*

Authors note: Follows straight on from "Such Great Heights" part
A. If you've figured out who the abductor is already I'll give
you an elephant stamp (maaybe…:D)

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: MA – Strong adult and sexual themes, language etc. 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 B)

*

Mac stirred in an empty bed the following morning, her eyelids
fluttering open upon realising that Peter was no longer there. She
paused, frowning as she collected her thoughts. The frown disappeared
momentarily when she heard him in the bathroom, but the relief she felt
was short-lived. Now they would have to face each other. They'd only
had the one bottle of wine, and half a bottle each was not enough to
blame the previous night's events on, particularly not for seasoned
drinkers such as themselves. Butterflies grew in her stomach as she
heard the toilet flush, fluttering more intensely as the padded
footsteps grew closer. Peter rubbed his eyes as he strolled back into
the bedroom, stark naked, sunlight peeking out from behind the blinds.
Mac sat up, wrapping the sheets around her self-consciously.

"Ah, you're awake," He stated the obvious. Mac nodded
sleepily, her hair messy and her eyes squinting in the light. She raised
an eyebrow.

"You right there?" She asked dryly, referring to his state of
undress. Peter grinned.

"Why cover up? You've seen it all before!" Mac desperately
tried not to crack a grin.

"Mm, but my neighbours haven't!"

"Come, on. I knew all your curtains would be closed."

Mac raised her eyebrows again, smiling her straight smile and looking up
at his face as he remained standing by the bed.

"Oh yeah? And how did you know that?" He leaned over, feet still
planted on the floor but hands resting on top of the covers on either
side of her legs. Her _expression grew diffident as his face paused close
to hers.

"Because I know you better than you think I do, Mackenzie," His
voice was always low and husky in the mornings, a trait she remembered
well.

"That's what you think," She teased back, holding his gaze.
His eyes flicked down and then up again cheekily.

"You wearing anything under that sheet, Mackenzie?"

Mac rolled her eyes, swinging her legs out of the bed and standing,
taking the sheet with her.

"I'm having a shower," She looked over at Peter who was
lying posed on his side in her bed, his head resting on one hand and a
suggestive grin planted on his face. She couldn't help but laugh at
the sight of him, pulling the sheet tighter around her body.

"You didn't answer me," He reminded her. She moved around
the bed, making her way towards the doorway. Before leaving, she leaned
in close to his expectant face, shutting the gorgeous body beneath her
from her mind, and uttering a playful:

"Nup!"

*

Peter ducked his head through the trap door of the van later that day,
his voice startling Mac more so than it did Oscar.

"Okay, which one of you lucky troopers feels like taking a
break?" Peter asked; his voice exuberant despite just entering the
loathsome surveillance van.

The change in him was uncanny. Not only did he feel better having
finally talked about Christina and his guilt, but the subsequent events
of the night past had left him in a sparkling mood. Not that the guilt
was all gone; but he could certainly feel part of its burden lifted from
his shoulders.

"Shotgun!" Oscar exclaimed, getting in before Mac even realised
what was happening. Getting caught for hours in the communication van
with Peter was not what she had in mind for the day. Oscar beamed as he
tossed Peter his headset, disappearing from Mac's peripheral vision.
"Enjoy guys."

Mac glanced sideways at Peter as he sat down, grimacing through her own
awkwardness. She didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed about the
previous night, just…awkward. She hadn't been that involved with
anyone since…well, since her and Peter had been together properly.
She'd really let herself go last night and she now felt so…so
exposed. He'd seen so much of her and she'd seen so much of him;
but facing him now – in the sobering light of day – she felt
much more naked than she had last night.

She listened carefully to Angie's wire, not making eye contact with
her eager neighbour.

Finally, the silence became too much to bear for Peter.

"Mac, are we going to talk about last night?" She cringed
inwardly, the prospect of awkward conversation far worse than that of
awkward silence.

"Now's not really the time, Peter."

"Then when will be the time?" He fired back immediately,
expecting a response as such. He waited for her to reply, but received
nothing. He tried another tactic. "Mac, for what it's worth, I
really, really enjoyed last night. And I know you did too," He
grinned when he saw her blush fiercely.

"Peter…" Mac whined, squeezing her eyes shut. "Don't
start this now."

"Start what?" Peter asked innocently. "I just don't want
things to be weird."

"They will be if you don't shut up now," Mac levelled with
him. He saw her smile beneath her seemingly stern exterior.

"Sure thing, boss."

*

"Hi Phil," Angie acknowledged the Height Hotel's chef. Well,
cook, really. It was a pub. The generally convivial Phil smiled briefly,
not slowing his pace and brushing past her. Angie frowned as a surly
Goodwin came into view. "What's up with Phil?" He stared off
into space and Angie doubted he'd even heard her until he spoke.

"He quit," He stated flatly, turning on his heel and heading
back into the office. Angie raised an eyebrow, taking it all in before
striding over to the bar.

*

"Hey Mac, listen to what's going on in the office," Pete
suggested, tuning the transmitter into a different station for her. Mac
frowned, recognising Goodwin's voice immediately, but struggling to
place the second male voice. Peter recognised the look on her face,
struggling also. "A customer?" He suggested. Mac shook her head.

"No, it's the chef I think."

"That's right. Uh, Fred, Frank…" Pete flipped through his
notes. "Phil," He confirmed as Mac raised her eyebrows,
listening.

"Doesn't really sound like an employer-employee exchange, does
it?" Pete chuckled.

"No way!"

*

"You can't just leave, Phil. I need at least two weeks
notice."

"Sorry Geoff. I just can't do this anymore, knowing what I
know."

"Knowing what you know? You know nothing!"

"I know the cops reckon you've got something to do with those
missing girls. They must have something pretty concrete if they're
turning up here all the time."

*

"We wish, mate," Pete sighed.

*

"They've got nothing cos there's nothing to get! You know
that Phil, you know me!"

"I thought I did. Not anymore."

"Don't do this…"

"Look, it was never going to work, you and me."

"Course it could!"

"Nah it couldn't, Geoff."

"So what's the past year been, hey? Just a bit of fun for
you?"

"Hey, look I've got a wife and kids to think about. I care about
them, you know?"

*

"Ooh, wife and kids?" Mac mused. "Messy."

*

"What about me? Didn't you ever care?"

"Look, I just don't know what to believe anymore. Not after all
this cop stuff. I'll be gone after close tonight. Don't try to
call me again."

"Phil!"

Phil never responded.

*

"Well, there's the confirmation Hollister and his boys were
looking for," Pete grimaced, looking over at Mac.

"Yeah. But where does it leave the case?"

*

Mac and Pete were in the pub later that night, enjoying a pot and a
lively game of pool. Angie watched them, amused, from behind the bar.
There was definitely a different dynamic between those two tonight
compared to the past month. It seemed like old times again to Angie. Mac
laughed loudly, holding her arms up in triumphant victory after hitting
the last ball in. Peter shook his head, pulling the arm closest to him
down and demanding a rematch.

"It was a fluke!" He insisted as she laughed. They were either
very good at playing the part of a relaxed couple in a pub or something
had definitely happened, Angie concluded. She couldn't wait to
report back to Oscar.

"No way, that was pure talent!"

"Okay then. You wanna put your money where your mouth is?"

Mac eyed him up and down.

"Alright. You're on!"

She stood by his side as he placed a couple coins in the slot. The balls
tumbled down the ramp and they began to set up the table again, talking
closely.

"Not many young girls hanging around tonight," Peter commented,
surveying the crowd. Mac joined him.

"Nup. And Goodwin hasn't left his office since we arrived."

"Yeah, well. He's a bit emotional I guess. Happens to all of
us," Mac sighed at Peter's admission, turning and leaning
against the table. "Mac, about last night…"

"Peter," She interrupted, aware of the number of bugs they had
in the pub. He caught on, lowering his voice and standing close, resting
his hand on her hip.

"Just hear me out," He insisted, his voice low but firm.
"Last night was great, yeah?" He levelled his eyes with hers,
waiting until he heard a response. Mac rolled her eyes lightly.

"Yeah."

"Look, I care about you Mac, I really do. I know I hurt you and
I'm sorry for that, but I think we've both done some pretty
shitty things to each other in the past. If you want to pick things up
again, I'll be rapt – more than rapt. But if you don't,
I'll understand that too. Just as long as you're happy," He
said earnestly, his eyes never leaving hers. She dropped her eyelids,
sighing.

"Pete…"

~

True, it may seem like a stretch
But it's thoughts like this
That catch my troubled head
When you're away, when I am missing you to death

~

"Just think about it, okay?" He lifted her chin gently, waiting
for her eyes to meet his. When they did, he saw the tears welling. She
nodded.

"Okay."

He smiled, slapping a hand over her shoulder playfully as she composed
herself.

"Your break," He stated, handing her a pool cue.

*

The pub closed hours later, Mac and Peter leaving barely half an hour
before it did so. A figure in an unmarked Homicide car across the road
waved briefly at Mac and gestured for her to join them. She touched
Peter lightly on the arm, indicating with her eyes that she'd meet
him in the van.

She rounded the dark car, recognising Andrew Garner behind the wheel as
she stopped at the driver's side window.

"How's it going in there?" He asked casually.

"Oh, the same," Mac replied nonchalantly. She just couldn't
warm to this guy.

"Do you want to jump in?" He motioned towards the empty
passenger seat beside him. She shook her head.

"No, I should keep moving."

"So I hear we were right about Goodwin being a Nancy," He
mentioned proudly, to which Mac scoffed

"I don't really see the difference it makes. He could still be
our guy, regardless of his sexual preference," She said curtly,
causing Andrew to smile. He liked sass in a woman. He reached out to
touch her arm.

"We never grabbed that drink, you and I. How about we hook up a
little later?" He asked suggestively, making eyes at her she
certainly didn't appreciate.

"I can't," Mac stood up straighter, snatching her arm back
and staring out onto the quiet street. She heard an angry cry from
inside the pub, but it was when the gunshot rang out that she really
panicked. "Shit!" She exclaimed, ducking by way of reflex. She
glanced out to the van further down the road, pulling out her phone
immediately. "Get onto Bill Hollister. Tell him to get down here
now," She instructed Andrew before departing. He picked up the
police radio, lighting up another cigarette.

*

Mac walked swiftly and quickly down the street, continuous parked cars
shielding her as empty silence continued to ring her ears since the shot
was fired.

"Oscar, talk to me. What's going on, how's Angie?" Her
thoughts leapt out of her mouth before even registering in her head.

"Angie's fine," Mac could just about see his relief through
the phone. "We think Goodwin fired the shot but there's just a
lot of screaming and yelling so far."

"Shit. Anyone injured?"

"Can't tell."

"Alright. I'll see you in a tick."

Seconds later, Mac was hoisting herself up into the open space of the
van. Oscar placed his index finger over his lips.

"Angie's giving us some talk, hang on," He explained
hurriedly as Peter handed Mac a headset. Her phone rang almost
immediately.

"Bernie," She greeted, pleasantry lacking in her tone. She
listened carefully, giving as much information as she could. They could
determine that all the staff members were still in the pub; they
weren't too sure about customers. There hadn't been many when
Mac and Peter had left. She snapped her phone shut, whispering to Peter.
"Bernie and Hollister are on their way. There are two Homicide
surveillance vehicles already here, more back up to come. Bernie will
negotiate when he arrives."

"You think we have a hostage situation?" He asked incredulously,
his face awash with concern. She shrugged.

"We've got at least two innocent parties inside there with a gun
wielding triple homicide suspect. It could be better."

Oscar continued to listen carefully to Angie's wire.

*

"Alright, everyone stay right where you are!" Goodwin demanded
after emerging quickly from the kitchen, brandishing a small pistol and
holding it shakily in front of him. Only Angie and two customers
remained at the bar.

"Geoff, what are you doing? What's going on?" Angie cried,
her voice trembling. He pointed the gun at her.

"Just shut up! Shut up and let me think!" He drew in several
short breaths, his eyes darting towards the door. It had already been
shut; routine, due to the pub's imminent closure. But not locked.
"Lock the door!" Angie looked up at him, fear in her wide blue
eyes.

"What?"

"Lock the door now!" He yelled, holding the gun closer to her
face. "Do it!"

Angie moved slowly towards the door, sliding the locks into place.

"Where's Phil?" She asked, knowing full well Phil had been
in the kitchen moments ago. She suspected he was still there.

"Sit down! On the floor, you two as well!" He pointed the gun at
the two bewildered customers. They scurried off the stools, joining
Angie on the floor. She wished they had been quick enough to get out of
the pub when the gunshot sounded. But it had all happened so fast. She
risked a look at Goodwin. He was strung out, panicky and not sure what
he was doing. She could tell he wasn't used to holding a gun and was
completely freaked out by what he had done with it. But he still held
his ground.

"What's happening, Geoff?" Angie asked, her voice straining
to be calm. He didn't answer her, holding the gun on the three of
them while squeezing his eyes shut in agony and rubbing his face. The
shrill ring of the phone behind the bar broke the silence, attracting
his attentions. Goodwin moved over slowly, holding the gun in place as
he picked up the phone without speaking.

"This is Detective Senior Sergeant Bernie Rocca from Victoria
Police. Who am I speaking to?" An unfamiliar male voice asked.
Goodwin made no response. He hated cops. "Is this Geoffrey
Goodwin?"

"What's it to ya?"

"Geoffrey, is anyone hurt in there?" Bernie asked. From what
they could hear, Angie and the other hostages were both okay, but he
wanted confirmation on Phillip Grant.

"Is anyone ever not hurting, Benny?" Goodwin asked smugly.

"My name's Bernie, mate. I just need to know if anybody's
injured. We know there's been a gunshot."

"Just piss off, will ya copper? You blokes were the start of all
this," He hung up the phone, and on second thoughts, removed it from
the receiver.

"Where's Phil?" Angie asked firmly. Goodwin laughed; an
unnatural twinkle in his usually dull eyes.

"Phil's in the kitchen where he belongs. He's not leaving
anymore," Angie got the message, hoping that all those listening in
would get it also. Panic began to rise within her. She wasn't a
trained negotiator. She didn't know exactly how to deal with a
situation like this. She had to get Bernie back on the line.

"Maybe you should talk to the police. They might be able to help
you-" She suggested, stopping short as he cut her off, scoffing.

"The police? The police are the reason all this happened!" He
knelt down beside her, running the gun underneath her chin and lifting
her head. The metal was cold, but not as cold as she expected. She
wondered whether she had cooled down, or whether the gun was still warm
from the shot. "The police are the ones that ruined everything.
You'd know all about the girls that went missing from here, a pretty
young thing like yourself. The police think I did it. They've been
harassing me," Angie nodded.

"But what did you do to Phil? What did the police have to do with
him?" Angie pressed, adrenaline pushing through her veins. Goodwin
shook his head sadly.

"They turned Phil against me. This prick that's been picking off
these girls, he, he's screwed my business and he's screwed,
he's screwed…" He stammered, hearing a yelp of pain from the
kitchen. His head flicked up and he stood, gun still pointed at the
trio. Angie's eyes searched for an object of sorts, anything that
could be used as a weapon.

*

"Okay, we think there are two hostages other than Angie. We've
just heard a faint cry, possibly from the kitchen. Angie suspects
Phillip Grant is in there, injured. Bernie, any luck with the
phone?" Mac informed him, asking hopefully.

"Nah Mac. He's taken it off the hook. How's Angie holding
up?"

"She's doing well, keeping him talking as much as she can.
Bernie, I really don't think he's involved in the three
abductions. He's blaming whoever is for the breakdown of his
relationship with Phil and for ruining his business."

"Right Mac, but just because he's not responsible for the girls
doesn't mean he's not holding three hostages or that he
hasn't shot an innocent man."

"I know that, Bernie. Okay, keep us informed."

"Likewise."

*

The phone in the office began chiming. Goodwin spun his head – how
the hell did the cops get that number? There was no way he was answering
it, no way he was leaving the hostages. He could see police swarming the
street outside. If he left the room for a moment, it would be all over.
The office phone continued to ring.

Goodwin yelled out, relieving a touch of his anger but not nearly all of
it. He slammed the bar phone on the receiver and waited for it to ring.
It did almost immediately.

"Piss off coppers!"

"Geoffrey, we just want to talk. What is it that you want?"
Bernie asked, calmly and rationally. His tone was not returned.

"I want you coppers to piss right off and stop harassing me!"

"Look mate, you've got a bunch of innocent people in there. We
can't leave you alone about that. Now how's Phil doing?"
Bernie was met with a dial tone. "Ah, shit!"

*

Oscar sat gingerly on the edge of his chair, listening intently to
Angie's calm voice battling against Goodwin's increasingly angry
tone. He was worried, really worried. This guy was a loose cannon.
He'd already shot his lover – what was stopping him from killing
someone he barely knew?

Mac smiled at him supportively from the other side of the van.

*

Noise began to calm down outside. He could no longer make out any cops
through the darkened windows. Maybe they had pissed off? He thought in
his frazzled state. Goodwin eyed the phone, replacing the receiver
gingerly, waiting to see if the police really had packed up for the
night. He was soon proven wrong, heaving and yelping as the phone rang
immediately.

"What?!" He demanded, throwing his head from side to side as he
heard noise resume outside. The gun never left the direction of Angie
and the hostages. They hadn't heard a peep from the kitchen in a
while.

"Mate, we just want to help. We know you had nothing to do with
those girls. Don't make things worse for yourself," Goodwin
laughed manically at Bernie.

"Now, you finally get it now?! Well it's too late, copper. Too
late for Phil, too late for your innocent people, too late for you, too
late for me. Too late for the world! Are you happy with yourself,
copper? Are you?!"

*

Every officer in the area jumped when they heard a second gunshot ring
out.

*

Angie jumped from the floor, shouting above the shrieks of her
companions:

"Scene secure! Scene secure!"

She unlocked the door, holding her hands above her head as a barrage of
cops stormed the premises, swiftly removing Angie and the hostages from
the now famous Heights Hotel. They stepped over the body of Geoffrey
Goodwin, removing the gun from his hand and searching for any other
persons in the building.

*

Outside, Angie searched desperately for someone she knew. She soon found
her way into the arms of Oscar, tears that had been building during the
entire ordeal finally spilling over. She sobbed into his shoulder for
what seemed like an eternity and he held her tightly, stroking her soft
hair and rubbing his hands up and down her cold arms, warming her up.
He'd spent the entire siege convinced he was going to lose her, so
he didn't want to let her go for fear she would disappear. He
couldn't do life without her.

Bernie, Mac and Peter appeared at their side as Angie pulled away,
sniffling. Peter reached for her arm, hugging her loosely as well. Mac
squeezed her hand as they broke apart, smiling in relief as she stood
before her.

"You did good Ange," She congratulated. Angie sniffled, wiping
her nose and her eyes with the back of her hand and smiling.

"Thanks," She quivered. She looked up at Bernie. "Phil?"
She asked as he grimaced.

"The ambos revived him in there but they're not too hopeful. He
had a lot of internal bleeding; lost a lot of blood," Angie nodded
slowly and he patted her shoulder. "Go home, get some rest. We can
talk about it all tomorrow."

The group slowly disbanded and Mac didn't even realise she was
holding Peter's hand until he squeezed it lightly before letting go.
She smiled goodbye, turning around only to find herself facing Andrew
Garner.

"Well, that's one suspect down," He commented ruefully. Mac
grimaced, holding her gaze to the side, not wanting to meet his pressing
eyes.

"Yeah, held up a pub full of terrified people and killed a man
because of police pressure. He didn't even have anything to do with
those girls."

"The guy was a nutter though. He still held up his own patrons,
staff, killed his boyfriend and himself. Better for the streets to be
rid of the freak," He stated flatly, taking a final drag of his
cigarette and dropping it on the ground. Mac smirked at his nonchalance.

"He wouldn't have done any of that if we hadn't laid it on a
half-baked suspect so thick. What a waste," She sighed sadly, trying
to ease her own guilt and stir up a little humanity in Garner. It
didn't work, she decided as he shrugged indifferently.

"Not our problem. Bloody waste of police resources though. All that
work and now we've got bugger-all left on the abductions.

"Well, I'm too tired to think about it now. We can worry about
coming up with a new suspect list tomorrow," She said with a frown
on her face. He reached out, holding a hand to her smooth cheek. Mac
winced in the dimly lit street. She hated how touchy-feely this guy was
with her!

"You want a ride home?" Mac shrugged away from his touch.

"No I'm fine thanks. Goodnight."

*

He followed her home from the Heights Hotel again.

This time, she had no company.

He waited outside the bathroom window, listening to the running water of
the shower, imagining the sight of her in there.

Soon he wouldn't need to imagine.

He lit up another cigarette.

*

Mac sighed out loud, moving from the bathroom into the kitchen. It was
late and God only knew the paperwork she was to face the following
morning, but after the night's ordeal, she needed a drink. She
tossed her damp towel over the back of the couch, intending to put it in
the wash after she'd poured herself a whisky. She crouched down,
pulling out a half drunk bottled of Jack Daniels.

As she stood, an intruder struck her head from behind. Mac tumbled to
the ground without noticing what had happened, the bottle of Jack
falling beside her and remaining in tact.

He smirked at the irony.

*

"Ah, there's our little hero!" Peter called out as Angie
rode into the factory the next morning.

"Ange, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to take the
morning off?" Oscar approached her as she removed her helmet,
hanging it up beside her. She shrugged.

"Was going a bit crazy at home by myself," He nodded, reading
into her brief explanation as she had hoped.

"Did you sleep at all?" He asked, concerned. She grimaced.

"Not really," Oscar smiled at her, resting a gentle, supportive
hand on her back.

"Has anyone heard from Mac this morning?" Bernie called out,
ducking his head out of his office. He smiled as he spotted the new
arrival. "Angie. How are you today?"

"I'm okay," She stated modestly, nodding. He nodded in reply
before returning to his original point.

"Mac, anyone?" He repeated. Shakes all around. Peter glanced at
his watch.

"Bernie, it's pretty late. She's usually here by now."

"I know that, Church. Try giving her a call, will you?"

*

Ten minutes later, Peter clambered worriedly into Bernie's office.

"Both the mobile and the home phone are ringing out," He stated,
hovering in the doorway, concern breaking through his usually calm
voice. Bernie sighed.

"Worth a visit, you think?" Peter shrugged.

"She's normally pretty punctual."

"Alright, grab your keys, Church," Peter stared back blankly.
Bernie raised an eyebrow. "Well, you'd know the way there better
than I would."

*

After ringing the doorbell and rapping on the door repeatedly, Peter
pulled out his lock picking tools. Bernie stood awkwardly at his side,
trying to appear inconspicuous. They heard the lock shift and Peter
turned the handle, knocking as he opened the door.

"Mac?" He called out. "Mac, you here?" No response.
Bernie followed him over the threshold, observing the flat. It was very
Mac, he concluded: neat and minimalist, but bright all the same.

Peter noticed the white towel on the couch immediately. There was no way
would Mac have left it there. He picked it up, noting its slight
dampness. It wasn't fresh, he decided. Probably from last night. He
replaced the towel and moved into the kitchen, Bernie hot on his heels.

They were immediately confronted by the familiar black handbag sitting
on the counter, complete with mobile phone, wallet and keys. He looked
to Bernie with concern, knowing she hadn't left by her own will.
Bernie paused on the other side of the counter, squatting down beside
the abandoned bottle of whiskey on the floor and picking up with his
handkerchief. Peter rounded the bench and crouched beside him, his heart
jumping in his chest as he noticed a small speck on the floor.

"Is that blood?" Bernie beat Peter to verbalising what was
sailing rapidly around his mind.

"Shit."

Pete stood suddenly, heading straight towards the bedroom. Bernie soon
followed, finding Peter standing beside the unslept-in bed, staring at
the row windows.

"What is it, Church?" Pete pointed to a single, half open blind.

"There. They came in through there," He stated flatly,
certainly. Bernie frowned.

"What makes you say that?" Peter didn't turn around,
continuing to start at the window while replying.

"Mac never opens these blinds. See how they let light in
anyway?" Peter paused. "Someone else opened it."

He spun around, leaving to check out the other rooms. Bernie stood still
momentarily, surprised at the extent of Pete's knowledge of
Mac's home routine, but glad he'd brought the right person
along. His eyes wandered across her bedroom. He'd never seen this
homely side of Mac before: she kept herself so closely guarded around
him that Bernie almost felt as though he was intruding just standing
there. Her white doona was smooth and neat; the wrought iron bed frame
simple and classy. A matching bedside table sat on either side of the
bed, a modern lamp on each. He ran a finger along the top of the table
closest to him. No dust. Bernie smiled – he wasn't surprised.
Maybe Mac didn't leave as much of her personality at home as he had
originally suspected. He slid the drawer open. His eyes immediately fell
upon a chunky mobile phone charger as well as a row of Lifestyles
condoms and sheet of the contraceptive pill. Bernie shut the drawer
quickly. He suddenly felt like he was intruding again.

"Bernie, you better see this!" Peter's muffled voice
sounded. Bernie frowned, stepping out into the living room and seeing no
sign of Church. Was he outside?

Bernie walked swiftly out the front door, rounding the flat at stopping
where Church was crouching. They were outside a room with a frosted
glass window, much smaller and higher than any of the others. The
bathroom, Bernie hazarded a guess. He looked down at what had Peter so
fascinated. Several cigarette butts lay on the grass. They didn't
look like they'd been there any more than a day. Bernie shrugged as
he crouched down beside Peter.

"Maybe Mac snuck a couple during the Quit program?" He
suggested. Peter shook his head.

"These are Benson & Hedges," He noted dimly, referring to the
tiny script just above the filter. "Mac's strictly a Marly
Lights girl."

Bernie turned to Peter.

"We've got a problem."

Pete nodded, standing and looking Bernie in the eye as he followed.

"Someone's been casing her place."

*

Mac groaned as she awoke, her eyes flickering open then squeezing shut
again. Her head throbbed. She was freezing. She tried to open her eyes
again, daylight blinding her momentarily as her eyes took their time to
adjust. Her heart skipped a beat upon realising that she didn't
recognise her surroundings, nor remember how she got there. The room was
more dimly lit that it had first appeared and the smell of damp and
stale cigarettes hung in the air. Something else, too. She screwed up
her nose, the much more unpleasant odour filling her nostrils. She tried
to sit, struggling to find a balance on the mattress upon which she had
been placed. Goosebumps rose along her skin and tears welled in her eyes
when she noticed both her wrists and ankles were bound by strong rope;
so thin and firm it had broken skin whilst being tied. The intricately
knotted rope had also been wrapped around an exposed pipe in the wall,
binding Mac to that also. She couldn't move.

She noted dried blood on the grubby mattress. From her wrists? Her
ankles? Her throbbing head?

Someone else?

She panicked, trying to scream; a frightened yelp emerging instead.

She stopped herself suddenly on afterthought, not wanting to attract the
attention of her presumed captor.

It was too late.

*

Within the hour, a forensics team was working their magic at Mac's
flat.

Bernie, Peter and Bill Hollister stood around awkwardly in the living
room, trying to nut out between them all the possible scenarios.

"It could be our abductor," Bernie suggested for the umpteenth
time. Hollister shook his head firmly.

"Different M.O. Ellen was taken from her home; the other women
disappeared from outside the hotel. There was no sign at all that any of
them even made it back to their houses."

"But Mac was last seen at the Heights Hotel. That has to be more
than a coincidence."

"You're forgetting one important difference. Ellen was a police
officer, investigating the abductions."

Pete silently fumed at Hollister's use of past tense when he spoke
of Mac. Ellen was a police officer. Bernie sighed, looking to his quiet
co-worker. He hadn't contributed any further thoughts since the
discovery of the cigarette butts.

"Peter?" His address snapped Peter from his silent worries.

"Uh, me and Mac were undercover in the pub last night as patrons.
She was in the van with us during the entire siege. If anyone followed
her home from there, I doubt they would've known she was a cop,"
He eyed Hollister with contempt. "It's not like she was wearing
a uniform or anything," He said curtly, not appreciating
Hollister's suggestion that the fact she was a covert officer meant
she was an automatic target for abductors. Hollister flashed Pete an
unimpressed glare, while Bernie nodded slowly, ignoring the tension.

"Well that could take us back to our original theory. A cabbie or
somebody the women would have trusted enough to get into a car with. Did
Mac get a cab home last night?" Bernie asked, to which Peter shook
his head.

"Nah, she had her car there."

Silence filled the room once again.

"Well, I still think it'd be worthwhile checking out the Heights
Hotel. For peace of mind, at least," Bernie stated. Peter had no
objections so Hollister was forced to follow suit. A thought suddenly
entered Bernie's head "Where's your new protégé,
Bill?"

"Senior Detective Garner hadn't arrived yet when you rang.
I'll get him to meet us at the hotel," Hollister sneered
defensively.

*

Mac sat timidly on the mattress, slouching her shoulders fearfully as a
figure approached. He was wearing a black knitted balaclava with no
mouth hole, but Mac was sure she could see his eyes smiling with
psychopathic glee.

"Are we awake now, Princess?" He asked, pausing in front of her.
His voice was familiar.

Mac didn't respond; a single tear spilling down her cheek. She
lurched back when he sat beside her; every muscle in her body tensing as
he wiped her cheek dry with his fingertips. He reached into his pocket,
pulling out a crumpled packet of Benson & Hedges Smooth and a red
lighter.

"Will a smoke calm you down?" He offered, placing the cigarette
between her pursed lips. She spat it out audaciously. He clicked his
tongue beneath the woollen cover, reaching down to pick it up. "Now,
don't play games with me, Ellen. I've had enough of that,"
He lifted the balaclava above his chin, balancing the cigarette between
his own lips this time and lighting it. He blew a stream of smoke into
her face cruelly, snickering as she coughed and profusely blinked out
the soot.

He knew her name.

Mac knew she recognised his voice, but couldn't place it. Not
through the woollen balaclava.

"What do you want?" She asked, her voice low and shaky. He
smiled as he took another drag, pinching her chin in a movement laced
with faux affection.

"You'll see."

*

The Heights Hotel was cordoned off by police tape due to the previous
night's tragic events, but a simple flash of a rarely used badge
granted Angie and Oscar instant entry. They met the others inside.

"Anything?" Angie asked Bernie hopefully; the look in his eyes
answering her question before it had even been asked.

"Not yet," They watched as Peter shook his head manically,
pacing from one end of the bar to the other.

"There's nothing here. Nothing," He muttered exasperatedly
as he marched out of the pub. He leaned up hopelessly against the
exterior wall for the sole purpose of pushing himself off it again
violently. If Mac had been taken by that guy…he attempted to shake
the thought from his head, failing dismally. It had been months since
those other women had gone missing and nothing had turned up. What hope
did they have of finding Mac?

Oscar found him sitting in the gutter across the road, his arms crossed
over his knees and his chin resting on his arms. He was staring off at
nothing in particular.

He sat beside him, not saying anything but he could tell Pete knew he
was there.

"She'll turn up mate. We'll find her," Oscar stated,
hoping he'd believe it himself if it was said out loud. Peter
grunted, squinting as he stared off to his left, away from Stoney. He
spotted something. "Pete?" Oscar asked as he stood.
"Peter?"

Peter crouched down on the road, inspecting the small pile of litter on
the footpath in front of him. A particular type of litter.

"Get Bernie," He instructed; Oscar fetching him immediately.
Bernie came barrelling out of the pub, Angie and Hollister following
closely.

"What is it, Church?" Peter stood, standing and pointing to the
small collection of cigarette butts.

"Benson & Hedges," Was all Peter had to say. "They were here
last night. Smoking these, right here," He said, his tone insistent.
Oscar shook his head.

"Nah, that Homicide D was parked there all night. Garner, I saw
him."

They all eyed each other warily. Peter recalled Mac complaining about
that guy's sleazy forward manner. He hadn't shown up for work
that day. They turned to Hollister.

"No way. No, I won't believe that," He said flatly,
arrogantly. Bernie clenched his teeth.

"Does he smoke?" He demanded. Hollister didn't respond.
"Does he smoke B&H?"

"That doesn't mean a thing…" Hollister huffed.

It suddenly all made sense. The other women had trusted him as a police
officer, accepting his assistance in driving them home. He was on the
investigative team, leading the rest of them on a wild goose chase
behind the bar at the Heights Hotel, all the while diverting attention
from himself. He'd used his knowledge of inner workings of the
police force and the law to his own advantage, acting with disgrace and
malevolence.

He was abusing the system in the most repulsive of ways and he had
gotten away with it.

Until now.

They had to find Mac.

*

Mac trembled from her position on the mattress. Her mouth was dry; her
stomach so empty it felt concave. She swallowed repeatedly, her head
light from dehydration and her eyes aching as they drooped. Mac felt her
mind spiral into delirium. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to place
where she recognised his voice from.

But all she could think about was Peter.

The other night, he'd all but confessed his love for her and
she'd brushed it off. The second he had admitted he was talking
about Mac that night, not Christina, Mac hadn't known what to say.
Her lack of response, of reciprocation, had made him so uncomfortable
he'd changed the subject, she was sure. She had wanted to respond so
badly, but the words just didn't flow. Stupid pride, she cursed
herself. Instead, she'd done the usual run-around that was ever
present in their relationship. She'd shared her inner-most thoughts
with him as he had her and they'd made love, without the actual
words ever surfacing.

~

I've tried my best to leave
This song on your machine
But the persistent beat
Sounded thin upon listening

~

Mac felt a hollow pit in her stomach, fearing the worst.

That she'd never get the chance again to tell Peter how she felt.

She'd never tell him she loved him.

*

"Bernie!" Angie cried urgently from Andrew Garner's tiny
living room, a letter shaking between nervous fingers. She'd found
it at the bottom of a drawer, the law firm's letterhead first
attracting her attention.

"What?" He bounded hurriedly towards her, snatching the paper
from her hands. His eyes skimmed it as Angie explained its contents.

"His parents had a property about an hour out of the city. It's
been empty since they died, left in his name," She paused, her heart
beating quickly as she revealed the final piece of information. Peter,
Oscar and a couple of the Homicide boys had now gathered around them
also. "It's got a small on-sight abattoir."

They all glanced at each other.

"Let's go." Bernie instructed.

*

Mac fidgeted with the white cord bound around her ankles when he
wasn't looking. If she could get free from that bloody pipe,
she'd have much more of a chance. She couldn't tell whether the
awful feeling in her stomach was from fear, nervousness, or the
horrible, sickly smell that hung in the air. She bit her lip, trying to
suppress the pain as the rope cut deeper into her flesh. He turned,
catching her out.

His strong hands grasped hers viciously, removing them from her ankles
and dragging them over her head, pushing her onto her back. He knelt on
the mattress, one leg on each side of her small frame, looming over her
hauntingly.

"Not a smart move, Sergeant," He spat out her rank snidely. She
recognised his voice, his tone, instantly.

"It's you…" She trailed off, her voice hushed with shock.
He pulled off his balaclava, a proud smile plastering his face.

"It's me…" Andrew Garner repeated, sitting heavily on her
hips. She couldn't move.

"You…you took those other girls too…" She stammered,
everything falling into place. She suddenly realised what the smell was.
Rotting human flesh. She felt the bile rising.

He pulled out a pocket knife, flicking out a sharp blade. He leaned over
her again.

"You ask a lot of questions, Ellen," He slowly began to slice
open her shirt, button by button. "I'm glad you can see me now.
We can both see each other." Andrew whispered in her ear, his hot
breath imposing on her cheek. He pulled open her shirt, admiring what he
saw. She inhaled sharply, wincing as he held the knife to her throat,
running his hand over her bra and breasts, tracing the toned lines of
her abs. "Well, all that work at the gym certainly paid off."

A tear streamed from the corner of her eye.

"Where are the other girls?" She asked, her voice trembling. He
grinned manically, his eyes twinkling.

"They're all around us, Ellen. Can't you smell them?" He
asked, sitting upright and inhaling deeply. Mac shook beneath him. She
noticed a glint above his shoe; a gun in an ankle holster. Andrew leaned
over her again, knife still in place as he pulled her from her bra,
exposing part of her breast. She squeezed her eyes shut, cringing as she
felt him harden. Her heart pumped heavily in her chest, panic truly
setting in.

~

That frankly will not fly
You will hear the shrillest highs
And lowest lows with the windows down
When this is guiding you home
~

It all happened at once. The barred door to the backyard abattoir
crashed open with a thud, intense screaming voices filling the room.
Andrew leapt off her, whipping his gun out of his ankle holster and
shooting at the first person he saw. They crashed to the ground as
another officer took Garner out with a single shot to the head.

Peter lowered his gun, Garner falling to the ground in front of him in
seeming slow motion. He stepped forward, kicking the gun away from the
deceased man's hands by manner of habit.

Angie and Oscar ran to Bernie's side as he lay collapsed on the
cold, polished concrete floor; Oscar removing his jacket and pressing it
to the open gunshot wound in his arm as Angie called through the radio
for an ambulance. Bernie gasped for air; his breathing laboured and
heavy as the shock began to set in.

Peter moved towards Mac, his heart wrenching at the sight of her. She
sat trembling on the mattress, her shirt half removed and her wrists and
ankles still bound. He sat beside her gently, holding her to him as her
increased rate of breathing turned into a quiet, stressed sob. Her eyes
were red, but not teary, just wide with shock. Her lips were dry and
cracked, and the open wound that reached around to her temple had matted
her hair to her head in a sticky, half dried clump. Peter carefully cut
her free from the ties binding her to the pipe, attempting to soothe her
as she dissolved into his arms.

*

Mac sat gingerly on the edge of the firm, fully made hospital bed,
staring at her feet. Two light taps sounded on the door and Peter
entered without waiting to hear a reply. She looked up at him, eagerly
awaiting news.

"How's Bernie?" She asked, not having heard anything since
the paramedics had loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

"He's doing okay. The wound was superficial; he should be home
in a couple days," Peter replied and she nodded, her mind ticking
over.

"What about those women? Did they..?"

"Forensics are checking out the abattoir, but it's pretty
certain Garner was our guy. They found some women's clothing there
– trophies," He answered her, pausing as he eyed Mac carefully.
"How are you?" She shrugged.

"Fine."

"How's the head?" She shrugged again as she stood.

"Mild concussion. They're discharging me."

"Good. I'll give you a lift then," Peter stated, resting a
hand on her shoulder as he began to guide her out of the room. She
shrugged his hand off.

"Nah, I'll just get a cab," Peter raised an eyebrow, staring
at her as he warned firmly; his eyes giving her no option.

"Mac."

She rolled her eyes, sighing.

"Fine…"

*

"Here Mac, let me do something," Pete offered, standing
helplessly in Mac's living room.

"There's nothing to do, Peter. I'm fine," Mac insisted,
trying to convince herself also.

"I want to help, Mac."

"Pete, I just want to have a shower, go to bed and forget this whole
thing ever happened."

Nobody else would have noticed it, but Peter heard the light inflection
at the end her voice. He took her hand silently, guiding her into the
bathroom and sitting her down on the edge of the bath. He took a fresh
towel from the cabinet and hung it on the hook behind the door before he
left the room. He returned moments later after retrieving some pyjama
pants, a warm jumper and some socks from the bedroom, finding Mac just
as he had left her. He crouched down beside her, brushing her dark hair
from her fair face and breaking her sad trance, speaking gently.

"I'll be in the kitchen. Call out if you need me, okay?"

She grimaced, shaking her head.

"Pete, I'm-"

"Mac, you don't have to pretend in front of me. You'll call
out, yeah?" He repeated, his voice insistent. She paused, looking
down as she nodded in agreement. Peter smiled a supportive half smile,
squeezing her shoulder lightly as he stood to leave.

*

Mac padded out of the bathroom, her arms folded protectively across her
chest as she headed for her bedroom, purposely bypassing Peter in the
kitchen. He picked up the plate from the counter, following her.

"Here," He offered her the plate as she sat on the edge of her
bed, making himself comfortable beside her. She shook her head, not
taking it.

"I'm not hungry."

"You should eat something. Sorry it's not very interesting –
you don't keep much food in your house, you know!" He smirked,
picking up half of the vegemite sandwich and holding it in front of her.
She returned the smile briefly, taking the sandwich and having a small
bite. She chewed it slowly, playing with the remainder of it and
flattening the bread with her fingers. She didn't say anything.
Peter held a hand to her back, setting the plate on the bedside table.
"You want to get some rest?" He asked gently and she nodded,
sliding herself across the bed and crawling underneath the covers.
"You want me to stay?"

"No, go home Peter, I'm fine."

"Mac, stop pretending you're fine. No normal person would be
fine after what you went through."

She sighed loudly, frustration beginning to break through her formerly
delicate voice.

"Go, Pete. I just want to be by myself, okay?"

"Mac-"

"Just go!" She whined, squeezing her eyes shut. Peter frowned,
standing and turning out the light, leaving the door slightly ajar
behind him.

*

Mac awoke with a start. It was the middle of the night; cool blue light
peeking out from behind the blinds. She was hot and cold at the same
time, her breathing heavy and rapid. Her clothes were damp from cold
sweat and it wasn't until she rubbed her eyes that she even realised
she had been crying in her sleep.

She didn't want to be alone; not at that moment, not ever again.

But she had never felt more so.

*

As she shuffled into her kitchen early the next morning after a
sleepless night, Mac noticed a figure on her couch. She held a hand to
her mouth, her lips curling into a smile as she watched Peter sleep, a
lightweight throw draped over him as he curled into an
uncomfortable-looking ball.

He had stayed.

She approached him slowly, crouching beside him and rubbing her hand
gently on his bare chest. He stirred, his eyes flickering open if only
for a moment.

"Morning," She greeted, her voice soft.

"Morning," He repeated, his voice dry and husky and his eyes
remaining closed. She smiled again, her hand lightly brushing his chest
hair as he pushed himself into a sitting position, his clear blue eyes
squinting in the sunlight. "How are you this morning?" Mac
paused.

"I've been better," She answered truthfully. Pete nodded.
That was certainly to be expected.

"Did you get much sleep?"

"Uh, not really."

"C'mere," He mumbled sleepily, pulling her up onto the
couch. She crawled beside him, curling into him as he held her. It
wasn't an overly deep couch, so Mac had no choice but to lie very
close to him; a notion to which Peter had no objections. Neither of them
did. She inhaled his scent deeply, her eyelids growing heavy as she
relaxed into his touch.

~

They will see us waving from such great heights
"Come down now," they'll say
~

"Sorry for being such a bitch to you last night," She mumbled
into his chest and he chuckled lightly.

"You were no worse than usual," Mac shoved him gently in the
chest, making him snicker more.

"No, I never thanked you for yesterday, for getting me out of there.
And for looking after me, for staying…"

"Hey, none of that," He hushed her serious voice, each of their
breathing becoming slow and deep again as they began to drift off.

"I mean it, Pete. I don't deserve you," She sighed
earnestly. Peter tightened his hold on her.

"You know I'm always here, yeah?" He reminded her softly. He
felt her nod her reply into his chest, fatigue overcoming both of them
again.

"Yeah."

~

But everything looks perfect from far away
"Come down now," but we'll stay...

~

*