*

Authors note: Part two of my trilogy, following straight on from
"Fair". I've split it into two parts because it's a bit
lengthy.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own these characters
`yady-yada-yady-yada-ya...' (don't own that quote either!).
Again, the title of the fic is from the song "Such Great
Heights" by Iron & Wine and all lyrics used are theirs to claim
also.

Rating: Definitely MA this time… Adult themes, stronger language and
a fairly explicit sex scene. If you think you'll be offended by such
material, drop me a line at ella_bella55@yahoo.com.au
<mailto:ella_bella55@yahoo.com.au> and I'll send you an edited
version if you like.

*

Part 2: Such Great Heights (part A)

*

Mac hardly slept that night.

She sighed loudly upon noticing the rays of sunlight peeking out from
behind her curtains, throwing back the covers and sliding out of bed. It
was still early, too early to go to work, but Mac knew she had no chance
of getting any sleep now. She dressed quickly, tossing her gym bag over
her shoulder.

*

"Come on…" Mac urged, repeatedly pressing the button on the
vending machine in the gym foyer. The combination of her harder than
usual workout and skipping breakfast had left her starving.
"Bugger!"

"You should try giving it a shake," A voice sounded behind her.
Mac's head snapped to the side where she noticed the man standing
there. He was around 6 feet tall and well built, with clean-cut brown
hair and a dimple in his right cheek. He smiled at her. "Allow
me," He offered as she stepped aside, watching as he shook the
machine until the chocolate bar fell out.

"And here I was thinking that only worked in the movies," Mac
smirked, suddenly self conscious of her unkempt hair and dark-circled
eyes.

"Well, you pick up a few tricks when you're here as often as
me," He grinned proudly as he handed her the bar.

"Thanks," She laughed. "So you come here often then?"

"To the gym? Every day. To the vending machine?" He paused,
sheepishly. "Every day," Mac laughed as he grinned. "I
haven't seen you here before."

"I try to make time. It doesn't always happen."

"Work?" Mac nodded. "What do you do?" She tried to think
quickly, resisting the temptation for her eyes to hit the floor.

"Um, I work in event management," Mac lied. Well, it wasn't
too far from the truth – stings were certainly events, and she was
the coordinator. He raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, that must be pretty interesting!"

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," She said,
shrugging. This guy was as keen as mustard. "What do you do?"

"I'm a cop," He stated proudly, almost puffing out his
chest. Mac stifled a laugh.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I just made Detective Senior Constable. Homicide."

"Wow, that sounds really…important," She humoured him.

"Oh yeah, well…" He gushed, suddenly realising he didn't
know her name. "I'm Andrew, by the way," He stated,
extending his hand.

"Oh, Ellen," She replied, noticing the time on her watch as she
shook his hand. "I've really got to get going, actually."

"Oh, right."

"Uh, thanks for this," Mac waved the chocolate bar, smiling
politely as she turned.

"I'll see you here again soon!"

*

Mac pulled up to the factory, expecting to be the first there – it
was only 7:30am after all. Even Bernie wasn't that dedicated!
Suffice to say that she almost did a double take upon seeing both Angie
and Oscar's cars parked there. But they themselves were nowhere in
sight. She wandered around the open space; her footsteps echoing in the
empty silence.

Out of the corner pf her eye, Mac spotted a dozen or so empty beer
bottles stacked neatly beside a wall in the desk area. She poked her
head into the makeshift bunk room, smirking at the sight before her:
Angie sound asleep on the bottom bunk; Oscar on the top; each still
fully clad in their clothes from the previous day. Mac shook her head
– they were just too cute, these two. She smiled before heading off
to have a quick shower.

*

"Alright, everybody to the briefing room. We've got a new
case," Bernie stated upon returning from an early meting at
Homicide. He stopped in the desk area where Mac, Angie and Oscar stood,
turning in a full circle on the spot before asking, "Where's
Peter?" He received response in the form of indolent shrugs. His
tone changed. "Okay, then. Somebody get onto Peter. Briefing as soon
as he gets here. Mac," He gestured for her to follow as he charged
up into his office.

Mac sighed. She'd already tried to contact Peter – his mobile
was off and his home phone was off the hook. Punctuality had never been
his strong suit, and that was before all this had happened. Angie and
Oscar exchanged a knowing glance before finding something else to do
while waiting for the briefing.

*

Almost an hour later, Peter's car chugged through the roller door.
He slammed the door after stepping out slowly, not bothering to remove
his sunglasses.

"Ah, Peter. Nice of you to finally join us," Bernie said
sarcastically, files filling his arms as he led the way to the briefing
room. "Briefing. Now."

Mac approached Pete, walking alongside him quietly.

"You feeling okay?"

"Never better," He replied, callously staring straight ahead.

*

"Okay, no doubt you've all heard about Carol Fleming and
Jacqueline Burrows," Bernie began, pointing to the photographs on
the whiteboard provided by their families.

"Yeah, two girls that went missing."

"That's right, Stone. Both last seen leaving the Heights Hotel
in Fitzroy, both in their mid twenties," Bernie paused. "Both
never returned home. We're treating their disappearances as
abductions."

"Homicide have turned up nothing – no traces, no leads, not even
a body," Mac added.

"Why are they handing this over to us now? It's been months and
their disappearances could just be a coincidence, yeah?" Angie
asked, looking to Bernie. He nodded.

"That's what Homicide had concluded. Until two nights ago, that
is," He laid out another file on the table, pulling another smiling
photo of a young woman out. "This is Danielle York. She disappeared
went out for drinks with friends and never returned. Last seen leaving
the Heights Hotel."

"Now this is way too coincidental. There have been no sightings of
her since, and her family and friends say that for her to disappear by
choice would be highly out of character. We suspect the same person to
be involved," Mac supplemented.

"Now since the first abduction occurred over three months ago, the
combined factors of no sightings or traces indicate little hope in
finding these girls alive."

"So we're looking at a serial killer?" Stone asked, finally
verbalising the term Bernie hated so much to use. To have do deal with.

"We think so. Homicide are now focusing on their one and only lead.
Geoffrey Goodwin is the publican of the Heights Hotel. He's the only
common link we can find between the missing girls," Bernie pointed
to a photo of a dishevelled man of around 40 years with scruffy dark
hair and a ruddy complexion.

"Has he got form?"

"Yeah, one charge of aggravated sexual assault in 1989 of his
girlfriend at the time."

"That's not much to go on. I mean, there's no history of
abduction or murder or anything," Oscar commented.

"Well, we don't know what he does to the girls before he
disposes of them. The sexual assault charge may be entirely
relevant," Mac grimaced through her reply.

"What's our angle?" Angie asked. Oscar leaned forward,
eagerly resting his chin on his hands, his elbows on the desk. Peter
remained silent, indifferent.

"Angie, you'll be working in the Heights Hotel behind the bar.
That way, we can keep a close eye on Goodwin and see if he tries
anything."

"On me?" Angie pressed. Bernie sighed.

"More often than not, there will be covert operatives in the pub
acting as customers. Homicide are offering their hand on this one –
they want to flush this guy out and find out exactly what happened to
those girls," He replied, looking to Mac who offered a half smile.

"How are your bar skills, Ange?" Angie forced a smile.

"I can make a mean margarita."

*

Mac didn't bother looking up from her paperwork when two firm knocks
sounded on her office door.

"Yep?"

Peter walked in silently, hovering around the other side of her desk
until she looked up.

"Hi."

"Hi," She repeated softly. "You look a bit sad and sorry for
yourself today," She commented as he removed his sunglasses from his
unshaven face, revealing dark circles and bloodshot eyes. He scoffed.

"You don't look too flash yourself," He retorted, noting her
own sleepless appearance. She ducked her head, smiling. A conversation
was a conversation, no matter how insulting. Pete cleared his throat.
"Did you come around to my place last night?"

"You remember?" Pete nodded slowly.

"Vaguely. The shoes neatly placed at the end of the bed gave you
away," Mac smiled as she stood, rounding the desk and standing
opposite him, leaning back on her desk.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," She said sincerely, reaching for his hand.

~

They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now,"

They'll say
~

He lowered his head, embarrassed.

"Did I, uh, say anything?" Mac paused; not wanting to lie, but
not wanting to upset him.

"You talked about her," She said softly. He nodded pensively and
she squeezed his hand supportively. "Peter, you know if you ever
want to talk," She began, halting as he snatched his hand back. He
shook his head, fidgeting with the hand he could still feel her touch
on.

"I don't want to talk about it; I don't want to think about
it. I just want a fresh start; to put it all behind me. " Mac
reached out to his shoulder this time.

"I know. But talking helps with that, you know? Whenever you're
ready," Pete nodded, dropping his eyes and turning around. "You
know where to find me." Mac said clearly, making sure he heard her
before he left.

~

But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now,"

But we'll stay…

~

*

Oscar watched from a tram shelter across the road from the Heights
Hotel. He peered over his newspaper, his eyes widening and his eyebrows
raising in appreciation as Angie came into view. She was dressed in a
short black skirt and jade green fitted tank top, complete with boots,
teased hair and a wire. She flashed a smile towards the admiring face at
the shelter before entering the hotel.

Stone slowly made his way over to the van, checking that nobody was
watching before dropping to his knees and sliding underneath.

Mac smiled as she saw his head pop up from the trapdoor.

"She's in," He stated, to which Mac nodded.

"I know. Here," She handed him a headset and he took a seat
beside her.

*

It was only 2 o'clock in the afternoon, so the pub was quiet. Angie
spotted Geoffrey Goodwin behind the bar, polishing glasses. He spotted
her and winked.

"Hi there. What'll it be?" Angie smiled coyly.

"Hi, I was looking for the publican, Geoff?" She asked. He set
down the glass and towel, his manner slightly altered.

"Yeah that's me."

"Hi, my name's Jess Richards. I saw the sign in the window,
you're looking for bar staff?" She pointed over her shoulder to
the window and sign behind her.

"That's right. You got an RSA and résumé, have you Jess
Richards?"

"Yeah, it's all here," She reached into her bag, pulling out
a plastic envelope and handing it to him. He flipped through it.

"So you're from Adelaide, are ya?"

"Yeah, I just moved to Melbourne a few months ago. Still trying to
figure out where all the night-spots are!"

"You've got quite a bit of bar experience I see. We get a lot of
yuppies around here. Your cocktail and shooter skills up to
scratch?"

"If they are, do I get the job?" Angie asked playfully. He
removed his eyes from hers only for a moment as he looked her up and
down, suggesting huskily:

"How about a quick fuck first?"

*

Oscar scoffed in the van, glancing pointedly at Mac.

"Is this guy serious?" He asked incredulously. Mac shrugged,
listening carefully. "Slime ball!" Stone muttered, shaking his
head.

*

Angie eyed him carefully for a moment before breaking into a smile.

"Coming right up!" She said as she moved behind the bar.

She pulled out two shot glasses, placing them on the bar in front of her
as he moved around to take a seat at the stools on the other side. She
layered the liqueurs carefully but not greenly, expertly dribbling the
finishing touch of Baileys on top. Angie beamed as Goodwin looked on
admirably.

"Bottoms up," He said as they both tilted their heads back and
skulled the liquid. The flavours mixed well as they went down, and Angie
could tell he was impressed. "Okay," he began, clearing the
remnants of the shot from his throat. "I'll give you a two week
trial. After that, I'll decide for sure."

*

Mac smoothed her suit in the elevator of HQ. She was covering a meeting
for Bernie, which she ordinarily didn't mind doing. But meeting with
Hollister was like being grated on by a dentist drill. That is, if
dentist drills were sleazy as well as abrasive. She sighed, stepping out
at Homicide and rounding the corner to Bill's office.

She hid her smile as she entered, immediately recognising the man from
her gym earlier that morning. Bill stood, oblivious to the look of shock
on Andrew's face, and greeted Mac, meeting her in the middle of the
room.

"Ellen," He extended his hand, her presence a welcome surprise.

"Sir," She nodded professionally.

"Ellen this is Detective Senior Constable Andrew Garner. He's
assisting on this case. Andrew, Detective Sergeant Ellen Mackenzie from
Undercover."

"Pleasure to meet you," He said humorously, shaking his hand for
the second time that day.

"Where's Rocca today?" Bill asked, gesturing for her to sit
down as he resumed his own.

"He had some things to attend to," She replied, opening up the
case file. "Right, our operative is safely in behind the bar.
She's had a quick look around the hotel itself and has found nothing
of interest. Not that that's a surprise, of course," She added
disdainfully. Homicide had executed two search warrants already, pushing
Goodwin to cry police harassment. If he was hiding anything, he sure
wasn't going to be hiding it at the hotel anymore.

"Okay, well we'll have some of our people inside the hotel
tonight keeping an eye on things. There have been no new developments at
our end and since there have been none at yours either, we'll let
you get back to it," Mac smiled, rising from her chair. The shorter,
the better it was with Hollister.

"We'll keep you posted."

*

Andrew caught Mac in the elevator on the way out.

"So, event management, hey?" He asked, standing beside her as
the doors closed.

"Close enough," She smiled politely, shrugging. "I can't
really broadcast my actual profession to people I meet at the gym."

"Sure," He nodded, placing a forward hand on the small of her
back. Mac frowned. "How about we grab a night cap after surveillance
is over tonight?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate, Senior Constable,"
She said, stepping forward from his touch. Professional to the end.

He took the same step forward, replacing his hand and whispering in her
ear.

"We can't be appropriate all of the time, Sergeant."

Mac's face screwed up in disgust by way of reflex upon feeling his
unwelcome hot breath on her cheek. What, did Homicide breed sleazebags
or something? He smelt of cigarettes and at that moment Mac realised
just how unattractive the remnants of a nicotine addiction could be. She
was glad she'd quit.

Thankfully, the elevator stopped then at the car park level and Mac
relieved herself from his grasp in that enclosed space, calling coolly
over her shoulder:

"I've got plans."

*

"Jess, do something about those empty glasses on that ledge over
there, will ya?" Goodwin asked; commanded really.

"Yep," Angie replied, finishing off the beer she was pulling,
tendering the cash and smiling politely. She sighed as she retrieved the
glasses from the ledge and some more.

She'd been working at the Heights Hotel for two days and three
nights now; had bugged the bar, the office and Goodwin's room; and
had turned up not even a hint he was involved in the abductions so far.
The only thing Homicide had to go on was his seventeen year old record,
the fact the girls all disappeared from outside his hotel and his
blatant rudeness towards women. Well, towards Angie at least, although
she had been pulling out all the stops to bait him by appearing flirty
and available. She sighed. At least the constant covert police presence
inside and out of the hotel would hopefully catch the perpetrator if he
tried anything again. The boys from Homicide had enjoyed several
beverages at the Heights over the past couple days, as had her team. She
had practically giggled at Bernie's `casual' clothes as he
and Church had played darts. A rare break from his usual business suit
as such was always entertaining to the rest of the unit.

*

Mac popped her head up through the trap door of the van.

"How's it going in there?" She asked, hoisting herself up
onto the standing space. Peter found himself smiling at the sight of her
briefly as Oscar, oblivious, adjusted his headset.

"Happy hour finished a while ago," Pete mused.

"Yeah, it's starting to get quiet now. And since you're
here," Oscar began, standing. "I'm going to duck into the
hotel for a bit."

"What for?" Pete asked, jealous of Stone's imminent escape
of the van. He was the one who hated surveillance!

"Thought I might grab a quick bevvie, see how Ange is going…"
Stone paused, hovering over where Mac had left the trapdoor open.
"Besides, I've been cooped up in here for hours, I really need
to take a slash!" He said, hopping urgently. Mac laughed.

"Go, go!" She waved her hand, shooing him out. She shook her
head, taking a seat on Oscar's warmed chair and met Pete's eye.
The second she did, they both burst out laughing.

*

Oscar exhaled gently as he relieved himself in the gents. He'd
caught Angie's eye as he passed through, smiling inadvertently.
He'd also gotten a glimpse of Goodwin, who had glared at him whilst
unloading a tray of glasses behind Angie. They were getting nowhere with
this guy, fast.

The door creaked open behind and a figure joined him at the urinal, but
Oscar didn't bother to turn his head. Suddenly he felt eyes on him,
and he glanced to his left slightly. Geoffrey Goodwin stood next to him,
his eyes fixed on Oscar. But not on his face. Stone looked from Goodwin,
to himself, to Goodwin again.

"You right?" He huffed, suddenly very uncomfortable. He felt
vulnerable. Scared, even.

Goodwin finally removed his eyes from where they had set themselves,
looking up and meeting Stone's.

"Fine," He said huskily. Oscar zipped himself up quickly,
getting out of there as soon as he could.

*

"He might not be gay," Peter stated flatly the next morning at
the factory. The five of them were gathered around the briefing table,
Angie having the morning free before she began her shift at the Heights.

"But if he is, it kind of wrecks our theory of him being a sexual
predator," Angie threw back.

"Yeah, but one little peek doesn't automatically make him
gay," Peter stated again.

"Why, do you look at other blokes at the urinal?" Oscar pressed.
Mac looked to Peter, who paused, grimacing at the thought.

"Nah!" He said emphatically. Bernie chose that moment to cut in.

"Alright, alright. Look, we've got no evidence that these
attacks are of a sexual nature. We know nothing about this guy –
what he does to these women or why!"

"Exactly. Even if Goodwin's not interested in women, he might be
abducting these girls for…oh I don't know, punishment purposes.
Maybe he has mother issues," Mac suggested.

"Well, he's definitely got some sort of issue with women,"
Angie muttered under her breath.

"Angie, see if you can get anything of interest out of him. The more
we know about Geoffrey Goodwin, the better off we'll be. I'll
get onto Homicide."

*

"So have you ever been married, Geoff?" Angie asked as she
polished glasses, the afternoon lull causing her to do the most mundane
of tasks just to pass the time. Goodwin looked surprised.

"Me? Nah."

"Why not?" He narrowed his eyes as she pressed him further. He
shrugged noncommittally.

"Dunno," Angie paused, redirecting her questioning.

"I've never been married, either. My mother always expected me
to stay living at home until I got married. Disappointed her big-time
when I moved interstate. She was always such a pushy thing, you
know?" She rattled on nostalgically. He frowned.

"Know what?"

"Well, was your mother like that?" She asked, a glint in her
eye. "Pushy?"

*

Mac touched her hand to her headset in the Tip Top van, listening
intently.

"Good girl, Ange," She mumbled appreciatively. Pete nodded in
agreement before squinting and pointing to the screen.

"Hey isn't that..?" Mac looked up, grabbing his wrist and
pulling it down as she leant in to get a closer look. Pete tried to
ignore the electric aftermath of her touch and focus on the present
situation.

She turned to Peter, pulling out her mobile.

"Shit."

*

"Not really," Goodwin replied to Angie vaguely, a familiar face
catching his eye. Angie turned her head, following his gaze to find Bill
Hollister and a small mob of suits. Goodwin's tone changed
considerably. "You're not welcome in here, mate. Not unless you
got a warrant," Angie smirked lightly – if only he'd known
the amount of cops in here without a warrant in hand recently!

Hollister smiled smugly, holding up a sheet of white paper and shoving
it in Goodwin's face.

"Do I get an apology?" He sneered, collecting his crew and
taking the familiar route up to Goodwin's quarters in the pub.

*

"What the bloody hell is he doing?" Mac huffed as Peter shook
his head angrily.

"Dickhead. Over-zealous, smartarse bloody dickhead!"

*

"Find what you were looking for?" Goodwin sniggered almost a
full hour later, having the upper hand as a dejected Hollister and crew
trudged towards the exit after yet another pointless search. Goodwin
stood in their way, blocking the door that lead to the street. "This
is police harassment," He hissed viciously.

"Get out of my way," Hollister ordered, his grim face matching
his grey suit. His balding head shone with the telltale signs of
unfulfilled excitement. Goodwin stepped closer.

"Everyone's sayin', `don't go to the Heights Hotel,
or you'll end up in a ditch somewhere'. It's bad for
business."

"If you want to blame someone for that, you should look in a
mirror," Hollister stated hotly, not budging as Goodwin moved even
closer.

"I've already told you blokes, I've got nothin' to do
with any of that."

"And you'd tell us if you did, would you?" Bill shot back.
Goodwin narrowed his eyes, stepping to the side.

"Just piss right off the lot of you," He said icily, returning
to where Angie stood at the bar.

*

"What on earth were you thinking, Bill?" Mac demanded in
Bill's office at HQ, Bernie by her side.

"Mac…" Bernie warned, sensing she was about to explode. He was
right.

"Do you have any idea just how much you could have jeopardised this
case? He's jumpy enough!"

"We were just going on what Rocca told us about…oh, you
know," Bill replied defensively.

"No, about what?" Mac quipped.

"The homo… the gay thing."

"I'm sorry Bill, but I don't recall telling you to search
the bloody place – again!" Bernie reminded him.

"What exactly were you hoping to find?"

"I don't know, gay magazines, sex toys. Whatever would confirm
it!"

"And what would that have achieved?" Mac shot back angrily,
giving a look which caused the ordinarily arrogant Hollister to cower
under. He knew it probably wouldn't have helped to solve the case
and find the girls; he was just looking to humiliate the guy into
confessing, and everybody in that room knew it. He remained silent,
holding Mac's stern gaze. "You could have compromised our
operative. Keep us informed next time. We're supposed to be working
as a team."

"Wait a minute, this is a Homicide case. I'm calling the shots
here and I'm not answerable to either of you," Hollister puffed
out his skinny chest.

"No, this is a joint operation. You keep us informed if not out of
rank, out of courtesy. Remember that," Mac stated plainly before
charging out of the small room.

Bill smirked.

"Well, it's nice to see who wears the pants in your unit,
Bernie."

Bernie stared at him, unimpressed.

"You don't want to get on her bad side, mate. You cross us, you
cross her. Keep it in mind."

*

Mac groaned out loud upon hearing a quick rap at her front door.
She'd only just returned from the gym and was absolutely dying for a
shower. Besides, it was nearly eleven – who would be knocking on her
door at this hour?

Peter had been standing at her stoop for at least five whole minutes,
raising a clenched fist every so often but stopping himself before it
made contact with the wood. He knew she was inside – he could see
the warm glow of light behind closed curtains and could hear faint
footsteps and the sound of Mac humming to herself as she pottered around
an empty house. He smiled, knowing he couldn't help himself but
knock. The humming stopped and the footsteps paused, before cautiously
moving towards the door. He could tell she was fretting about getting
such a late visitor.

"Who is it?" Her muffled voice called out. Peter scratched his
head, suddenly nervous again.

"It's me."

It was all Mac needed to hear. The door opened inwards, revealing a
nervy Peter on one side of the threshold to a baffled Mac on the other.

"Peter," Her voice was surprised. "Uh, come in."

"Ta," Peter replied, ducking his head lightly as he entered the
small townhouse. He glanced over at her. She was wearing black exercise
leggings with a lemon tank top; her hair swept up messily; her skin dewy
and her cheeks glowing. So natural. Peter couldn't remember her
looking more stunning than she did at that moment. He must have been
staring, because all of a sudden Mac crossed her arms self-consciously
across her chest. "You been at the gym?" He noted, more so than
asked.

"Yeah, I needed to clear my head after Hollister's balls up
today," Pete nodded.

"Fair enough."

"Listen, I was just about to jump into the shower–" Mac began,
to which Pete took a step back towards her front door.

"Oh, sorry. Look…if this is a bad time - I'm sorry,
I'll," He stammered nervously, his eyes dropping in
embarrassment. Mac cracked a smile, reaching out and grabbing his arm,
pulling him back to where he was. He looked up.

"Peter, I didn't mean leave! I meant, I'm going to have a
quick shower. Turn on the tellie if you like, open that bottle of wine
in your hand," Mac gestured to the bottle of red Peter gripped. He
followed her gaze, smiling. "Then we can talk, yeah?" She asked,
accurately guessing the reason for which he was there. Peter nodded
slowly.

"Yeah, okay," He conceded. Mac smiled supportively. He'd
seemed much more himself lately.

"Make yourself at home," She offered, before making her way into
the small bathroom.

Peter exhaled lightly, hearing the sound of running water. He hadn't
been to Mac's place all that often before, but the few times he had
been there, he'd taken in as much as he could. It wasn't homey,
but it was by no means cold. There were no personal relics to the naked
eye, but Peter knew that the few things on display held sound personal
resonance for Mac and only Mac. The edges and colours were smooth and
clean and Peter noted several framed photographic pieces. He was
mesmerised by one in particular. The photograph was abstract, black and
white reversed, with a clean focussed iron bars in front and a blurred
image behind. It was a simple photo, but Pete could feel it meant so
much more than it initially appeared to. At a glance, it looked like an
animal of sorts behind a barred fence at a zoo. Pete looked closer,
squinting his eyes. Was it a person behind those bars?

Whatever it was, whoever it was, all Pete could feel was Mac. All around
him; to each of his senses: sight, sound, smell…

He made a mental note to ask her about the photograph.

Peter almost jumped upon hearing the rattle of pipes when the water
stopped suddenly, so lost in his own thoughts. He crossed to the kitchen
to retrieve a cork screw from the top draw. It was from there he noticed
that Mac had left the bathroom door slightly ajar. He wondered if it was
in reference to the level of comfort she felt with him; or whether it
was so she could hear it when he did a runner. He knew which he'd
rather.

*

Mac padded barefoot into her living room, finding Peter seated at the
couch, leaning forward with his chin rested in his hands. Two wine
glasses sat on the coffee table; one half drunk. The television was on
but muted; he wasn't paying any attention to it anyway.

She sat on the adjacent couch, reaching for her glass. Its movement from
the coffee table in front of him snapped Peter from his trance, and he
lifted his head towards where she sat. He smelt her before he saw her;
he'd always loved the scent of her shampoo. Her scent.

He cleared his throat, sitting upright.

"I just wanted to drop around and apologise for being such a prick
lately," He said, watching as Mac curled her legs under herself,
sipping from her glass.

"Did you now?" She mused, a smile playing on her lips. Pete
smiled a half smile.

"Yeah," Mac sighed, her tone changing from muse to earnest.

"Pete, you don't have to apologise. You've had a pretty
rough trot, you know."

"Hmm," Peter hummed as sat forward, swallowing the remainder of
his glass in one gulp. He refilled it straight away. Mac watched him.

"What is it?" She asked gently, knowing he wanted to say
something but couldn't quite get it out. "Peter?"

He paused, motionless, soundless, staring at the framed photograph on
the wall in front of him. He was trapped too.

*

Angie wandered out of the hotel after it closed with an air of
relaxation. But inwardly she was on guard, alerted to every sound, every
movement in the empty street that surrounded her. It certainly
wasn't a safe neighbourhood for a young woman in her twenties. There
was no briefing scheduled for the end of her shift as there was usually.
Goodwin had clammed up as soon as Hollister and his mugs had left, and
she'd already had a chat earlier to Mac on the phone in the ladies.
Right now she was on her way home, straight to bed, and Angie
couldn't wait. She hated bar work.

She unlocked her car, slipping tiredly through the open door and sighing
with relief as she sat down for the first time in hours. The sigh was
quickly followed by a sharp gasp when she saw a movement in her backseat
from the rear view mirror.

Angie spun her head, only to be met with the familiar joking eyes of
Oscar Stone, sparkling in the moonlight.

"Hungry?" He asked with mock seduction, only to be met with a
hard whack across the chest.

"Shit Stone, you nearly gave me a heart attack!" She accused,
laughter escaping while she tried to catch her breath, her heart still
thumping in her chest. Oscar climbed into the passenger seat, laughing
also and handing her a warm brown paper bag, on which she noticed a few
oil spots.

"I though you could do with a quick fix of hangover food." He
offered, settling comfortably into the seat. Angie smirked.

"I haven't been drinking, Stone."

"Yeah, but you've been in a smoky bar for hours. It's
practically the same thing!" Oscar justified, and she giggled. He
was right, she supposed. And the burger and fries in the bag certainly
looked appetising at that very moment.

*

"Peter, it's okay to feel like this," Mac urged him to talk.
He grunted in reply, downing another glass. Most of the bottle was gone
by this stage; each of them equally to blame. Pete was drowning his
sorrows, she supposed, and Mac was searching for blind courage to talk
to him about this woman he loved. This situation definitely had
potential to get messy. "You're depressed and I want to help you
out of this-" Pete cut her off suddenly.

"I'm not depressed," He stated flatly, pouring the remainder
of the bottle into his glass. Mac watched him for a moment, clinging
onto her own glass for support.

"Pete, it's okay," She began again, more softly this time,
assuming he was in denial. He shook his head firmly.

"Mac, I'm not…I mean I don't…" He stopped himself,
gathering his thoughts to form a coherent sentence. "It's not
depression I feel. It's…it's guilt," There, he thought.
You've finally said it out loud. Mac frowned.

"What do you mean?" Peter sighed loudly, leaning forward and
resting on his knees. He didn't make eye contact as he spoke.

"Christina died, put herself up against her own family, all for me,
because she loved me. And I," He struggled to articulate. Mac gave
him time. "I've been trying to convince myself that I loved her
too. Really loved her," He exhaled helplessly, leaning back again.
"And I can't."

Mac's heat melted.

"Pete, of course you-" She offered. He shook his head, cutting
her off.

"No, let me finish," He took a deep breath. "I think I was
in love with the idea of her, of running away with a crime boss's
daughter, of running away from the job and everything else that was
happening…" Mac nodded. She understood what he meant. "And I
just feel…awful, because she loved me enough to give up her life for
someone who didn't, who couldn't…" Pete squeezed his eyes
shut, not sure whether to reveal to Mac his true hesitations in loving
Christina.

Angie's words twirled around his head; he couldn't stop them.

`Is this a rebound thing?'

"What, Pete?" He looked over at her; her face awash with
attention and concern. After her shower she'd thrown on a plain pair
of tracksuit pants and a simple t-shirt. Her wet hair was drying
naturally in the mild spring warmth and the red wine had given her
cheeks a healthy rose. Her piercing blue eyes were focussed on him and
him only, and Peter shunned himself for noticing that she wasn't
wearing a bra.

"I let her fall for and die for Dan Ryder," His alias in the
Rossi family. "I never let her know the real me. And she died for a
man who didn't exist and didn't love her, not the way he should
have," He polished off his drink sadly. "It's a horrible
bloody feeling, let me tell you."

Mac's brow creased in confusion.

"But Pete, you must have loved her, deep down at least. The other
night, she was all you could talk about…" Peter smiled at her
efforts, her perplexity. Snippets of that night had come back to him.

"I never said her name the other night, did I?" Mac paused for a
moment, reflecting. She had just assumed he had been talking about
Christina, but the more she thought about it, the less she recalled her
name being articulated. She shook her head lightly. "I've been
walking around like sad-sack lately because I feel guilty, not
depressed. And thinking about it that way makes me feel even
guiltier," He finally confessed, glad to have it all off his chest.
Truth be told, Mac's relentless support had definitely contributed
to the cause. Not that she knew that, of course.

Mac was still confused.

"But if you weren't talking about her, who were you talking
about?"

Peter stared back at her with such intensity in his blue eyes that she
knew instantly.

She grew uncomfortable, not sure what to do or day. Pete decided to
break the budding silence between them.

"Tell me about that photograph," He pointed to the frame on the
wall in front of him. Mac turned her head, her gaze following his to the
wall.

"What about it?" She asked, not sure where he was coming from.
He smiled earnestly and she knew instantly that he related to it just
like she did. "It's uh, it was taken in a prison," She
paused, reflecting nostalgically. "Gutsy photography student. Um,
the prisoner's cowering from observation, just like an animal in a
zoo," She added, knowing his mind would have immediately leapt to
such a conclusion. She could tell by the altered _expression of triumph
on his face that she was right. "The bars are clear focussed because
they're concrete, real. The prisoner is blurred though. All
different types of people can be trapped, but all different types of
situations can feel like iron bars. The reversed black and white
represents a role reversal," She explained everything the photograph
meant to her carefully.

"Role reversal like, the observer can be the one being observed?
They can be trapped too?" Pete asked, comprehending. Mac tore her
eyes from the frame, meeting his own.

~

I am thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and
When we kiss they're perfectly aligned

~

"Or, that the prisoner has the potential to break free from the
bars, just like the black can become white and the white can become
black. The seemingly impossible can happen," She smiled. "It all
depends if you're a glass half full or half empty kind of guy,"
He returned the smile, knowing he wasn't strictly either, and
neither was Mac.

"I like it," Pete complemented her taste. "Where did you get
it?"

"I took it."

"No shit!" He was surprised. He had no idea she was so
insightfully artistic. Mac smiled, turning and sitting on the edge of
her seat. She could tell he was impressed.

"No shit," She echoed, watching the corners of his mouth curl
into a smile.

"I had no idea you were into photography," The extent of her
photographic talent had only been expressed in surveillance photos as
far as he had known.

"Well, there's a lot of things you don't know about me,"
Mac teased. Pete grinned. Now that he was sure of.

*

"Why do women always have to dissect their hamburger?" Oscar
wondered out loud, staring as Angie picked at her hamburger. His was
almost gone.

"What? I don't like all the onion!" Angie huffed defensively
as Oscar cracked a smile, shaking his head as he grabbed a handful of
fries from the bag between them. "What do you think happened to all
those girls?" She asked suddenly, her voice soft and concerned.
Oscar shrugged.

"Who knows? We've got nothing and the homicide boys are pissing
in the wind."

"Do you think Geoffrey Goodwin did it?"

"Did what?" Oscar asked, his mouth full.

"Abducted them, raped them, killed them…like you said, who
knows?" She waited in silence as he swallowed.

"I'm not sure. What do you think? You've been pretty up
close and personal with him this week?" Angie paused, thinking,
considering.

"He has this standoffish attitude towards women. I mean, he's
friendly enough to any girls at the bar, but beyond that…I can't
figure out whether it's contempt like Mac said or whether he just
doesn't give a shit," Stone nodded in agreement.

"Hmm, the episode in the gents makes me think it's the latter
rather than the former," He commented disdainfully. Angie's lips
curled into a half smile.

"Maybe he was just jealous…" She began, suppressing the
giggles. Oscar leaned over, eyebrows raised.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know you've got big…" She watched his
_expression slowly change, pausing for effect before finally bursting
into giggles. "Feet!" She laughed uncontrollably while Oscar
smirked.

"Ha ha ha," He said, unamused as he snatched the abandoned
hamburger from her hands, helping himself to a big bite.

"Hey! I was still eating that!" He grinned broadly, food on
display everywhere as he offered it back. Angie screwed up her nose.
"Oh gross! You can keep it!"

It was now Oscar's turn to laugh uncontrollably.

*

Eyes focussed solely on Mac, Peter moved slowly from his position on the
couch, settling on the floor at her feet. She remained unmoving, her
back upright and her eyes in her lap. He slowly pried the empty glass
from her hands, setting it behind him on the coffee table. He held her
hand, squeezed it, and gently lifted her chin with his other hand so
that their eyes could meet. He leaned up, his face barely inches from
her own, his lips tingling in anticipation. Mac made the daring move,
leaning forward and allowing her lips to meet his softly. Their fingers
entwined as Peter gently used his tongue to pry her lips open and she
welcomed him eagerly into her mouth. Their hands never broke their hold;
Peter's other hand moving rhythmically up and down her thigh while
her own stroked his cheek, slowly moving through his wild, curly hair.
God she had missed the taste of him; the feel of him. His hand ran up
her torso, settling at her shoulder blade and pulling her into a
standing position. The kiss became more intense, their hands breaking
apart when Mac wrapped her arms around his neck while Peter's
settled at her lower back, pulling him towards her. Their bodies pressed
urgently against each other and his hands ran over her behind,
separating her legs as he lifted her. Mac wrapped her legs around his
hips as he carried her through the familiar path to her bedroom.

Laughter escaped busy lips as they landed lengthways on the bed before
settling into a more comfortable position. Mac fiddled with his belt
buckle, removing it with ease and began to work on his fly. Pete eagerly
removed Mac's tracksuit pants, sliding them off and discarding them
behind him.

"Too easy," Mac whispered between kisses, feeling Peter smile
beneath her lips.

He kicked off his shoes and after she finally finished with his button
fly jeans, the garments soon found their way to the floor. He helped her
with the buttons on his shirt, moving quickly as she slid it off his
shoulders, his white t-shirt soon following. Mac raised her arms as he
lifted her fitted t-shirt over her head, smiling at what he saw. He knew
he'd been right about her not wearing a bra. Their lips resumed
their work on each others, their mouths more open now in eager
anticipation. Peter's fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear,
slowly slipping underneath. He felt a gasp catch in Mac's throat in
response to his touch as his lips moved from hers, beginning to trail
down her jaw, her collarbone, her breasts. He focussed his attentions on
her nipple, his lips lightly tracing it, his tongue darting out
teasingly. He smiled as it hardened beneath his mouth, his hand cupping
her other breast gently as his other hand remained rubbing rhythmically
inside her knickers. He could hear Mac's controlled breathing
quicken as his lips moved further down her torso, slowing past her
bellybutton and moving further down as he discarded her underwear.

Mac breathed in sharply as his tongue found her, gripping the sheet
beneath her with clenched fists. Her shallow breaths gradually grew
louder, catching against her voice box, and becoming more and more
intense. She decided that was enough, not wanting the night's events
to end there. She ducked her hips down and Pete raised his head slightly
in response, his eyes catching hers and comprehending. He moved back up
and Mac rolled them over, settling over his hips and finally removing
his dark boxers. She arched over him, kissing him slowly, gently,
teasingly. Her bare hips grinded against his own and the movement caused
her breasts to lightly graze against his chest. He groaned beneath her
lips and she knew the effect she was having on him; she could feel it.
Mac knew a million reasons why they shouldn't be doing this, but she
was too far gone to go back now. She pushed her thoughts from her mind
as Peter guided himself into her. His palms flattened against her back,
pulling her torso against his; urgent flesh meeting urgent flesh.

Peter sat up suddenly, the altered angle causing Mac to groan sharply.
He rolled them over so that Mac was now on her back and pushed her leg
up as he thrust himself deeper inside her, resulting in even more
excitement. Mac's whispered moan soon became an open mouthed grunt
as she felt the heat really begin to rise within. She was close. Pete
ran his tongue across her bottom lip and she darted her own out, meeting
his. As Pete pushed further and further inside her, his groans became
heaver, his breathing more rapid. Mac whispered his name as his fingers
found her again, repeating it more loudly as the agonising seconds
passed.

~

And I have to speculate
That God himself did make us into
Corresponding shapes like puzzles pieces
From the clay

~

Urgent pleasure overwhelmed each of them in sync; Pete's head
sinking between her neck and her shoulder. She tried to catch her
breath, her hand lazily trailing along his muscular back and buttocks.
He raised his head, his eyes meeting hers for moments that seemed like
an eternity. He kissed her again, less hungrily this time, but just as
intensely. Mac returned the kiss and couldn't help but smile as he
rolled to lie beside her, his eyes drooping closed whilst still holding
her petite waist in his hands. She bit her bottom lip, toying with his
nipple and grinning when it hardened involuntarily. His hand reached up
and gripped her wrist, grinning while still holding his eyes closed.
Peter pulled her close to him, his eyelids sliding open just as she
kissed his mouth gently, feeling safe and at home in his arms.

*

He had followed her from the Heights Hotel.

He had watched her arrive home from the gym.

He'd seen him standing at her front door and had watched as she
invited him in.

He'd watched and waited, but he was yet to leave the house.

Slut, he thought.

He continued to watch.

*