/////////////////

Chapter Seven

////////////////


For breakfast, Scully selected a butter croissant instead of 
her usual bagel.  She took it and a steaming cup of coffee to 
a small table in the back, where she sat with the morning 
paper.  No sooner had she cracked the center fold when Mulder 
appeared at the tablecloth's edge.  "Just the person I was 
looking for," he said as he pulled out the chair across from 
her.

"Well, you found me," she said, suppressing a sigh as she 
tucked the newspaper away.

He touched his finger to the pink rosebud in a vase.  "Your 
admirer again?"

"There's one on every table," she replied, and he turned 
around to look.

"So there is.  I think he may be stepping out on you, 
Scully."

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and 
finger.  At this rate, she would be hitting the painkillers 
before she finished breakfast.  "What did you want to see me 
for?" she asked him.

"I was thinking about the case last night."  He leaned 
backwards in his seat as the waitress brought him a cup of 
coffee.  Without asking, he helped himself to Scully's cream.  
"In going after Harris, this guy may have inadvertently given 
us the answer to how to catch him."

"How so?"

"He's clearly following the case.  Hell, he even attended the 
town meeting about him, which is pretty daring when you think 
about how many law enforcement officials were in attendance. 
And now we know that his reputation is important to him.  He 
attacked Harris to prove Harris wrong, to show him that there 
was only one man behind the murders."

"You want to use the media to draw him out."

Mulder sat back and nodded.  "If he's not going to make a 
mistake on his own, we have to force him into one.  He feels 
threatened, or like we're underestimating him, he might make 
contact with us to show us how wrong we are."

Scully recalled Stella Harris's body from the morgue, with 
its precision knife wounds and the gun shot wound to the head 
that had shattered the left side of her skull.  "What are you 
proposing, exactly?"

"I want to give a news conference today.  I'll stand up and 
give a psychoanalysis of this guy, something like he must 
really want to do his mother but can't because his penis is 
too small."

"Mulder!"

He smiled and popped a bite of croissant into his mouth.  
"Okay, so I won't use precisely those words, but that's the 
general idea."

"You want to bait him into coming after you," she said.  
"Mulder, that's crazy.  Did you see what he did to Harris?  
And that was without any planning."

"I'm not hoping he pays a visit to my hotel room, no.  I just 
want him to make contact."

"We've seen how he makes contact, Mulder.  It involves a 
knife and a gun and most of the time his victims don't live 
to tell the tale."

"Have you got a better idea?  Because we've had three murders 
in just this week alone."

"I seem to recall performing the autopsies, yes."

"So then you know how important this is."

She pushed away her plate, her appetite gone.  She did not 
want to have his body on a slab, pale except for the dried 
red blood.  Her hand trembled at the thought of having to cut 
into him and she clenched it to stop the shaking.

"Why you?  Why not Ray or Chief Windsor?"

"I know what to say.  Besides, they've both been all over the 
news for days now, clearly not making any headway on the 
case, and still our killer hasn't been moved to respond at 
all."

"But if you told them what to say..."

He shook his head.  "There's one other problem.  Peterkin and 
the Chief aren't married or living with anyone.  That's 
obviously one of this guy's main triggers.  He doesn't attack 
single men at all, that we know of, and the men he does kill 
are almost incidental.  The rage isn't directed primarily at 
them but at the women.  He just likes to make them watch."

"Mulder, you're not married either."  A sudden, horrible, 
thought occurred to her.  "You're not, are you?"

"Not for many years now, no."

She exhaled.  "Then I don't understand."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, leaning 
over the table.  "I may be able to push this guy's buttons 
all by myself, but it would help if I had a woman.  He wanted 
to show Harris up, but he wanted to do it in front of the 
wife.  I think if it looks like I'm in a committed 
relationship of some sort, it might help draw this guy out."

"You... you want me to be your wife?"

"Girlfriend."  A smile tugged at his lips.  "We wouldn't want 
to rush into anything."

She shook her head a bit, trying to shuffle her thoughts into 
some form of order.  This is insanity, she told herself, 
lowering her eyes as Mulder reached out to take her hand.  A 
flush of heat went through her as they touched.

"The Chief and Ray," Mulder said, his voice low, "he's 
probably had his eye on them for a while now.  He knew Harris 
was married from his wedding ring.  I'm mostly an unknown 
quantity, and so are you, because we're from out of town."

Scully tensed but did not pull her hand away.  "What sort of 
charade are you proposing here?"

"Nothing too elaborate.  I want to make sure we look cozy for 
the cameras.  I'm not saying we need to start necking at the 
press conference."

"Mulder."

"Hmm?"  His thumb was making lazy circles on her wrist.

"I can't believe you just used the word necking."

He gave her a slow smile and a squeeze before letting go of 
her hand.  "Before you say yes, you should consider the risk 
involved.  If I make myself a target, and you are linked to 
me, then you become a target as well."

"I'm aware of that."

"I don't expect a direct attack but we would have to be on 
guard for it."

She let out a shaky breath and folded her hands in front of 
her.  "I can handle the risk."

"So you'll do it?"

"What if I said no?  What then?"

"I don't know.  I hadn't considered that you'd say no."  He 
tilted his head, studying her.  "Are you saying no?"

"There's always Diana.  She'd probably jump at the chance and 
she certainly has practice playing your... how did Frohike 
phrase it? 'Your little chickadee.'"

Mulder shook his head in a dismissive gesture.  "No, not 
Diana."

"Why?"

"For one thing," he said, setting aside his linen napkin and 
standing up, "there's your hair.  You are the only redhead in 
that entire station house, which means you stand out in a 
crowd.  We're going for noticeable here."

He put his arm around the back of her chair in a proprietary 
manner and leaned down so close she could feel his breath on 
her cheek.  "And secondly," he murmured before brushing his 
lips across her skin, "there's only so much I can fake."

/////

Overnight the temperature plunged to near zero, and the sky 
dumped a fresh coating of snow over the city.  The ice 
crystals were so cold they squeaked beneath Manny's boots as 
he made his way from the station to his car.  The sun turned 
the frozen world into a giant, flashing mirror, with laser 
beam rays that stung his eyes even as the frigid air lashed 
at his face.

At the car, he found O'Hara leaning against the hood and 
smoking a cigarette.  He wore a old leather police jacket and 
reflective sunglasses.  His gnarled knuckles were red from 
the cold.  "'Bout time you got here," he said to Manny as he 
dropped his smoke into the gray, flattened snow.  "I'm 
freezing my tail off."

Manny nodded at the crushed cigarette.  "I thought you quit."

"Oh, that?  It wasn't even mine.  I bummed it off of 
Knudsen."  He grinned, showing even white teeth.  "Don't 
worry, I'm not going to stink up your precious car."

The sedan chirped as Manny hit the remote to unlock the 
doors.  They climbed inside and the engine ground to life, 
sounding sluggish from the cold.  Their breath fogged in the 
cabin, and Manny could smell the remnants of the cigarette on 
his partner's clothes.

"Let's go on and get this over with," O'Hara said, rubbing 
his hands together.

Manny set the car in gear.  "You don't have to come."

"Someone's got to save you from yourself."

"Is that what you're doing here?  Saving me?"

"Hey, I spent all that time housetraining you."  He grinned 
again.  "Hate to see all that effort go to waste."

Manny steered the car towards Ninety-three and adjusted the 
rearview mirror in time to see the city receding into the 
background.  "Annette Crenshaw's parents weren't too eager to 
talk.  They said Annette moved out west last year and they 
barely hear from her now."

"Great.  So then why are we driving all the way out here?"

"Part of that training you gave me -- it's harder to lie in 
person than it is over the phone.  I want to look these 
people in the eye and see what they tell me."

"You think they're hiding Annette?"

"First the statement goes missing, and now Annette is AWOL 
too?  I want to find out why."

O'Hara stomach heaved with his great sigh, and he shook his 
head.  "You just better be careful where you step.  The last 
place this girl was seen was a cop shop -- our cop shop, no 
less."

Manny kept his eyes on the road and did not answer.  He 
didn't want to give voice to what they were both thinking; 
perhaps it was a cop that had helped Annette disappear.

//////

Jimmy was waiting when the cop car rolled out of the station. 
It was a nice one, a late model Crown Vic with a steel gray 
paint job.  Jimmy drove a beat-up old Chevy with a rusted 
back wheel well and shoddy transmission.  The damn thing had 
refused to turn over six times that morning before it had 
finally shuddered to life.

He followed the cops onto the highway and stuck as close to 
them as he dared.  The freezing air created great white 
plumes of exhaust that the wind whisked away.  One of the 
rear windows rattled as he nudged the needle up to seventy; 
the cops were in a hurry.

They took the first exit to Woburn and drove through town, 
off the main drag to a quiet, tree-lined street.  Mounds of 
snow had piled up on the corners, and there was not a soul in 
sight.  The cold had even the kids indoors.  Jimmy hoped his 
weren't driving Amy too insane because otherwise he was going 
to catch hell for leaving her alone with them.

The cops stopped outside of a cape house with a large, 
scraggly tree in the front yard.  The number read forty-nine.  
Jimmy hung back as the cops went inside, settling in with his 
thermos of hot coffee and his notepad.

//////

Paul and Eileen Crenshaw served them mugs of coffee in their 
cramped living room.  The worn, overstuffed furniture was 
really too big for the size of the room, especially with the 
large screen TV parked at one end.  Manny was a bit afraid to 
sit on the sofa for fear that it would swallow him whole.  
Paul took the old rocker-recliner while Eileen perched on a 
chair she had dragged from the kitchen.

"So why do you want to talk to Annette?" Paul asked.  "She 
ain't in any trouble, is she?"

"Not that we know of, sir," Manny replied.  "We want to talk 
to her about a police report she filed a few years ago.  She 
reported an assault."

"And you guys never caught the bastard that did it," Paul 
said.

"Paul," his wife replied.  "Let them have their say."

"We have some follow-up questions we need to ask Annette," 
Manny said.  "Any help you can give us in locating her would 
be much appreciated."

"Why?" Paul demanded.  "Why now?  You people didn't give a 
rat's ass what happened to Annie back then, so what's with 
the big push to find her now?"

"Maybe they have a new lead," Eileen said hopefully.  She 
turned washed-out blue eyes to Manny.  "Do you?"

"We aren't sure," Manny said, hedging.  "Part of Annette's 
original statement is missing.  We need to find out what she 
said."

"Missing?" Eileen echoed.  "As in, you lost it?"

"As in missing," replied Manny.  "We don't know what happened 
to it."

"I don't get why you're even looking," Paul said as he set 
his coffee mug down.  "It's not like you're going to find the 
guy after all this time.  After all, it was just some hooker 
who got cut, right?"

"Paul!"

"It's the truth," he answered.  "That's all these cops see.  
They don't give a damn what happens to Annie, and they never 
have."

"When was the last time you saw your daughter?" O'Hara 
interrupted.

The couple looked at each other.  "Two years ago," Eileen 
answered at last.  "Before she moved to California."

"Where in California?"

"To Los Angeles.  She was staying with a friend there and 
looking for a job."

"The friend's name?"

"Bonnie Samson, but it doesn't matter.  She left Bonnie's 
after a few weeks.  We haven't heard from her more than a few 
times since then.  She's called collect once or twice to say 
hello and let us know she's alive.  The last time was more 
than six months ago.  She was living in Denver then."

Manny picked up a framed portrait photo from the end table 
closest to him.  It showed a girl with honey-blonde hair and 
a winsome smile.  "Is this Annie?" he asked.

Her mother nodded.  "That was taken when she was a senior in 
high school.  She was runner-up for home coming queen."

"Mrs. Crenshaw," O'Hara said, "back when Annie was...after 
the assault, did she give any indication that she might have 
known the guy who did it?  I mean, was he a regular customer 
or anything?"

The woman shook her head slowly.  "Annie didn't tell us much.  
She seemed eager to get away, and I can't blame her.  The man 
who did it was still out on the streets."

"You think she talked to us about that stuff?" Paul said.  
"You think she was proud of what she was doing?"

"We're just looking for anything that might help us find 
her," O'Hara told him.  "Anything that might tell us what was 
in the missing part of her statement."

Eileen pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table and 
dabbed at her nose.  "Have you been assigned to look into the 
case?" she asked.

It was Manny and O'Hara's turn to share a look.  "In a way," 
Manny said.

Paul was not fooled.  He sat forward in the great rocker and 
squinted at Manny.  "No way in hell," he said flatly.  
"There's a serial killer in Boston for the first time in 
decades, and you're telling me they spare *two* big city 
detectives to come out here and sniff around on an old 
assault case?  I'll get out the hip boots and my shovel for 
that level of B.S." 

"Actually," Manny said, "your daughter's case has come up in 
conjunction with the investigation of the Boston murders."

"Oh, my God." Eileen covered her mouth with one hand.  "Why?  
How?"

"Son of a bitch," Paul said.  "You think it's the same guy, 
don't you?"

"We can't know until we talk to Annette," Manny lied.

The parents looked at each other once more and Paul shook his 
head.  "We can't help you," he said as Eileen looked at the 
floor.  "You've come all this way for nothing."

/////

Jimmy resisted the urge to turn on his car engine to get some 
heat going.  Instead he held the coffee thermos right under 
his nose and let the steam warm his face.  He wished to hell 
that he could find a way inside the house, but there was no 
way to arrange it.

He slouched a bit as the mail truck came by, but the mailman 
probably wouldn't have spotted him over his own thick scarf 
and the hat pulled low over his eyes. Jimmy watched as he 
shoved a packet of mail into the Crenshaw's box and flipped 
the red flag upwards.

What the hell, Jimmy thought as the truck continued on down 
the road.  He cast a look around to see if there was anybody 
watching and then exited his car.  Jogging across the street, 
he pulled the mail of the Crenshaw's box and started flipping 
through it.

Bill, bill, catalogue, junk mail, junk mail...

He stopped when he got to a blue envelope with a hand-
addressed label to Mr. Paul Crenshaw.  There was no return 
address but the postmark read Medford, Massachusetts. Jimmy 
shoved the card in his pocket and returned the rest of the 
mail to the box.

The car door creaked as he opened and closed it again.  He 
sunk into the cold leather seat with a shiver and tried to 
slit the envelope with his frozen fingers.  At last it tore 
nearly in half and a Snoopy card came tumbling out into his 
lap.  

Jimmy read the inscription: "Daddy, do you remember when we 
used to read the Sunday funny pages together?  Snoopy always 
makes me think of you.  Happy birthday!  Love, A."

A, he thought, as in Annette.  Very interesting.

He started the engine before the cold could freeze his balls 
off.  No point in waiting around for the cops now because he 
was one step ahead of them.  They weren't going to be finding 
Annette Crenshaw here in Woburn.

On his way home, he stopped at a shopping plaza to make a 
phone call.  "Give me Harold Thompson," he said when he 
reached the Boston Herald.  "Tell him it's about the serial 
case."

A moment later, the line clicked through and an irritated 
voice on the other end said, "Thompson."

"Mr. Thompson, this is James Trumbull," he said.  "I think I 
have a lead you're going to be very interested in."

"I don't know any James Trumbull," Thompson replied.  "And I 
don't have time for games."

"I'm not playing any game.  What if I were to tell you two 
cops from the task force are out in Woburn chasing an old 
assault case?"

He could almost hear Thompsom come to attention.  "Go on," he 
said.  "I'm listening."

//////

Manny squeezed his large body into the narrow pink powder 
room off of the Crenshaw's kitchen.  He drained the morning 
coffee from his bladder and then washed his hands in the tiny 
sink.  It had a chip missing, and he fingered the cracked 
porcelain before drying his hands on the paisley hand towel.

But instead of returning to the living room, he slipped up to 
the second floor and poked his head into the master bedroom.  
It was neat but decorated with equally large furniture.  The 
pink and green drapes were 80s relics, sad and tired and 
desperate to be put into the dumpster or a time capsule.  

He scanned the series of photos sitting on top of the 
dresser.  Annette had been a much-loved little girl, or at 
least a well-documented one.  They had pictures of her as a 
toddler, as a gap-toothed grade schooler, right on up through 
high school prom.  

His internal clock was ticking; he knew he had to get back to 
the others before the Crenshaws became suspicious.  In his 
hurry, he almost missed it -- a bedside photo, also of Annie.  
This one was taken at Christmas.  She held up a new sweater 
with a decorated tree shining behind her.

"Son of a gun," Manny muttered.

Downstairs, he and O'Hara said their goodbyes and went back 
out into the cold.  O'Hara seemed cheerier as he drew the 
seatbelt over his large belly.  "If we stop at Mickey's rib 
joint on the way back, maybe this won't have been a total 
waste of time."

Manny tossed a framed photo onto his lap.

"What's this?" O'Hara asked as he picked it up.  "Another 
picture?  Where did you get this?"

"The Crenshaws' bedroom."

"And you just took it?  Jesus, Ahuja."

"Somehow I don't think they're going to be filing any 
complaints.  They were lying to us."

"Lying about what?"

"The last time they saw Annie.  Did you catch that ornament 
on the tree?  It says Christmas 1999.  That was just two 
months ago."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Manny started the car.  "Pull their phone records.  Ten to 
one they're in there calling her right now."

/////

They held Mulder's media conference in the same auditorium 
where the town hall meeting had taken place, but this time 
seating was reserved for the press so it was only partially 
filled.  Scully hung back stage, unsure of her exact role as 
the faux girlfriend.  Mulder hadn't said much to her since 
their breakfast meeting, so she was left standing with Ray 
and Diana and Chief Windsor as they waited for the star 
attraction to make his appearance.

He emerged from the back door with a sheaf of papers in his 
hands about five minutes before the scheduled start.  The 
Chief scowled.  "This is your dog and pony show, Mulder," he 
said.  "How do you want to run it?"

"If you'll just say a few words explaining who I am, I'll 
take it from there."  Mulder touched Scully's elbow and 
nodded to a shadowed corner.  "Can I talk to you for a 
minute?"

She followed him to the side, aware of the curious gazes 
tracking their every move.  "What is it?" she asked.

He stood close to her, crowding her space, and leaned his 
head down when he spoke.  "It's show time," he whispered as 
he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

She felt her face warm and risked a glance to the others.  
"There are no cameras here, Mulder."

He ran a hand down her arm to her hand, which he held tight 
when he reached it.  "I didn't tell them about this part of 
the plan."

"What?"

"Shhh."  He turned to hide her from view.  "I don't 
particularly care if they buy the act or not, but I'd prefer 
that they do.  Cases like this tend to get media leaks, and 
the fewer people in on the act, the better chance we have of 
making it seem real."

"So, what?  You want our colleagues to think we hopped into 
bed overnight?"

"That works."  He kissed her forehead and grabbed her by the 
shoulders.  "Smile, Scully, and look like you enjoyed it."

She plastered on her best smile and followed him back to the 
rest of the group.  All of them were looking at her with new 
interest, making her totally uncomfortable.  She remembered 
the studies finding that, when people knew whom a man was 
sleeping with, he was perceived as having more power.  For a 
woman, it was the opposite.  When her bed partner was known, 
she lost some of her status.

Scully squared her shoulders and avoided looking at any of 
them.

"Show time," Chief Windsor said grimly, and went out to 
introduce Mulder to the press.

Mulder sidled up to Scully.  "Fix my tie," he muttered.

She frowned.  "Your tie is fine."

"Fix it anyway."

She sighed and adjusted his tie for him.  Diana was watching 
the entire time.  Mulder went out to the podium on cue and 
faced the press.  Scully could see him but not the audience, 
however the numerous flashbulbs indicated they had a good 
turnout.

"Thank you all for coming," Mulder told them.  "As promised, 
we want to keep everyone apprised of any new developments on 
the case, especially in light of the attacks the other night 
on Bill Harris and his wife Stella.  We are still processing 
evidence from the scene, and new developments should be 
imminent.  But already the killer has made one key mistake: 
he let Bill Harris live.  This is a sign he is becoming more 
careless, and we hope to now catch him in other mistakes."

Ray materialized at Scully's elbow.  "The guy won't like that 
much -- Mulder insinuating he meant to kill Bill but failed."

"That's the general idea," Scully whispered back.

"We've already formed a considerable psychiatric profile on 
this killer," Mulder continued.  "He is most likely white, 
above average in height and strength.  He is about average in 
intelligence but is good with his hands, maybe working as a 
day laborer.  He feels inferior to women and this is why he 
targets them.  The men he resents because they have been 
tricked into relationships by the women, and so they must die 
too."

"Is he just making this stuff up as he goes along?" Ray 
asked.

"Actually, I'm sure he's put enormous thought into it," 
answered Scully.

"I can't overestimate the importance of having a live 
witness," Mulder said.  "Right now, Bill Harris is giving us 
the kind of detail we could only guess about from the 
previous murders.  I expect when all this is over, we will 
look upon Harris as a hero in this investigation, as the one 
who broke the case wide open.

"At this time, I'd also like to introduce a colleague of 
mine, Special Agent Dana Scully, who is an expert in forensic 
pathology."  He stretched out an arm to her, so Scully had no 
choice but to join him on stage.  "Agent Scully has examined 
each of the bodies and sent potentially case-breaking clues 
to Washington for analysis."

He skimmed her back and rested his hand a moment at her waist 
before returning his arm to the podium.  Scully blinked into 
the bright lights and tried not to squint.

"We have worked together on many serial murder cases before, 
and I'm here to tell you that we've never left one unsolved.  
We're standing here in front of you now so that you know we 
are committed to catching this killer and that we are 
accountable.  We will get him.  The clock is ticking down on 
his freedom even as we speak."

The press wanted to ask questions, but Mulder wasn't taking 
any.  "We want to keep them hungry," he murmured at Scully's 
temple, and she nodded to show she understood.

They walked off stage together.  Chief Windsor peered around 
them at the press corps and raised his eyebrows.  "If they 
run half of what you said, he'll be pissing mad."

"Let's hope so," Mulder said.  He took Scully's hand.  "We've 
got to get out of here."

He led her around back to the main parking lot.  

"You've got your coat?" he asked when they hit the door.

"It's back in the board room."

Mulder shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around 
her shoulders.  "We shouldn't be out there for long.  The 
reporters will be looking to get more comment, so we just 
want to walk past them to the car.  We'll just drive it 
around the block and back in, okay?"

Outside, light snow had begun falling again, trickling past 
the streetlights in a silent, twirling dance.  The cold hit 
Scully like a wall, making her shiver, and Mulder pulled her 
close to him as they hurried to the car.

As expected, there was a pack of cameras to document their 
dash across the parking lot.  Scully felt a bit like a 
celebrity trying to escape the paparazzi.  Mulder opened her 
door for her and then ran around to the other side.  "Okay?" 
he asked her breathlessly.

She hunkered down in the cold seat and nodded.  

"We'll get some heat going in a second," he said, sounding 
optimistic.  Scully knew better.

As they drove out of the lot, Scully looked back over her 
shoulder at the reporters.  "Do you think they bought it?"

"Them?  Yeah.  Whether the killer is paying attention or not, 
I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Boston did not exactly have a block, they discovered.  
Between the crooked cow paths and the one-way streets, they 
ended up having to circle several city blocks to get back to 
their original destination.  In rush hour traffic, this was a 
slow process.

Ice crystals stuck like cotton candy to the windows.  
Eventually, the car warmed up to the point where there was 
heat.  Scully held her ice-cold fingers over the vents and 
prayed for circulation to return.

"We made it," Mulder said when they arrived back at the 
parking lot.  They had been gone long enough that the 
reporters had dissipated, leaving just a few lonely cars 
disappearing under a fresh coat of white snow.

They ran back to the rear door as fast as they could, Mulder 
momentarily fumbling with the freezing handle before they 
could get inside.  Scully stomped the snow from her feet.

"Here," she said, trying to give him back his jacket, but he 
shook his head.

"Keep it.  It furthers the illusion."  He smiled at her and 
touched her hair.  "Scully, I hate to break this to you, but 
you have some really cold dandruff," he said as he brushed 
the snow away.

He was in a similar situation, with ice crystals flecking his 
dark locks and his cheeks pink from the cold.  He looked like 
a winter prince.

She shivered and jerked away as he managed to get an icy drip 
of water on the back of her neck.  "Jesus, that's cold."

"Sorry."  He cupped her nape, his warm hand sliding 
underneath her hair and wiping away the water.  He left it 
there for longer than necessary, caressing the base of her 
skull with the pad of his thumb.

"Mulder, you can stop now.  No one is here to see."

"I just want to make sure you're warmed up."

"I'm warm."

His thumb made another gentle pass through the fine hair at 
her neck.  "Really warm?  Just because I'm a pretend 
boyfriend doesn't mean I can't offer real heat."

"I'm really warm."

He grinned and squeezed the back of her neck.  "Still got the 
touch," he said before he dropped his hand.

"Now your tie really is crooked."  The running back and forth 
to the car had set it askew, and she reached to fix it

"Everyone would think that you've had your wicked way me," 
Mulder said.

Scully paused.  "Well, in that case..." She undid it further 
and moved the knot to one side.

Mulder chuckled and slung an arm around her shoulders as they 
walked back to the main hall.  "Scully, you're the best 
pretend girlfriend a guy could ever have."

"Yeah, that's what they all say."

"You mean I'm not your first?" he asked in mock surprise.  
"And here I thought you were a pretend virgin."

She held the door open for him.  "Well, on that count, Agent 
Mulder, you are decidedly correct."

He was still laughing when she shut the door.

///////

End chapter seven.  Continued in chapter eight.

Mini candied goodies of all sorts to Amanda for help with 
this chapter!

A few moments of levity among all the dead bodies.  :-) Happy 
Halloween, everyone!

Feedback is always welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com