned up his suit jacket and looked at them nonchalantly. "It means I don't have time for this," he said pointedly.

"You've got a lot more time than Jayme Kurtz does," Flack shot back irritably.

"Look," he sighed and leaned against his desk crossing his arms over his chest. "I want to help you but this company was Jayme's child and the apple of his eye. We're going through a rough patch right now and he would have wanted me to take care of it."

"Now that you're the only owner," Flack said pleasantly.

Tony looked at him in indignation.

"Are you serious?" he furrowed his eyebrows at him. "Jayme was my _friend_. We grew up together, for God's sake."

"Did Jayme have any enemies?" Mac stepped in. "Anyone who would do this?"

"Not that I know of," Tony shrugged. "Like all businessmen, we can't make everyone happy so there may have been an unsatisfied customer or an angry employee…"

"Have you had such cases recently?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Did Mr. Kurtz know a man by the name of Steve Ballas?"

"Ballas? The dancer, you mean?"

"Yes."

"He was our customer a couple of weeks back," Tony nodded. "Ordered some kind of a program…something to do with a project he was starting. I don't know the details, I'm afraid."

"An interesting way of managing a company," Flack said snidely. With such weasely, cold bastards he just couldn't help himself. "Some kind of program…something to do…I can see you're on top of things here, Mr. Boyd."

Mac looked at Flack warningly.

"Listen, detective," Boyd eyed him angrily. "This is the way most IT companies handle their business. Our clients value their privacy and we respect that. The only people who know the details of the order are the programmers themselves."

"And who was that in Mr. Ballas' case?"

"Jayme Kurtz," Mac sighed knowingly.

"Yes," Boyd admitted.

"What about his other projects? What was he working on most recently?"

Boyd blanched visibly but before he could answer there was a knock on the door and a petite blonde peered inside.

"Tony, sorry to interrupt but the meeting's already started," she piped up.

"I'll be right there, Tina," he said and looked impatiently at the two detectives.

"Mr. Boyd?" Flack pressed.

"Look, to be honest, I don't know what he was working on," he replied, annoyance rising in his voice. "He's been pretty secretive these last couple of months. Wouldn't tell me what he was up to."

"Sounds like you were real BFFs," Don deadpanned.

"Listen, Jayme was like that," Boyd pushed a frustrated hand through his coppery hair. "He didn't like to share his success," he admitted unwillingly. "I figure he was working on some private thing for himself. Again. He had everything encrypted really well."

"And you would know how he encrypted his private programs because he told you, right?" Flack said snidely.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Listen, we were friends but we were also the two best in our field. We had a friendly private rivalry going on. So of course I tried to crack his encryption codes and find out what he was working on. He did the same," he shrugged.

"Did you succeed?"

Tony lowered his head.

"No," he conceded after a while. "It was too good."

"And maybe you were jealous and this 'friendly rivalry' turned less friendly?" Mac asked with a pleasant smile.

"No," Boyd looked at him furiously. "And I don't like where you're going with this, detective."

"Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample to exclude you from the suspect list, Mr. Boyd?"

"Absolutely not," he shook his head. "And unless you have any proof that I am involved, present it now or leave," he motioned at the door. "I have a company to manage and a dead friend to mourn," and with that he left.

They both looked after him, Don raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"This guy really needs to work on his priorities," he said. "Still, he's not stupid. We don't have enough for a warrant and he'll never give us a sample willingly."

"We don't need it," Mac said with a mysterious smile and went towards Boyd's desk.

"Mac?" Don asked furrowing his eyebrows.

Mac didn't respond, his attention focused on Boyd's desk. He drew a latex glove from his suit jacket's inside pocket. Don lightly shook his head wondering how was it that Mac always seemed to have a pair stuffed away somewhere on him. Regular people carried chewing gum or cigarettes. Mac Taylor carried surgical gloves and a penlight.

His interest piqued, though, he looked on as Mac approached Boyd's desk and took something from it into his gloved hand. He had that look on his face that told Don he was on to something and it was something good. Flack cleared his throat to remind Mac, who seemed to be completely engrossed in his finding, that he was still there.

Mac looked back at him with a satisfied smile.

"Nasal secretions," he informed him in a matter-of-fact tone, showing him the soiled tissue Boyd had left behind. "As good as a DNA sample."

"And this is one of the moments that remind me why I love _my_ job," Don said snidely with a look of disgust on his face as he eyed the tissue.

Mac chuckled lightly and then Flack's phone went off.

"Sorry," he told Mac and flipped it open.

Mac carefully bagged the tissue and when he was done, Don had ended the conversation and was looking at him with a frown.

"We just got ourselves a detour, Mac," he said pocketing his phone. "Someone broke into Stella Bonasera's apartment."

**XxXxXxX**

The sight that met them upon arriving at Stella's was that of utter havoc. There was broken furniture lying around, books and clothes scattered on every surface and lots of items so damaged that they were hard to identify at all. Flack stood on the threshold and whistled through his teeth looking at the extent of the damage but Mac scarcely spared the room a glance, his sole focus on Stella, who was standing in the corner of the living room talking to a uni. He was at her side in two swift strides.

"I'll take this over," he told the officer and watched him step away before he turned to Stella, giving her a quick once over to see if she was ok.

"Are you hurt?" he asked with concern, his hand automatically curling protectively around her arm.

"No, I'm perfectly fine," she managed a weak smile, taking comfort in his simple but tender gesture. "Just angry at whoever did this."

"We'll find them," he vouched.

Stella stepped one step closer to him and leaned in, her lips almost brushing the tender skin near his ear.

"Thank you," she said softly, touched by the worry and tenderness in his eyes. "I know you will."

"Miss Bonasera?" came Flack's voice from behind and Mac quickly moved away from her.

"Were you here when this happened?" Don asked incredulously.

"If I were, there would be the body of the bastard lying on the floor," she said angrily. "Sorry," she said apologetically. "No. I spent the night at a friend's."

"I know it sounds absurd right now but have you maybe noticed anything missing?"

"You mean jewelry or money?" she asked knowingly. "Everything's here."

"Which means this wasn't a robbery," Mac concluded. "The perps were looking for something specific and judging by the amount of damage done, they didn't find it. Do you have any idea what it could be, miss Bonasera?"

"Not a clue," she shook her head.

"Anything will help, miss Bonasera," Flack prodded.

"I'm a dancer, detective," she crossed her hands over her chest. "I don't keep any secret documents or weapons of mass destruction stashed under the bed if that's what you mean."

Mac gave her a wry smile. "That's good to know."

Stella shot him a sideways glance and Flack smirked.

"Do you have any idea who could do something like this?" Don continued his questioning. "Any angry ex-boyfriends, dissatisfied clients?"

"No," she shook her head. "Nothing like this."

Flack nodded. "Well, that's it for now. Thank you for your time," he turned to Mac. "I'll start my guys on the canvas, maybe one of the neighbours saw or heard something," and with that he was off.

Mac turned back to Stella. "Do you have anywhere you can stay?"

"I…" she looked around the demolished apartment before focusing on him again. "My friend, Jessica. I've already called her, she's on her way."

"Ok," he nodded. "In the mean time, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath," he took her by the hand and led her out on the corridor, where he gently sat her on one of the steps. He saw she was trying hard not to show it but he knew that inside she was more than a little shaken. He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

Stella looked at him, slightly amazed at his tender gesture. She wasn't prepared for their next meeting to come so soon and she didn't know what to expect. He had left so abruptly yesterday. She didn't really know where she stood with him but she knew one thing – he cared about her. That much was obvious. And for now, it was more than enough.

"Thanks," she finally said wrapping his coat tighter around her, the gentle scent of his cologne enveloping her senses immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment to revel in the sensation and gather her frantic thoughts.

"You sure you're okay, Stella?" his worried voice brought her back.

"Sure," she said slightly flustered. "Just…it's a lot to take in. First the murder and now this," she sighed. "Do you think they're connected?"

"No way to tell before we process your apartment," he said. "Which reminds me, I have to get back in there. Will you be fine here?"

"Sure," she nodded mustering a brave face. "Go and do your '_sciency'_ thing," she said wryly.

He chuckled lightly and went inside.

She leaned out so that she could see into the apartment. She watched him give out orders and work the scene with growing interest. His every move was accurate and intentional, every step carefully weighed and every glance caught something meaningful. Nothing escaped his attention as he systematically made his way through the debris. He was calm and collected and exuded an air of confidence and strength that commanded respect verging on admiration in his subordinates. He was truly fascinating to watch. Then as if sensing her gaze, he looked up and their eyes met.

His gaze seemed to caress her almost palpably before he collected himself and gave her a small smile. Stella felt her heart skip a beat. Oh, she was in trouble.

**XxXxXxX**

"Danny, you coming?" Sheldon asked popping his head into the microscope lab room, where Danny had been working since morning.

"No," Danny said in an irritated tone. "I'm too busy sifting through the umpteenth sample of dirt."

"You know, it's not actually dirt," Sheldon deadpanned. Danny could be such a child sometimes and he couldn't help himself from teasing him at such times. "It's a mixture of quartz, calcium carbonate and various hydrocarbons."

"Geek," Danny said with a crooked smile.

Sheldon chuckled. "If you don't want to sift through this till the end of your career, you'd better not keep Mac waiting."

Danny sighed and took off his coat. Due to the developments of the day and the fact that they were practically at a dead end, Mac called in a brain-storming session in the conference room. When Danny got there, Lindsay, Sheldon and Flack were already seated at the table and Mac was poring over one of the huge LCD screens they had installed on one of the walls.

"So you're telling me the man _died twice_?" Flack was just saying with incredulity. "Aren't you supposed to _live_ twice?"

"He didn't die twice," Sheldon corrected. "He was killed twice."

"Now that you put it like this, it makes perfect sense," Don deadpanned and both Danny and Lindsay chuckled.

Mac cracked a half-smile but then he called Kurtz's tox results on the big screen and looked at it in thought propping his hands on his hips.

"Thallium sulfate…" he said in thought as he turned back to his team. "That actually gives us a good starting point. It used to be implemented as a rat poison in the seventies but was banned from commercial use due to high toxicity. There are only a couple of specialized companies in NY that are allowed to use it nowadays. Lindsay, check with all of them if there hasn't been any break-ins or robberies lately."

Lindsay nodded.

"And what about that break-in to miss Bonasera's apartment, Mac?" Sheldon asked. "You think it has something to do with the murders?"

Mac sighed. "The timing seems to be more than a coincidence so I wouldn't rule it out," he said in thought. "But there's no hard evidence. Which is why I want you and Danny on the samples and trace I've brought in."

"You've got it," Sheldon nodded.

"Danny, anything new on the samples from the scene?"

"Nope," Danny shook his head. "But I still have a couple left."

"I want you to cross-reference them with the DNA I got from Tony Boyd today," Mac said. "Especially the cigarette butt sample."

"Will do," Danny nodded.

"Okay, that's it for now."

**XxXxXxX**

After the meeting Mac told the team they were free to go as it was almost ten in the evening but he himself stayed late to catch up on paperwork as he usually did. When he finally did leave, a fierce summer storm almost turned him back again. By the time he got to the silent haven of his apartment, the storm was over, though. Little did he know that another storm was about to start.

The buzz of his phone was the harbinger. He looked at the caller ID and frowned.

"Taylor."

"Mac?" came Stella's shaken voice and he knew something was very wrong.

**XxXxXxX**

The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door was simply breath-taking. Stella was standing in a small puddle of water, her drenched hair and clothes clinging to her body and her mascara slightly smudged under her eyes. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

"Didn't have an umbrella with me," she shrugged with a small apologetic smile.

He realized he was standing there just staring at her like an idiot so he cleared his throat in embarrassment.

"Come in," he motioned her inside. "You simply can't stay away from trouble," he added with a grin twitching at his mouth when he managed to compose himself.

"Ever since I met you, trouble seems to find _me_," she retorted going in and leaving wet footprints on the floor.

She stood in the middle of his hall, taking in his apartment with curiosity. It was just as she had imagined it would be. Very neat, organized, and almost like a 'show home'. It looked like something out of an IKEA catalogue rather than an actual living space, where normal humans function on a daily basis. It wasn't exactly what you would call homey or cozy but it had that comforting ambience about it that actually made her feel safe. She looked back at the master of the house, who had just locked the door and turned back towards her.

"Mac, I'm so sorry to intrude on you like this…" she began uneasily. She knew he was a private man and imagined how much he valued the silent sanctuary of his home. And here she was, a stranger and a witness in his case, getting unceremoniously into that serene, organized world with her wet feet.

"It's no problem," he said levelly. "Come and sit down," he motioned at the couch.

"Oh, no," she said, still feeling very awkward and uneasy about imposing on his private space like that. But she had no one to turn to with this and she knew she could trust him. "I'll leave wet stains on your furniture and besides, I won't be long. I really don't want to interrupt and impose…"

"You're not imposing," he said trying to assuage her worries. He saw she was uneasy with all this but he also noticed the fear lurking in her eyes. He knew her enough to know that she was tough and wouldn't allow anything trivial get to her like this. It had to be something really serious. "And I think my furniture can handle you," he added with a half-smile and was rewarded with her finally lighting up a little.

"We'll see about that," she said in a slightly mischievous tone as she allowed him to lead her to the couch. He sat on the armchair to her right.

"You sounded pretty rattled on the phone," he began. "Everything all right?"

"I know how this sounds but I think somebody's following me," she said.

"What makes you think that?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"I'm hearing footsteps, seeing shadows and glimpses…," she looked him in the eye wondering if he was already thinking she was deranged and paranoid. "I know this seems crazy but I really feel like I'm being watched."

He looked at her seriously.

"When did this start?"

"After the murders? The morning after I was going to the studio and thought I saw a man going after me but whenever I turned around there was no one there. And today's break-in only seems to confirm that," she shivered.

"And what happened just now?"

"You know I stay long hours at the studio exercising," she chanced a small glance at him wondering if he thought about their yesterday's 'lesson'. She thought she saw his face grow a shade redder and she had her answer. "It was the same today. Immediately after I locked the studio, I heard footsteps behind me. They wouldn't go away. I guess I panicked and started to run but they were still after me. Finally I found a coffee shop that was still open and got in," she said. Her voice seemed strong and her expression composed but Mac sensed how agitated she really was, even though she was trying hard not to show it. "And I saw the shadow stop before the door and I thought he was going to get in after me...but then someone else passed by and he moved away from the door and left. That was when I called you. I'm really sorry for disturbing you in the middle of the night like that but I didn't have anyone else to turn to. And I know I can trust you," she looked him in the eye sheepishly.

"Don't worry about it," he gave her a small smile. "You did the right thing."

"I thought if an ex-Marine detective can't help me, then no one can," she said playfully.

He chuckled. Then he saw the slight crease on her forehead. "There's something else, isn't it?"

She looked up at him with amazement. They had only known each other a couple of days, how could he read her expressions so easily?

"Yes," she sighed and started fumbling through her purse. She produced a small item from it and pushed it over the table to Mac. "I found this only today in my purse. It's not mine."

Mac looked thoughtfully at the pen-drive lying on his coffee table, reflecting the lamp light with its silvery polished frame.

"And you have no idea how it got there or when?"

"Well, I just bought this purse before the party so…"

"You had it with you the night of the party?"

She looked at him, realization dawning on her.

"You think someone at the party planted it in my purse?"

"Or after you left," he said with a knowing look. "There's one way to find out," he said standing up and taking the pen drive into his hand.

He looked down at her and saw that she was beginning to shiver ever more so in her wet clothes.

"Stella, why don't you…um…get yourself dried off in the bathroom," he felt his nervousness on the rise again at the very notion of her in his bathroom. The images of her voluptuous body pressed against his in the passionate tango they had shared only yesterday began to swim in front of his eyes and he felt heat rise within him. "There are clean towels near the shower and I'll get you some clothes and a hot tea. You look really cold."

"I'm fine, thanks," she said dismissively. Her statement might have carried more clout, though, if her teeth weren't chattering so badly. _Damn_, she thought to herself.

"You don't look fine," he arched an eyebrow at her. "Your skin is turning blue," he observed.

"It's just something it does from time to time," she tried, flashing him a grin.

"Yeah, when you're freezing to death."

She saw he wasn't going to let this go. She really didn't want to cause him any more trouble than necessary but she was really cold.

"All right, doctor Taylor," she finally conceded and he nodded.

"The bathroom's the first door to the left," he answered her unspoken question and went to the kitchen to start on the tea. Unfortunately there wasn't much else he could offer her. Unless she liked old pizza and beer. _Not exactly quality food_, he frowned and closed the fridge. He would really have to go shopping one of those days.

Steaming tea ready, he went to his bedroom in search of something for her to wear. Passing by the bathroom he heard the shower on and gulped, feeling the dreadful heat rise within him again.

After several minutes he went back with a frustrated expression and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Um, Stella?"

"Yes?" he heard the shower being turned off.

"I'm afraid I don't have any women clothes…"

"I'd have to start being jealous if you did," she said in a flirty tone and he could picture that playful expression on her face. "Do you have any spare shirts, Mac?"

"Yes," he said amazed. "But…"

"Then just leave one under the door," she instructed.

"Right," he said awkwardly and did as she asked.

Then he wandered towards his computer and plugged the pen-drive in. His eyebrows rose slightly in surprise and then they gradually inched downward to crease into a deep frown as he looked through the contents. So engrossed was he in his task that he didn't notice that he wasn't alone any more.

Dried and feeling tons better after a hot shower, Stella was standing in the corridor watching him with growing fascination. The serious and focused look on his handsome face gave him an additional depth and appeal that she found irresistible.

Then he seemed to sense her presence and his gaze locked with hers. For a second his eyes ran over her almost palpably and his face turned a deeper shade of red.

"It's too big," she said with a big smile as she sauntered over to him dressed only in his shirt. "But it will do. I put my clothes in the drier, they should be ready in an hour."

Mac didn't really register anything she was saying to him. All he could do was stare as the Greek goddess made her way towards him, his shirt covering only her uppermost thighs and giving him a spectacular view of her long, tanned legs.

"You like?" she asked playfully seeing the flabbergasted look on his face.

He cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead trying to gain some time that would allow him to get a grip.

"You…certainly look much better in it than I do," he finally managed.

"That's your point of view," she said, quirking a smile at him. "I think you look gorgeous in your shirts," she said quietly not looking at him.

That raised his eyebrows but she quickly changed the topic. "So, what's on that pen drive?" she asked motioning at the computer.

That managed to cool his overheated brain a little and he was finally able to tear his eyes away from her and look back at the screen.

"Well, I think I know who the drive belonged to."

"Belong-ed?"

"Yeah. The owner's dead," he said seriously. "Jayme Kurtz."

Stella frowned and went up to him to look at the screen. She stood very close and as she leaned forward a little to get a better look, he felt heat rise within him again and he had to move away slightly. The smell of her freshly showered body and hair so close was driving him insane and he couldn't think straight.

"FBI?" she exclaimed reading the screen. "Are you serious?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "For all I know, it could be a ruse. That's all that the drive will show me, the rest is encrypted and knowing the Feds, it's pretty good," Mac sighed. "I'll get this to my IT guys at the lab first thing in the morning."

"So Jayme was FBI?"

Stella moved away to sit on the edge of his couch, her legs straightened out before her and a thoughtful look on her face. Mac couldn't help his eyes from hooking onto her voluptuous body a while longer before replying.

"Not necessarily," he shook his head. "My guess would be that he was cooperating with them. He was quite an accomplished IT expert," he sighed. "But I don't want to make assumptions. I'll make some calls tomorrow and hopefully my people will be able to get something from that drive."

Stella nodded absent-mindedly.

"But at least we know why you're being followed," he said. "And probably why your apartment was searched. Someone wants this drive really bad."

That got her attention.

"Stella, I don't mean to be too forward or anything…," he started uneasily. "But I'd prefer if you stayed the night here."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Whoever was following you seems to be getting desperate," Mac continued in a matter-of-fact tone though the blush that crept up on his face betrayed him. "Jayme Kurtz was probably killed because of what's on this pen drive and I don't want you to be next. I'll assign protection for you tomorrow but till then, I wouldn't want you to wander alone or be in any place they can connect you to. Your friend Jess' place especially. You could endanger not only yourself but her as well," he added pointedly seeing she was about to protest.

"That is the most convoluted pick-up scheme I've ever heard," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

"I…It's not…" he stuttered.

She noted with mischievous glee that the stoic and distant detective was indeed a flesh-and-blood man. She could clearly see she did have an effect on him but he tried to cover it up and stay strictly professional. She figured his job demanded that focused and empirical attitude from him but she could also see there was more to it. He hid behind it, treating it like a shield.

"Relax, Mac," she chuckled. "I'm just teasing you. I understand the situation and I think you're right. I do appreciate what you're doing for me. You have no reasons to trust me, let alone help me," she came up to him and placed a hand on his cheek.

"So thank you," she said in a heart-felt manner and delicately grazed her lips against his rough cheek, very close to the corner of his mouth.

He looked at her in amazement, heat spreading through his body once again.

"I trust you," he said quietly, his eyes glued to hers.

"This is the best thing you could say to me right now, Mac," she said with a big smile as she reluctantly pulled away and went back to sit on the sofa. "But I'm really better off staying at a hotel."

He eyed her skeptically.

"I snore, Mac," she chuckled. "And I really don't want to intrude more than I already am. As soon as my clothes are dry, I'll get a taxi to the nearest hotel."

He looked at her still unconvinced but by the decided set of her mouth and the steely look in her eyes he knew better than to argue. She was an independent and self-reliant woman and he respected that. He also understood that she had a hard time trusting other people, let alone leaning on them for help. Hence, he imagined it must have been hard for her to come to him and ask for help as it was so he didn't want to push it. Still, to his amazement, he found he really wanted her to stay. He usually felt very uncomfortable having anyone in his private space, especially a woman, but with Stella it was so different. So natural. He couldn't explain it in any rational way and it only caused additional turmoil in his already troubled head.

Stella observed the play of emotions on his face with fascination for a while. He kept an exceptionally good poker face but she was starting to recognize the smallest and finest details that gave him away. The slight crease to his brow when he was worried, the almost imperceptible quirk of the left corner of his mouth when he was amused or the slight pout of his lips when he was frustrated. Still, his current expression was a total mystery.

She took a sip of the tea he had prepared for her and looked at the mug with a quirked eyebrow.

"You're sure this is tea?"

He chuckled lightly as she eyed the mug warily.

"It's a special warm-up Chicagoan recipe," he explained.

"It's really good," she said taking another sip. "Rum? Sugar?"

"Yes," he said with a smile. "And a secret ingredient I'm not at liberty to divulge."

"National security?" she deadpanned.

"Even worse. My mother."

She chuckled. This relaxed, fun side of him was even more enticing.

"So, you're from Chicago?"

"Yes."

"You're far from home, Mac. What brought you to NY?"

The smile on his face faded and he sighed. "The job."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only the job?"

His head snapped up to look at her with amazement. It was uncanny how she could see into his eyes and soul and pick up on everything he tried to conceal or pass over in silence.

"My wife was from NY," he said tightly.

By the look of his face, she knew now for sure what she had only been suspecting. His wife was dead and it was something very tragic. Any death was tragic but she could sense that the circumstances here were truly dramatic and had changed him forever. They had left a deep, unhealed wound. She could see how much pain he carried inside.

"What was her name?" she asked softly.

He looked at her, his posture stiff and his expression taut. For a moment Stella thought she would get the cold shoulder for prying but then his expression relaxed a bit and he looked her in the eye searchingly as if ascertaining that he could trust her. She saw that while he was strong on the surface, it wasn't all the way through.

Looking at the woman before him, Mac was once again reminded of the night he saw her for the first time. He felt that silent understanding again that could only exist between two tormented people who had been to hell and back. They both knew what loneliness and loss meant. Because of that, he had hidden his heart away and he saw she had done the same. Still, there was a difference between them – she managed to see colours in life and make the best of it and her strong presence was making him see what he was without all these years. He took a deep breath wondering if he could revoke the ghosts of the past without breaking apart in front of her. He had kept it all bottled inside and hidden his heart away in a cold, lonely place for so long. Maybe too long.

"Claire," he finally said, the syllables rolling off his tongue with a soft tremour. He hadn't spoken her name aloud in years. He felt a surprising relief wash over him. It hadn't killed him. He could say her name aloud and he didn't fall apart.

"A beautiful name."

"She…" he started carefully, still feeling like he was treading on extremely thin ice. "She was beautiful."

It didn't hurt like he thought it would. There was a numb throbbing at the back of his mind that would never go away but it wasn't as breath-takingly acute and sharp as it used to be.

"She died on 9/11," he continued in that level tone that just barely contained the emotion underneath. He looked at her. "It was the most cruel and unjust death…and I was powerless to do anything about it."

Stella could see how much it cost him to even speak out his wife's name, let alone talk about her death, but she sensed he _wanted_ to say it aloud, wanted to face himself and his pain. And he wanted to do it in front of her. The suppressed anguish in his eyes and the numb remoteness that seemed to envelop him like a cocoon were almost too much to take. In that moment she knew she would do anything in her power to make them go away. She would do anything to see him have happiness and joy back in his life. In that moment she knew she loved him.

Mac looked at her pained and sympathetic expression and he knew she understood. He noticed a single tear sliding down her cheek and reached out to wipe it away. She took his hand in hers and looked him in the eye.

There was no need for words. They remained frozen like that in a comfortable silence that penetrated their thick armours and steel shields to reach their hearts and souls and bring hope.

Then a shiver shook her and Mac was brought back to reality. He stood up.

"You're still cold," he said. "I'll bring you a blanket."

"Mac, really no need," she said with a slight sniffle, glad for the change of the topic. "My clothes will be dry soon and I'll be going."

"Not up for discussion," he said with a half-smile.

And with that he went to his bedroom. The search took longer than expected and when he finally re-emerged from the depths of his closet into the living room, the sight that met his eyes made him smile.

Stella was curled on his sofa and true enough, he could hear her soft snoring. He silently came up to her and covered her sleeping form with the blanket. He smiled and moved a strand of her wild, curly hair away from her face. He allowed himself a moment to stare at her serene expression and felt a sense of peace and tenderness he hadn't felt in a long time.

Then he turned off the light and went to his own bed.

For the first time in many weeks, he slept soundly.

tbc.

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**A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! Do let me know - your reviews always make my day:) I tried to do my best but today's news of Melina kind of left me out of steam…**

**A/N2: Also, I wanted you to know that despite the news I will continue with this story and my other one, 'Stalemate'. i think I owe it to you, myself and SMacked:) I can only hope you'll still want to read them!**


	5. In And Out Of Step

**Stalemate**

**Summary: **Stella Bonasera is a professional dancer. Mac Taylor is the lead CSI in a grisly murder she's involved in. When they meet sparks will fly, but is Stella a victim or a suspect? As the investigation progresses, they both find themselves on a dangerous path that will change their lives forever.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)

_**Dedicated to Darcie91! Hold on and be well, girl:)

* * *

**_

**Chapter 5 – In And Out Of Step**

Rays of morning light were streaming in through the window into the bedroom bathing his face in their warm embrace. As Mac slowly opened his eyes and squinted into the light, he realized it was morning and he had slept through the whole night. No nightmares, no waking up in sweat in the dead of the night with a hammering heart, no specters from the past lurking in the shadows. Instead, he was well-slept and rested. It's been so long that it actually felt strange.

He lazily turned onto his back and took a while to gaze at the ceiling above as yesterday's events started to re-emerge from the confines of his memory, vast yet still creaky from sleep. He sighed wondering if it wasn't all just a dream. The Greek goddess arriving on his doorstep seeking his help and then sauntering through his apartment in nothing but his shirt on almost seemed too surreal to be true.

What seemed even more surreal was the way he felt around her. The connection they seemed to share from the very first time he set his eyes on her that fateful evening in her studio was as unexpected as it was exhilarating. He barely remembered a time when any woman could stir up such a flurry of emotions in him. He didn't think he had such a range of emotions _in him_ anymore. Ever since Claire's death he felt dead in places she had once occupied. It was like a part of him he had reserved for the woman he loved perished together with her. His heart turned into a cold, empty place he no longer recognized and didn't want to venture into for fear of what he would find there. Or what he wouldn't because it wasn't there anymore. He felt numb and withdrawn. In fact, he hadn't felt anything in such a long time that he would sometimes slam his fist into the wall just to make sure that he was still able to feel at all.

This time his walls were safe, though. As if with a wave of a magic wand, he felt good and very much alive. As he lay in his bed that morning, for the first time in years he ventured inside, carefully probing and prodding the places that Claire's death had shattered into pieces. Or so he thought. He did find a void there but it wasn't the dark, uninviting and angry emptiness he feared it had become. True, it was maimed and scarred over like a burn but the remains were healed. They were rough to the touch and taut from lack of use but at the same time strong and waiting to be filled again.

Could it really be? Was he finally coming to terms with Claire's death? He remembered the strange sense of relief and lightness he had felt when he spoke to Stella about her. The pain didn't go away but Stella's presence was like a soothing balm that lessened the acute agony to an almost bearable throbbing. It was like he had been keeping his breath all those years and with Stella there, he could finally take a deep breath and remember what it was like to live in the colourful present with the living for a change not in the black-and-white past with ghosts. If love was red, then he had been colour blind for the last eight years. Now he felt like he was starting to see the hues back again and it was the most exhilarating and exciting sensation he had ever felt.

And in the middle of that brave new world was Stella Bonasera, who seemed like a brilliant gem sparkling with a million colours in the light, all of which he wanted to see and experience. He only feared she would be disappointed by the grayish hues his life was painted in. He knew Stella saw through his walls and into the scattered remains Claire's death had left. Grief-stricken and alone, he had created a silent mausoleum for her in his heart where he sent himself on a life-long banishment, only occasionally resurfacing to the real world of feelings and emotions. Claire's Taj Mahal in his heart was the most private and sacred thing he had left of her. Stella was the first person that he allowed a glimpse of it and strangely, he found he was all right with her peering inside.

He felt a wave of heat come over him and roll over his body as he remembered the undisguised tenderness and care he saw in her eyes yesterday. It wasn't pity, it was that deep understanding and compassion that could only be offered by someone who knew the bitter taste of loss and the dead sound of loneliness echoing through your heart.

This time, however, his best companions of ten years, Loneliness and Depression, were nowhere to be seen and for once Mac was glad. For the first time in years he had something else to fall back on. If she would have him, that is. With these pleasantly confusing thoughts still on his mind, he got out of the bed, still marveling at how well-slept and at peace with himself he felt.

The strong aroma of freshly brewed coffee pervaded his senses as soon as he opened his bedroom door. He smiled to himself realizing he would have a couple of more moments with Stella, hopefully over breakfast, and knew whatever happened today, his day was set.

Still slightly dazed and sleepy, he allowed his legs to lead him through his morning routine and went for the bathroom. Little did he know that today he wouldn't need a shower or coffee to wake him up at all. All it took was the sight that met his eyes as he pushed on the door handle and opened the door. He was welcomed by the indelibly beautiful image of Stella emerging out of the dense steam from the shower like Botticelli's Venus arising from the sea foam on the shores of Cyprus. The similarity in beauty was striking. Thank God she had a towel wrapped around her or he doubted he would be able to behave in a strictly professional and gentlemanly manner. He had a really hard time even now. He tried to back out noiselessly but Stella's gaze caught and held him hostage before he managed to move.

"Um, I…" he managed to mumble. "I was just leaving." Bushing, he beat a hasty retreat his former Marine commanders would have been proud of. His heart was still beating wildly around his ribcage and he felt heat rising within him.

_Coffee_, he thought frantically and rushed to the kitchen.

**XxXxXxX**

As Stella wandered into the kitchen a quarter of an hour later, fully dressed and positively glowing, Mac was still trying to bring his heart rate to normal over coffee. Her appearance did nothing good to his state and he had to stare yet again.

The morning light painted her silhouette and face in warm tones, highlighting the rich olive tint of her skin and bringing out the golden sparks in her eyes. Her freshly washed hair bounced around her shoulders and temples in a storm of dark blonde locks that reflected the light and created an incandescent halo around her face. She gave him the megawatt smile he had come to associate with her and he felt defenseless as her undivided attention focused on him.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry for earlier, I didn't expect you to be up so early." She smiled apologetically.

Was she really apologizing for the best wake-up he had had in years?

"Um, no problem." He felt himself blushing again as the image of her in the shower promptly emerged to the forefront of his brain. It was an image he wouldn't get rid of any time soon. Not that he wanted to. "I guess I'm not used to having someone else around so I just went in without thinking. Sorry."

"Apologize only if you really mean it," she said with a mischievous smile.

"Then I take it back," he heard himself say before he could think and almost choked on his coffee. "Sorry, that didn't come out like I wanted."

"I think it came out exactly like you wanted," she said with a raised eyebrow.

His shyness and confusion were something new and endearing and she couldn't help herself from eliciting another one of those coy smiles from him. Each day she knew him she had the opportunity to see another side of him and each was more fascinating than the previous one. Yesterday she had been amazed to see him reveal the side he probably guarded most. She could see his curt yet heart-felt confession about his late wife didn't come easy to him yet he spoke to her about Claire anyway. She could see the very fact of mentioning her aloud was a milestone for him, hopefully a new chapter.

He led a lonely and withdrawn life, his work in the centre and almost all the other aspects pushed aside. She understood how this self-imposed banishment from all things emotional would help him cope with his tragedy and infuse some semblance of sanity into his tumultuous life but it came with a price tag. A high one. One she had been paying herself a long time.

Which was why she knew it wasn't worth it. There was so much to him, he had so much to give and yet he had single-handedly taken that away from himself and closed himself off from people in his self-imposed prison. All alone. She didn't know if he was even aware that he was hurting. No man was an island and Mac Taylor was no different. True, there was a remoteness to him that she imagined kept people away, and a reserve that was hard to penetrate but as she looked at him, she realized he wanted to be drawn out of his shell. He just needed the right person to do it. She wanted to be this person, however hard it would prove. In all honesty, there wasn't much she could do to stop it. The forces pulling her to him were stronger than even gravity that normally had her feet rooted firmly to the ground. Now it was more like zero G and she felt powerless to fight it. Even if she got burned, it would be worth it. He was worth it.

"I'm glad to hear you say what's really in your heart and mind for a change," she said softly.

"You make it easy," he said quietly avoiding her eyes.

Her lips turned up in a tender smile. She wanted to call him up on this rare occasion when he seemed to let his heart out of his chest but she also saw how uneasy he felt. While she was dying to get a glimpse into this fascinating man's soul, she didn't want him to be uncomfortable because of her.

"You know what I also make easy?" she asked with a mischievous smile. "Breakfast."

His face molded into a mask of pure surprise mixed with relief. She just had a chance to pick his brain and heart and she didn't. He knew he would have let her, even though it would have been painful for him. As if she knew that, she backed down and turned it all into a joke. Any other woman he had ever met would ruthlessly take any chance she got at drawing out any kind of confession from him.

"Just tell me where do you keep your cutlery and pans and I'll be fine," she said, her eyes catching the light coming in from the window and taking on a cheerful, golden glint.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "Cutlery seems too big a word but the forks and spoons are in there," he motioned at one of the drawers to the right of where she was standing.

"Can I help?" he asked as she swiftly started bustling about the kitchen.

She turned around from the stove and measured him from top to toe with a skeptically raised eyebrow. "You can help by taking your morning shower. You look like you still haven't fully woken up, mister," she added wryly.

Mac flashed her an embarrassed smile. "I do feel like I'm in a dream," he said under his breath, watching her move with grace and purpose around his kitchen, making him breakfast, as if she belonged there.

"We'll see if you feel the same after I burn half of your apartment," she quipped and he felt himself blush. She wasn't supposed to hear that.

Then she turned to reach for milk and glanced at him from out the corner of her eye. Seeing his flabbergasted expression, she laughed out.

The happy, mellifluous sound filled the kitchen and made him look up. It was something so rare and unexpected in his apartment, and life for that matter, that it only intensified the impression that he was still dreaming. He really did need a shower.

**XxXxXxX**

Freshly showered and dressed, Mac wandered back into the kitchen. The delicious smell of something frying invaded his nostrils already in the corridor.

Stella watched him come back and as her eyes swept over him, she had to take a deep breath. He was wearing black suit pants and a blue button-down shirt that made the turquoise sparks in his eyes come out. His freshly washed hair were sticking out in all directions only adding to his boyish charm. And to top it all, he was smiling at her with a look of tenderness mixed with amazement that made her heart skip a beat. If it hadn't been for the smell of breakfast which was starting to burn, she would have just stood like that and stared.

"Pancakes?" he asked incredulously noticing the play of emotions on her face when he came in. At the sound of his voice, she quickly turned away with an unfathomable look in her eyes.

"Yeah," she said taking the frying pan from the stove. "I was hoping for something more filling but your bacon isn't bacon anymore and your eggs have hatched, I think, though into what I preferred not to look."

"I'm not that big on food," he said apologetically. "And when I am, I order in."

"I could tell from the way your fridge door creaked from lack of use when I opened it," she said with a cheeky grin and he had to chuckle.

"Now that we've established your dreadful eating habits-" she continued faking a shiver of dread. "-dig in." She put a plateful of delightfully smelling pancakes in front of him.

He looked at her incredulously, then at the pancakes, then back at her, once again making sure she was real. She just gave him a big smile in return.

"I might not be the best gourmet cook but my pancakes are edible, Mac," she said when met with his amazed stare. "And they're certainly better than that bacon you've got crawling in the fridge."

He smiled. "I'm sure they are, it's just that…" he fell silent, searching for the right words. "You really didn't have to…"

"That's the least I could do," she cut him off. "Besides, I gather it's the first home-cooked warm meal you've had in days so don't argue."

"I won't win this, will I?"

"Do you really want to?" she shot back with one elegant brow raised.

Smiling, he shook his head and conceded. "This is delicious," he said swallowing the first bite.

"Told ya," she grinned at him with satisfaction.

He watched her sit opposite him with a mug of steaming coffee. She gave him a contented smile and took a sip but when he chanced another glance at her, she was looking into the black liquid swirling it absent-mindedly in her mug with an unfathomable look on her face. She tried to hide it but he imagined what she had to be going through right now with her apartment damaged and her life possibly in danger, entangled in what was becoming a spider-web of crime and deception. He put down his fork and knife.

"You know, it won't turn into a margherita however hard you look at it," he said with a wry smile trying to get her mind off the thoughts that were so obviously bringing down her normally radiantly cheerful spirit.

Her train of thoughts broken, her head snapped up and she chuckled.

"I could sure use one right now." She sighed putting her mug down. "Though tequila would be more like it."

"So you're a tequila girl?"

"Guilty," she nodded with a mischievous smile. "Are you?"

"A tequila girl?" he asked trying to keep a straight face. "Not since the last time I went out with my boys. You don't wanna know," he added seeing the sparks of interest in her eyes. "And neither do I."

She chuckled. "Maybe you should try it in a different company," she said after a moment, looking him straight in the eye.

He glanced at her with surprise, wondering if he heard her right. Was this breath-taking woman hinting at wanting to go out for a drink with _him_? He was tempted to pinch himself just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. But she continued to stare at him expectantly and it somehow sobered him up. He was about to open his mouth when his phone went off. He looked at the ID with a frown.

"I'm sorry, it's work," he mumbled standing up. "I've got to take this."

She watched him walk a step away and speak over the phone. She ground her teeth inwardly. He was about to answer her and from the look on his face she doubted it would be a 'no'. She was now beginning to see firsthand that against his job, everything else took a backseat. Still, she couldn't hold it against him – that's all he had until now. That was who he was and part of why she admired him so much.

"Sorry," he said putting his phone down and sitting himself back down. Stella was looking into the window despondently and though she quickly turned back to him with a smile, he knew she wasn't fine. "I've pulled a few strings and a police detail will be assigned to you by noon. You won't have to worry about the stalker. You'll be safe," he added with a feeling of relief.

"Thank you, Mac," she said. "Though I'd rather you put all the available resources into finding the bastards who did all this rather than on shadowing me."

"This has gone too far, Stella." Seeing her unconvinced expression, he added, "If it makes you feel better, do this for my sake, ok? I can't be around to protect you myself because of work and I can't work knowing you're on your own with a killer on the loose and possibly out to get you."

She eyed him biting down on her lower lip.

"Quite a vicious circle, detective," she said teasingly, her independent streak not ready to give up the fight just yet. Still, hearing him word his concern for her in such a straightforward manner did strike a chord. Maybe what she felt for him wasn't entirely one-sided? Though with him and his poker face, it was almost impossible to say.

"Humour me," he said. "And if you're still not convinced, let me just add the alternative is cuffing you and sticking you in lock-up at the precinct."

"Only if you promise to do it yourself," she shot back with a cheeky grin.

"Stella, I'm serious."

"So am I."

He shook his head but she could see his eyes were crinkling with a smile. "You are one stubborn woman, Stella Bonasera," he said trying to sound stern but knew he hadn't succeeded in the least bit. He couldn't help being fascinated with her every trait, even if it was something that made them lock horns. Because in all honesty, he didn't mind. To the contrary, their verbal duels which so often verged on flirting were making him feel alive and wanted. He had known her but a couple of days and he already no longer imagined his life without them. Her?

"I'll take that as a compliment," she retorted. "And what about my apartment, Mac? Are you guys finished with it?"

"We are," he admitted uneasily. "But it's not exactly the safest place for you to be. And you've seen the state it's in."

"Precisely," she nodded her head to make a point. "I've got loads of cleaning up to do and I'd rather start as soon as possible."

"Stella…"

"It's my _home_, Mac," she enunciated. "I'll only feel good and safe when I'm back there," she added in the heat of the moment.

Something flashed behind his eyes and Stella realized she might have inadvertently offended him.

"I…I'm sorry, Mac. It's not that I don't feel good and safe here with you…"

He raised his hand to silence her. "No need to apologize, Stella. I'm well aware you'd rather be at your own place with your own mug of coffee and your chosen company right now…"

"Mac, you _are_ my chosen company. I came to you of my own free will, remember?"

"You came to me to see the police investigator in the murder case you're a witness in, Stella," he said in a tone devoid of emotion. Inside, he was boiling. He felt all he emotion merge into a sharp blade poking at his insides. She as much as said she didn't feel good in his company. As he pondered her words, he realized he could hardly blame her. He wasn't the most entertaining and attractive guy out there and he did wonder why she would choose to spend time with him in the first place. His suspicious mind instantly brought back up the paparazzo debacle. Though he knew she had nothing to do with that and his suspicions that she wanted to use him for money turned out completely groundless, a seed of doubt had been planted in his mind. She might not have wanted to play him for money but maybe she was just this kind of girl, a femme fatale chewing up men just for the pleasure of it? He knew nothing about her. The old demons of insecurity and doubt began gnawing at his newly gained confidence with double force.

"You were right to do so," he continued without inflection. "Because that's what I am to you and I don't expect you to treat me as anything else. Let's face it, I'm just some stranger, a person paid by this city to protect you and solve the crime you've witnessed. Someone you find amusing for a while because he's so different from the people you usually meet. The novelty will soon wear off, the investigation will end, and we'll go our separate ways and never see each other again," he ended with finality. It was less painful to drive her away now and thus be sure his heart and hers as well, remained unharmed. There was the possibility that he was making a huge mistake and thus missing out on something wonderful but he'd rather not put his heart on the line and live like he had before rather than suffer in the future when she would be done with her toy and threw him away like some used rug. Although he didn't really think she would something like that, he couldn't be sure. And for his analytical brain anything less than a 100% certainty was unacceptable.

"Is that so?" she asked through clenched teeth, still reeling from the 180 his mood had done in a matter of seconds. It was like someone had turned the light off. With what he had gone through, she could hardly blame him for being on guard and careful with a person who was still a stranger but he seemed so intent on shielding himself at all costs, so hell-bent on finding even the flimsiest excuse for backing down that she wanted to physically shake him. She saw the steel and conviction in his eyes. He had already made up his mind based on one random sentence spoken in the heat of the moment. He wouldn't even give her a chance. She felt anger flash through her in hot flares.

"I've seen it a thousand times, Stella," he said in a tired tone, tough his eyes begged her to contradict him, to tell him that for once it would be different, that she wanted this to last and that he was more than a temporary distraction.

But she was too angry to see that. She felt hurt and offended. So that's what she was to him? Just another stranger? An anonymous person he would shrug off and outright forget as soon as she was of no interest to the case he was working on? How could he be so blind and unfair? He was so quick to judge her yet again. One unfortunate moment and his mind instantly jumped on the worst he could think up about her. Why couldn't he believe that she chose him willingly because he was the first person in a long time that made her feel alive inside? Why wouldn't he even consider the possibility that she had no ulterior motive, apart from spending more time with the man she was infatuated with? Why did he so easily chalk her off as a manipulative and spiteful vixen out on a mission to make him suffer? Why wouldn't he give her a chance?

The questions rose in her mind like angry daggers, stabbing and prodding at any part of her they could reach. Seeing the set expression on his face, she felt it was no use trying to convince him otherwise.

"I see you've already made up your mind about me, detective," she said acrimoniously. "It's funny how you're so quick to write me off as some shallow, impressionable bimbo with the attention span of a gnat."

"That's not what I…"

"That's exactly what you were thinking," she cut him off. "I should have known what you thought about me when you were so quick to accuse me of playing you for money the other day. I chose to chalk it up to your difficult job and treat it as an unfortunate slip of the tongue spoken in the heat of the moment, which is apparently more than you're willing to do for me. Instead, now you come up with the idea that I'm playing you just for the fun of it. Well, here's a crazy thought for you – how about I'm not playing you at all? How about I like spending time with you and thought I could trust you?" she let out a bitter laugh. "Look how wrong I was, maybe you're right after all, I am impressionable!"

Mac met her blazing gaze and they seemed to remain stuck in the moment, both of them trying to find out what it was that the other one thought and wanted. The elation he felt upon waking up had vanished into thin air replaced by the well-known fear and insecurity that he feared he would never completely overcome. He felt cold and color-blind again, old scars toughening up around his heart and cutting it off from the outside world. From Stella.

Ever since they met, she gently pushed his buttons, making him see and experience things he didn't think he was still able to. She was slowly turning his world upside down and making him venture out of his comfort zone, which made bouts of panic rise within him. It was so much easier to fall back on the doubt and suspicion that always seemed to reside somewhere at the back of his mind. It had always worked before. He knew he hurt himself by shelling in but it was nothing compared to the pain he would go through by putting his battered heart on the line and getting it smashed to pieces again. What he didn't realize until now was that by doing so he didn't only hurt himself but other people as well. He saw he had hurt Stella and it pained him more than any heart-break he tried to shield himself from ever would.

The realization hit him with the force of a speeding Nascar race car. He looked at her, not able to utter a single word. He knew she had misinterpreted his silence.

"Funny how one can be so educated and intelligent and yet so narrow-minded and judgmental," she shook her head in sorrow. "Well, have a good life, detective, if you're even able to." She grabbed her purse and was out the door, the dying clunk of her heels on the wooden floor resounding with dead finality through the corridor and his mind.

He made to go after her but fate wouldn't have it. His phone buzzed and made him stop. _Dammit!_ He was on call this morning. He had to pick up. "What?" he growled into the speaker. "What?" he asked again, this time with incredulity, upon listening to the dispatcher. "I'll be right there," he said with resignation and reached for his coat.

Before hailing a cab, he looked up and down the street with concern and worry gnawing at his stomach. As he expected, Stella was nowhere to be seen. He was a fool and now he could only hope she would allow him to make this right. He had no idea how but he would. He had to. He felt life had thrown him another ball, probably the last one, and even if it was a vicious curve, he'd take it.

**XxXxXxX**

Lindsay Monroe-Messer allowed herself a small frown upon setting her eyes on the crime scene. The mess was incredible and she could already imagine the hours she would spend on collecting, bagging and tagging the debris. Still, somewhere in there was that one piece that would hopefully give them the killer and make all the effort worth it.

It had been very much the same thing in the Bozeman carnage she would have engraved in her memory till the day she died. Tons of broken glass, splinters, shards, the food and drinks the patrons were enjoying and all kinds of debris must have been a nightmare for her Montana colleagues to sort out but they did their job right and it was thanks to them that the man who murdered her friends and was a hair's width of killing her as well, got captured and convicted. Whenever she had doubts or her resolve melted, she would remember the dead faces of her childhood friends and plough on, reminding herself that while she couldn't do anything back then, she could do a lot for the friends and family of the victim, just like the CSIs back home did for her. Justice was served then and she would do everything she could so that it would be the same now.

With new determination, she flipped the strap of her Nikon over her neck and started conscientiously clicking pictures, careful not to step on anything that could help them find the killer of the young man lying sprawled on his back in the middle of the office, completely indifferent to the chaos around him. Lindsay swallowed harder when she moved closer to photo the body itself and saw the look of utter shock and pain the vic's features were frozen into. It didn't matter how many crime scenes she had worked on and how many bodies she saw, it was still hard to keep herself emotionless and strictly business. Mac told his team many times it's easier to work a scene when you thought about the victim as a dead body, not a person. There would come a time to put a name and history to it but the crime scene was no place for it. Here you had to stay focused and keep your cool. With Mac's words ringing in her ears, she went back to work.

Once she got the whole victim photo album, she put the camera down and reached for a pair of tweezers from her kit. Just as she was crouching over the vic and taking a sample of a wooden-like substance she found on his shirt, she heard a shuffle behind her.

"Hi, Mac," she greeted him with a smile. He was in no smiley mood, though – his jaw was set and his eyes stormy. She saw that behind his cool exterior, he was simmering. Who- or whatever got him into such a state must have been really something.

"Hi," he said curtly and almost mimicked Lindsay's frown from before as he took a look around. Then his gaze settled on the immobile body and his brow creased with worry. "I've only interviewed him yesterday," he said looking at the ghastly white face of Tony Boyd. "Who called it in?"

"The morning shift security officer. He was making his usual rounds at five before the building opened and found him like that," Lindsay said with a sigh. "I spoke with the janitor and he saw our vic up and about yesterday at nine. He was the last person to stay in the office."

"Apart from the killer," Mac sighed setting down his kit and putting rubber gloves on. He took in the scene once again. "Someone was very eager to find something. And judging by the mess, they probably didn't. The question is whether it was Tony Boyd or the killer."

"You think the vic thrashed his own office like that?"

"His office?" Mac cracked a minute smile. "Probably not. The thing is this isn't his office. It's down the corridor, I interviewed him with Flack there yesterday. This is the office of Jayme Kurtz."

"The vic from the alley?"

Mac nodded. "Boyd was his business partner."

"So what was he doing in the office of his late partner in the dead of the night? Apart from getting himself shot?"

"Good question," he nodded. "Let's hope Mr. Boyd can give us some answers."

Lindsay looked at him suspiciously, getting the feeling he knew more than he was letting on. But if Mac wasn't sharing what he had, he had a good reason. Usually it meant that it was a working theory he was unsure of and didn't want to mislead the team. He crouched over Boyd's body and his gaze immediately settled on the two red marks on his chest.

"There's gunpowder trace and stippling around the wounds," he said gently lifting the soiled fabric around the wounds to take a better look at the maimed skin underneath. "Close range. Someone wasn't taking any chances," he stated straightening up. "Any luck on the slugs yet?"

Lindsay looked around. "No. And it's going to take lots of luck," she said wryly. It would probably take her the whole day to sort through the debris and there was no guarantee she would find the casings.

"Entry wounds look middle caliber, probably a nine mil," Mac said thoughtfully. "Exactly like the gun that killed Steve Ballas. And the MO is the same as in Stella Bonasera's apartment."

"You think it's the same person?"

"Everything seems to suggest it," Mac said, though Lindsay could sense the reserve in his voice. "But until we find those shells and hopefully some DNA, it's only an educated guess."

"Nice, she sighed. "And I was hoping for an early evening."

**XxXxXxX**

Down at the NYPD Crime Lab, Danny Messer cracked his knuckles with a contented grin as he sat himself down at the newest state-of-the-art computer Mac had ordered. He let his fingers hover above the keyboard before he actually touched the keys, like a piano maestro taking a while to feel the atmosphere and the instrument before his solo recital. A wide smile spread over his lips as he was about to start work on analyzing the samples from Jayme Kurtz's murder he had spent the last day tagging and inserting into their database. It was onerous and time-consuming but now he got to play with their newest equipment. His fingers flew across the keyboard when he heard a muffled chuckle behind him. He turned around to see Sheldon standing on the threshold with his arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

"You are such a geek," he said with a shake of his head and stepped inside.

Danny pouted and turned back to the screen. "How long have you been standing there?" he asked aiming for unconcerned and faking complete focus on the data from the scene on the screen.

"Long enough," Hawkes said innocently.

"Don't you have work to do, doc?" Danny said with a grimace.

Sheldon just shook his head. He donned his lab coat and went over to their ABI genetic analyzer. He was still waiting for the results of the comparative study of Tony Boyd's DNA and the trace they'd found on the scene. It was taking longer than usual because the sample came from nasal secretions and was more degraded so he couldn't use their standard instruments. He had to resort to their DNA sequencer for special tasks, the ABI. Sheldon liked working with it because it was almost flawless, using capillary electrophoresis to analyze DNA by separating even the most degraded fragments according to their sizes as they travelled through a narrow polymer-filled tube, thus rendering 99.9% accurate results in even the smallest and most damaged samples. The instrument was handy and efficient yet involved lots of work and almost no fun so Danny was only too eager to weasel out of it and play with the more fun stuff, like their newest computer software. He was such a child sometimes. And he desperately wanted to impress Mac.

They worked together in silence for another half an hour. The ABI was almost done and Sheldon was just waiting for the final results.

"How's it going out there in the mediaeval part of the lab?" Danny asked with an evil grin.

Sheldon rolled his eyes. "Just because the ABI has the processing speed of 2.34 nanoparticles per second and your computer is 1.5 particle faster, doesn't mean it's mediaeval."

"You know this by heart but I'm the geek?" Danny asked incredulously and Sheldon just grinned.

As if spurred by Danny's barb, the ABI began spewing out processed data. Hawkes frowned.

"Danny, I've got something," he said in the other CSI's direction.

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not gonna like it?"

"Oh, you will," Sheldon said copying the results to a tab and bringing it over for Danny to see.

"The DNA from the tissue matches the one we found on the cigarette butt at the scene," Danny said. "So Boyd was the shooter?" he looked at Hawkes incredulously.

"You don't seem convinced."

"No, it's just that I've been analyzing the footprints we took from the scene," he pulled up the photos he was working on for Sheldon to take a look at. "And here, next to the butt, there are no discernible traces of anyone standing there. It was wet and dirty there and all the other participants left traces so it stands to reason he would, too. I was already leaning towards Mac's theory that the butt was just a piece of unimportant garbage that lay there for months."

"But it isn't. Which means we're taking a trip to Mr. Boyd's apartment to get his boots and have a chat with him," Sheldon said with a half-smile.

"That won't be possible," came a voice from the entrance and Mac walked in. "I've just been to his murder scene."

Sheldon and Danny looked at each other. "But we've just found…" they both started at the same time.

Danny threw up his hands in the air. "Go ahead, doc," he said grumpily. "You've stolen my thunder with your ABI anyway."

**XxXxXxX**

If Jessica Angell had had any knowledge of what she was stepping into by going to that party, she would have never gone. Not only was his best friend's life in danger and her apartment turned upside down but now the police were calling her all the way down town for some silly paperwork details. She could have sworn it was detective Flack, the snarky one with whom she had sparred at the party, taking his revenge for her attitude.

She had just entered the precinct when she heard screams coming from the opposite direction and nearing her. She didn't frequent police stations but she was pretty much sure they weren't supposed to be this loud and rowdy. The shouting became louder, this time accompanied by footsteps. After that everything happened so fast, she barely had a chance to think.

A surly man in cuffs jumped from around the corner, skidding but not falling down. He was going straight at her and the look on his face told her he wasn't exactly the gentlemanly type who would allow her to move away before he bulldozed her. With not enough time to jump away, she went with her instincts.

A knee to the groin and a fist to the solar plexus later, the thug was lying at her feet groaning in pain while half of the precinct stood staring at the petite woman who had disabled a two hundred pound giant in a matter of seconds.

"I've already done your job for you," she said snarkily, brushing her hair out of her face. "Am I supposed to cuff him as well or will you stop staring and help me?"

"You heard the lady," came a snarky voice from the crowd and one detective Don Flack emerged holding a pair of cuffs. He promptly cuffed the guy and handed him over to a uniform while Flack approached Jessica.

"Talk David and Goliath," he said with an appreciative whistle.

She raised an eyebrow at him, still irate. From the look on his face, she was now sure he was the one to drag her here in the first place. "Quite the literate comparison coming from a guy on a state salary."

"Quite the kung fu coming from a 5'2" ballerina."

She rolled her eyes and asked impatiently, "Why am I here, detective?"

"Maybe not here," he said and motioned for her to follow him. He offered her a seat at his desk and as they were both seated, gave her an inquiring look. "I wanted to talk to you about Tony Boyd, miss Angell."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "What about Tony?"

"So you know him?"

"Yes," she confirmed suspiciously. "What about him?"

"He was murdered yesterday night," Don drove the wedge in and watched intently for her reaction.

Jessica swallowed hard. First Jayme, now Tony? What was going on here?

"Miss Angell?" Flack's soft voice brought her back to the present.

"I…I'm sorry," she mumbled returning his gaze. "What happened?"

"He was shot twice in the chest. Didn't stand a chance," he informed her and saw shock and flash through her face. It was all sincere, he could sense it. "Do you need a moment?" he asked gently.

"No, no, I'm fine." She spoke in a shaky tone. "So what do you want to know from me? Have you spoken to his wife, Tina?"

"Yes, we have," Flack said uneasily. "And that is part of the reason why you're here. When did you last see Mr. Boyd?"

"Last Wednesday," she said guardedly.

Flack nodded and consulted his notes. "He had two-hour time slots every Wednesday evening in his schedule with your name and he had you on his speed-dial."

Jess narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you asking me if I had an affair with him?"

"Should I be?"

She huffed impatiently. "Do you dance, detective?" she answered him with a question.

"If you mean moving to music, then yeah, sure, I think I'm not that bad," he shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"I figured you to be the 'moving to the music' type," she said snarkily and Flack felt he should feel offended though he didn't exactly know what was wrong with 'moving to the music'. "You see, so was Tony Boyd before he started coming to my dancing school. He wanted to do something special for his wife for their fifth wedding anniversary. You see, she used to be a pro once. So he decided he would learn to dance for her. He had his lessons each Wednesday at eight."

"And why did he have his dancing instructor, _you_, on speed dial?" Don still found the circumstances suspicious. "I doubt that would make a very good anniversary present if his wife found out he had such an attractive, unmarried woman as one of his key contacts."

Her jaw was set when she answered. "Nothing ever happened," she enunciated. When he raised his eyebrow at her skeptically, she knew she would have to elaborate further to convince him. She sighed. "Sometimes dancing can turn into a therapy, detective. I doubt you'd understand but dancing isn't just 'moving to the music'. It needs the heart and mind as much as legs. In order to dance well, you have to face all your emotions and fears. If there's something constraining you in here-" she gently touched the place above his heart. "-then you'll never really dance."

Flack watched transfixed the passion flickering in her eyes as she spoke about dancing. She was fascinating to watch and he found he believed her. She didn't use her obvious beauty and charm to play with him, to the contrary, she dismissed it and . His gut told him there was not a dishonest thread in her. Besides, her DNA was nowhere on Boyd's body or at the crime scene. She didn't do it.

"Makes _me_ wanna start taking lessons," he finally said with an amused glimmer in his eye. "Ok, miss Angell, I think that's it for now. Sorry if I offended you in any way…"

"It's your job, detective. You're paid to ask these questions and be suspicious." She gave him a small smile.

"Glad to hear you understand. So…," he said pondering a certain idea but fearing she would turn him down. "You're free to go," he finally said. "Unless you want to meet for a drink with a guy on a city salary?" he asked, deciding to go for it. True, he risked a bruised ego but the chance of her saying yes was enough for him to put it on the line.

She flashed him a small smile and surprised herself with her answer. "I'd like that."

"Great," he said, equally surprised. "Tomorrow at eight?"

"It's a date. See you, detective."

"See you."

On the way out, her phone rang. "Stella? What's up?"

**XxXxXxX**

Mac allowed himself a silent curse as he noticed he was again making small, absent-minded scribbles on one of the corners of the report instead of reviewing it. He let his pen fall onto the report and shoved it away with a frustrated grunt. He couldn't focus and it was really getting onto his nerves. True, it had been a long day full of twists and turns but that was his daily bread and he was always able to work through the stress and weariness into the wee hours of the day before. Not this time, though. It was as early as six pm and he was completely stuck, his mind and body refusing to cooperate with him.

He rubbed his nape and temples in an attempt at relaxing the taut muscles there but it didn't help much. He knew the reason for his distracted state resided somewhere else and his muscles had nothing to do with it.

He had tried to reach Stella the whole day but to no avail. It looked as if she had disappeared from the face of the Earth. He felt awful because it was his fault. He couldn't even assign her the police detail he promised what with having no one to assign it _to_. So she was all alone out there with a killer out to get her. He had no doubts that Tony Boyd's murder was connected with the pen drive. Tony must have known about the existence of the drive and probably suspected what was on it. They had tipped him off when they came to interview him and so he sneaked into Jayme's office to look for it and either spooked the murderer or they spooked him. Either way, it didn't do him any good. And having confirmed the pen wasn't at the office, they would target Stella again, he feared. If something happened to her, it would be his fault and he would never forgive himself.

He took a couple of hours out of his working day trying to find her using everything in the lab's capacity, which was quite an impressive 'everything', but even his last resort, calibrating her phone, gave him nada because she had turned it off. To get a location on a disabled cell, you needed a warrant and no sane judge would give him one with what little he had so his hands were tied.

He sighed and looked at the pen, which was innocently lying on his desk. Next to Stella's whereabouts, it was the second mystery of the day. His technicians tried to decipher it this whole day and even with the lab's powerful computers, couldn't get past the 32-byte code. The only institution with equipment powerful enough to break the code was the FBI and considering their possible involvement in his homicide investigation, he wasn't exactly eager to hand it to them on a plate.

He turned around on his chair and looked out onto the oval of the sun already preparing itself to start its slow descent behind the Manhattan skyscrapers. Amidst this spider-web of mystery and danger in which he found himself entangled, there was one thing he knew he could make right. At least he had to try.

It was time to go.

**XxXxXxX**

It was already past eight pm when Stella Bonasera looked at the evening cobalt sky streaked with violet clouds. She marveled at the last rays of butter-rich light falling on the shining walls of the skyscrapers that made up the horizon in the centre of New York. Then she turned around. She had still a couple of blocks to her final destination.

She had been wandering aimlessly around Manhattan for the best part of the day, avoiding the studio, Jess or any of her usual haunts in case they were monitored by the stalker or Mac. She turned off her blackberry and only allowed herself a single call from a booth to tell Jess she was fine and was taking the day off. Even in her frame of mind, she detected a joyful lilt in her friend's voice that intrigued her but Jess wouldn't say what it was and evasively told her to enjoy her day off.

_Like I could_, Stella thought and allowed her feet to lead her wherever they pleased in an attempt at clearing her mind. Mac's shocked expression when he realized he'd hurt her wouldn't leave her, though. She had stormed out of his place for the very same reasons he acted the way he did. She knew he was instantly sorry and was going to apologize but she chose to flee. She didn't know if she even _wanted_ his apology. She couldn't deny her fascination with him but she wasn't sure she had what it took to handle that much insecurity and angst. If she was strong enough to be there for him. At that point her musing came to a halt as she climbed a flight of stairs and reached her destination.

She frowned at the yellow police tape on her apartment door and tore it off before she came in. It was dark and quiet inside and she felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine. Just as she was groping around for the light switch, she heard a muffled noise coming from the living room and she gulped. Maybe Mac was right all along and it really wasn't the best idea to get back here? But dammit, she was Stella Bonasera and this was her home. She wouldn't let some thugs dictate whether it was safe or not to go into her own apartment. With that, she picked up a candle stick lying on the floor and inched her way towards the source of the noise. The intruder had the light turned on and wasn't very quiet about whatever he was doing as a hammering noise penetrated the air. She carefully peered around the corner and her jaw dropped.

Mac Taylor was crouching with his back to her and studiously putting back together a dresser that the burglars have badly damaged. She could see he had already fixed her kitchen table and cupboard.

She put her hands on her hips and cleared her throat. Mac whirled around and looked at her, his face a mask of contrite surprise.

"You're wearing suit pants and a shirt," she said with a raised eyebrow. "To mend furniture."

"Um…yeah, I didn't have any other clothes with me."

"I'd get to that," she said tartly. "I came here to tidy up."

"I know, I just figured I'd come after work and do this for you," he said avoiding her gaze and driving the final nail into the dresser's side.

She watched him work for a moment with an incredulous gaze. "Mac?"

"Yeah?" he looked up at her, though his gaze didn't really meet her eyes, stopping somewhere around her chin.

"This is a really ridiculous apology."

He put down the hammer and stood up to face her. "It was all I could think of. I couldn't find you anywhere to apologize to you face to face so I figured I could start with mending these…and maybe you'd also allow me to mend what I broke."

She folded her hands across her chest. "I didn't want to be found."

He nodded uneasily. "I know."

"So why did you look for me anyway?"she asked angrily.

_Because when you walked out, all the colours disappeared with you_, he thought but suppressed the treacherous thought. He wanted to make things with her better not worse, and he was sure she didn't want to hear a half-baked, lame confession from him.

"Because you deserve a proper apology from me," he sighed. "I'm really sorry, Stella," he looked her in the eye for the very first time this evening. "I know that I'm not the easiest person to get to know and like. I keep everything locked up and rarely let on what's on my mind. So if you don't want to see me ever again, I understand and I'll disappear from your life for good. However, if you forgive me, I promise to try as best as I can to change that. You make me want to change who I've become and that's the most anyone had done for me in a long time."

He was rewarded by the catch in her breathing. She made a step towards him and allowed her fingertips to gently brush his cheek. She tried to blink away the treacherous tears that threatened to spill on her cheeks. It's been a long time since anybody fought so hard for her trust and friendship. It's been a long time since she _wanted _anybody to fight for her. All the doubts that had been festering in her heart since this morning were gone. She no longer wondered if she was strong enough to even consider a relationship with him.

"Quite the speech, detective," she breathed, her face inches from his.

"Have rehearsed it like a million times," he mumbled, intoxicated by her nearness.

"It worked," she smiled.

He was looking down at her now and his expression had changed – there was a look on his face she hadn't seen before. His eyes were almost black with an intensity that took her breath away. She was too surprised to move, even when he leaned towards her and she realized what he was about to do. Reflexively she shut her eyes as his lips hovered but an inch from hers, his closeness sending intoxicating shivers through her whole body. A sudden fierce longing to be held and kissed in a way that would make her forget everything else surged through her. She put her arms around his neck, partly to steady herself and partly to draw him closer.

Fascinated and awed by her shining beauty, he let his fingers trace her cheeks and the outline of her jaw. A fierce longing surged through him in a flurry of emotion threatening to engulf him whole. He moved to cover her waiting lips with his…

...and a crashing noise reverberated through the whole apartment, making them jump away from each other and alerting them there was someone else there. There wasn't supposed to be anyone in here, this was still officially a crime scene and anyone trespassing was facing a federal offense. Unless it was someone who didn't care that much about committing federal offenses. Mac reached for his Glock, motioning for Stella to stay behind him. He wandered into the darkness of the hall and caught a glimpse of a male silhouette groping his way around the entrance. When the intruder turned so that he was with his back to him, Mac wasted no time and got to him in two swift strides.

"NYPD! Don't move!" he warned the man.

The intruder seemed to freeze but then began spinning around with something heavy in his hand. Mac didn't take any chances, his well-honed instincts of a Marine and cop kicking in. In one flurry of movement he had the man in a wristlock that made him fall to the floor facedown with his wrist twisted upwards and effectively immobilizing any movements.

Stella moved into the room and turned the light on just as Mac was going to twist the intruder's shoulder further to stop the intruder from moving too much.

"Mac, stop!" she gasped turning to the disabled and whimpering intruder. "Adam? What are you doing here?"

tbc.

* * *

**What do you think Adam's doing at Stella's apartment? How will the case progress? How will Flack and Jess' first date go? Will Mac and Stella get another chance at that kiss? All this and more in the next chapter.**

**Thanks for reading, I hope you liked this enough to leave me even the shortest review:) All your thoughts and opinions are highly appreciated!**


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