"I've been doing a little research of my own while you've been living it up in the Big Easy," George said. He sat with John in the precinct briefing room. He tapped a few keys on his laptop and three spinning stones appeared on the screen. "You wouldn't believe how many web sites there are on these things."

"So?"

George looked at him over the edge of the computer. John was frowning at the photos from the fourth murder. George could see that the younger man was frustrated and losing patience. The blank rune stone was clearly bothering him.

"I've never paid much attention to them before, but it's kind of interesting." George said, trying to draw John out of his black mood and into a conversation.

"Interesting doesn't solve cases." John tossed the pictures down and they fanned across the table. "So, we found the pattern. Big deal. That didn't help Joe Norris."

"We'll get him."

"When? After how many more?"

George realized that John wouldn't be satisfied with any answer he could give, but he had to try. "This isn't our fault, John. This guy is not our fault," he said. "If we weren't here it would be worse. Anything we do, everything we do is better than nothing. We'll get him and we'll do it as fast as we can. That's all we can do."

"I'm sure that makes Norris feel so much better."

The two men sat in unhappy silence, staring at the photos between them.

"I wonder why the killer chose to use the runes," George said finally.

"Maybe because it makes more sense than I Ching."

"Yeah, for you, I guess it would," George nodded. "It is a lot simpler."

"What's that suppose to mean?"

There was an edge to John's tone that made George look up. His eyes widened as he realized how his words had probably sounded.

"That's how you think of me?" John asked. "Simplistic?"

"No. No, it's not," George tried to explain. He hadn't meant to insult John. That hadn't even occurred to him. "All I meant was... You like straightforward answers. Yes, no. Right, left. Black, white..." George shook his head, not at all sure that John understood his intent.

"Simple," John said again.

"Practical," George said, scrambling for words. "You like logical reasons for things not mystic interpretations. I just figured that if you *did* have to use some occult method to get an answer for anything... you'd choose the simplest, most straightforward way to do it."

John continued to frown. "So, you think I'm narrow-minded?"

George rolled his eyes and resisted the impulse to agree. "No, not narrow-minded. You're just... conventional."

"Conventional? You mean dull. Simplistic and dull?"

"No... John... that's not..."

"Play nice, boys," Grace admonished. She stopped behind John's chair and wrapped her arm around his neck. "You know better, George," she said to the hacker as she cupped a hand under John's chin. "This is the face of a man who enjoys yanking your chain. A man who gave Nathan grief for a week about missing a basketball game; who never mentioned that he had a date of his own and didn't show up for the game either. Don't let him play mind games with you."

The scowl slowly faded from John's face and gradually reappeared on George's.

"And you," she tilted John's head until he looked up at her. "It's not nice to torture George."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You are so dead," George said to John as Grace walked away.

John grinned and picked up the bag of rune stones Sam had left on the table. He shook it to shuffle them then drew three.

"Okay, so if I follow this guy's MO�" He glanced at Sam's book. "I'd have to kill a horse with sunlight and leave it under a birch tree."

"You know, you're a little scary sometimes," George said. John appeared to be in a better mood, but George wasn't entirely convinced. He had seemed truly angry before Grace intervened. She may have diffused him, but George suspected that it was a temporary fix.

John was still staring at the stones thoughtfully. "How would you kill something with sunlight?" he mused. "Vampires, maybe? It *is* New Orleans. Doesn't that writer live down here?"

George shook his head. "I take it back. You're a lot scary."

"I guess I'd need to find a vampire horse for this to work�"

"That's it." George folded up his laptop. "I'm going to sit with the normal people now." Sometimes it just wasn't worth it to drag John out of one of his dark dispositions. He was never appreciative.

******

The hotel had managed to find them another room.

Bailey knew that there was only one configuration that would guarantee a decent night's sleep for all of them. And it wasn't going to happen. Instead, Grace and Sam took the new room. Pulling rank, Bailey claimed the single room that Sam had vacated.

He woke to the sound of shouting in the adjoining room. He had a fairly good idea of what had happened even before he opened the door. George stood on the far side of the small room staring at John. John sat in bed and merely looked baffled.

"What's the problem?" Bailey asked.

"He... I don't know what he did," George said. "I heard a noise."

"I didn't do anything," John said crossly. "I woke up because he was yelling."

"I was yelling because you were..."

Bailey silently wished that there were some way to keep John's nightmares from interrupting everyone else's sleep. Some way that didn't involve Sam. Knowing it was useless he shook his head and went back to his own bed.

******

Morning found most of the VCTF around a table in one of the hotel's conference rooms. A tray of coffee and doughnuts that had been swiped from the continental breakfast in the lobby was on the table between John and George. John tilted his chair back and stretched.

"If I'd known this place was here I would have come slept on the sofa. Look at all this space."

"If I'd known it was here I would have sent you," George muttered. He covered a yawn and scowled at John. It was annoying how John seemed completely unaffected by a broken night's sleep. Almost like he's use to it, George thought a little guiltily.

"Hey, George?" John asked as he flipped though his notebook. "Did you give me back those lists on portable generator retailers?"

George groaned. "I'm sorry. I think they're still on the table in the room. I completely forgot."

"No problem. Back in a minute."

George shook his head wearily and picked up a Styrofoam coffee cup. He glanced up as Grace dropped into John's empty chair.

"You seem a little out of it this morning, dear," she said. "Sleep badly in a strange city?"

"It isn't the city..."

"�It's the roommate," Grace nodded. "You look like Nathan did after sharing a room with John in Chicago a couple of years ago. He managed for three days before he finally gave up and shelled out for his own room."

"Did he say what the problem was?"

Grace shrugged. "Not really. Just that John seemed to hate sleeping in hotels and didn't think anyone else should enjoy it either."

"He has nightmares," George said softly. "He woke me up twice. I know that this case is starting to get to him. All the waiting and dead ends," he shook his head. "But I don't think that's what this is about. It just seemed more� personal." He sighed. "Now I know why Bailey wanted the single room."

"Well," Grace smiled sympathetically, "for your sake and his, let's wrap this thing up fast and go home."

******

Sam paced in front of the large bulletin board. "There's something immature, almost childlike, about the way he chooses his victims; using the runes to guide him," she said. "But he's precise in his method, in the execution of the murder. He's very careful about how he kills. He probably has a job that requires precision, something where details are important." She tapped the end of her pen against her cheek. "But he's young. He's uncertain about making decisions. He doesn't feel comfortable with responsibility. He's giving up the responsibility of decision-making to the runes."

She stopped her pacing to review the photos taped to the wall. Each victim and murder scene was displayed chronologically. She studied each sadly. "Who would know how to kill someone all these different ways? To know where in the brain to strike? How to most efficiently slit a throat? What voltage to stop a heart?"

George knew that the first thought in everyone's minds was of Jack. He saw Sam's shoulders stiffen as she realized what she had asked.

"I would," Grace said, taking the discussion down a different track.

"Remind me never to tick you off," John told her.

"I think it's probably a little too late for that advice to do you much good," George said.

"Hey! It's been days since the last time she threw me out of the lab."

"I can't work with you in there, John." Grace shook her head. "Those stupid jokes... I nearly dropped that poor man's liver."

"So, don't laugh. Sam can give you lessons."

Sam looked up at them. "A doctor," she said. "The killer could be a doctor. Or a medical student."

John and George exchanged a quick look and burst into laughter. Sam blinked at them, oblivious to the conversation, which had sidetracked everyone else.

"So, we know the killer takes the most literal meaning of the runes," she continued. "His last set was 'blank, lamp, and separation'. How would you interpret it, John?"

Intent as she was on her profile she missed the darkening of John's eyes.

"Simplest meaning?" he said tightly. "The blank rune is his wild card. Fire for the lamp. And home to be separated from. He'll burn down the house of the person he hates the most."

Sam nodded. "That makes sense."

"Just because that's what I think it means doesn't mean that the killer will agree."

"No, it makes sense, John. I think you're probably right." She continued her profile. "It will be somebody he knows; not a random victim this time. The blank rune is giving him permission to choose a more personal victim. It could be someone that he's had in mind the whole time. Method and location are logical, too."

"Are we about through?" John asked. "There are still some actual evidence leads we have left to run down. Somebody should be coordinating with the locals."

George suspected that Bailey understood why John was suddenly eager to be out of the room. Instead of chiding the impatient agent as he would normally have done, Bailey merely nodded.

"You have the grid George created yesterday?" he asked. At John's quick affirmative Bailey nodded again.

The briefing didn't last much longer after John's hasty departure. George remained at the table while Sam gathered her scattered notes.

"Sometimes I don't know how you do it," he said.

"Beg your pardon?" Sam asked.

"You can profile a person you've never seen before from two thousand miles away, but you miss what's right in front of you."

Sam gave him a startled look. His uncharacteristically angry tone obviously confused her.

"Sam, you just compared him to a killer and insulted his intelligence on top of that."

"Who? John? I didn't..."

"You know how personally he takes things. He's not seeing that you value his opinion about a case or that you trust his judgement. He's not seeing that you agreed with him because he has good instincts. He's seeing that you're using him to figure out how an immature killer thinks. That may not have been exactly what you said, but that's what he heard." He paused for a breath as she gaped at him. "And to him it probably sounded like you called him his father."

******

"Hey, 'tite frere! 'Bout time you wander by, boy."

John smiled at the greeting. Little brother, he thought. Nobody's called me that in a long time. He leaned on the counter as Lexi finished up with the tourist family. He was suppose to be canvassing with Montenet, but he figured he could get away with a momentary side trip. He hadn't had a chance to catch up with Lexi yet, and it wouldn't hurt to try and find out what she and Sam had talked about.

"Dese folks askin' 'bout de bes' place ta eat round here," Lexi said to him. "I tell 'em de Gumbo Shop is what dey're lookin' for. Ain' dat so, frere?"

"Fo' true," John said, sliding rustily into the accent. "Bes' mud-bugs in de city." He crouched level with the children of the family. "So, how you likin' N'Awlins?"

"It's cool!" the littlest boy replied. "We saw a fire juggler this morning!"

"He swallowed a sword and everything!" his slightly older brother added.

John grinned, knowing they had seen one of the many street performers around Jackson Square.

"Stick 'round long enough," John said, "an' no tellin' what you migh' see."

The children waved at him cheerfully as they left.

"So," Lexi began as soon as they were alone. "How have you been, Johnny? Tell me true."

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I'm doing okay."

It wasn't much of an answer and Lexi raised her eyebrows.

He sighed. "Nutshell version? We left here, moved around a lot. I went to college, became a cop, joined the FBI, ended up here."

"How is it that you can talk endlessly about anything except your personal life?" she asked. "We're both adults now. You think maybe you can at least tell me what was going back then?"

John's eyes flickered from item to item in the shop. They never settled on Lexi.

"Fine," she said, her eyes narrowing. "I've been waiting a long time to try out some theories on you. You can just nod in all the right places. Your name isn't Grant and you're afraid of your father," she said flatly. "Everything you do is because of your father. You were in New Orleans because you were running from him. You became an FBI agent just to tick him off. You push people away because you're afraid you're too much like him. You're thirty years old and you aren't any farther away from this than you were when you were a kid. How am I doing?"

"What did Sam tell you?" he whispered.

"Nothing. She's so protective of you it isn't funny. I pieced all that together myself over the years. You're a fascinating case study." She tilted her head and her expression became softer. "You really like her, don't you?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Johnny. You know I never bought it. You like her."

He sighed in exasperation. "Like you'd really need ESP to figure that one out," he muttered. "What's not to like?"

"She seems like a nice woman."

"Nice?" John knew Lexi was trying to pry a confession out of him. Fine. He'd confess. "She's amazing," he said, knowing that once he started he would end up babbling. "She's beautiful and compassionate and she's so strong. She has an incredible will and she's got a huge heart. She's brilliant; ten times smarter than I could ever hope to be. She's a great mom. She's a terrific friend. Yeah, I like her, okay?"

"No," Lexi said. "I was wrong. You don't like her. You are totally and completely gone on her." She looked at him thoughtfully. "So, when are you going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?" He choked on a rough burst of laughter. This conversation wasn't going at all how he had expected. "She thinks I'm a puppy, Lex. A big, goofy puppy. Useful to have around for entertaining the kids or scaring away the dumber crooks but always tripping over his own feet� "

"I don't know, Johnny. There's something to be said for puppies," she said gently. "They're cute and sweet and cuddly. And they grow up into big, loyal, protective mutts that are still cute and sweet and..."

"I swear, Lex, if you try to pat me on the head I'll bite you." He gave her half a smile. "Besides, they already have a dog."

"They? Oh, Sam's daughter... And what does she think of you?"

"Chloe's a great kid. She... I don't know exactly what she thinks of me, but we're pretty cool. I think she likes me okay."

Lexi laughed suddenly. "Likes you okay? And I quote the good doctor...'Chloe adores him'."

"She really said that?"

"You've fallen for them both, haven't you?"

He couldn't deny it. He couldn't even try. "Hard," he admitted with a sigh.

"So, when are you going to get off your dumb Irish butt and DO something?"

"Do what?"

"You have a skull like a cannonball, Johnny. TELL her."

"Oh, yeah. That'll work."

"She's not psychic, you moron. Just open your mouth and speak."

"You don't get it, Lexi. She knows. Everybody knows."

"But have you ever actually *said* anything?" She stared at him intently. "Women like words."

"Guys don't."

"Get over it."

"Grant?"

John turned up to see Detective Montenet entering the shop.

"You ready?" the police officer asked.

"Yeah," John nodded. "We're supposed to be working," he explained to Lexi. "Hey, Len? You know Lexi Carson?"

Montenet held out his hand to the rune-reader. "Saw you at the Seltzer murder scene, but we didn't meet," he said. "Enchante."

"I see you have the local affliction, too," Lexi said, grinning at the accent.

"Yes, ma'am," Montenet smiled. "Born and raised in Jeanerette."

"We have to go, Lex. Later, okay?"

"You better believe it. We ain't done, frere."

******