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

Chapter Thirteen

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

Mulder found Diana in the conference room that was serving as 
task force central.  It was lunchtime and most everyone was 
off wolfing down a sandwich and coffee somewhere, so she sat 
alone amid the stacks of file folders, framed by a photo 
gallery of the dead on the back wall.

"You're looking about as well as could be expected," she said 
when she noticed him standing there.

He kicked the doorstop free and let the heavy door swing shut 
behind him, sealing them together in the windowless room.  
Diana leaned back in her chair and her mouth curled up in an 
inviting smile.  "I didn't realize this was to be a private 
meeting," she said.

"I asked Scully to wait outside." His knee throbbed as he 
hobbled closer, and he leaned both hands on the back of a 
chair to take his weight off of it.   "I wanted to make sure 
you understand what I am about to say very clearly, because 
it has nothing to do with me and her or you and her or the X-
files or who owes what to whom." 

"You sound upset."  She brushed her hair back over one 
shoulder.  "Is something wrong?"

He clenched the chair, his fingers biting into the fabric.  
"There was an interesting story in the Boston Herald this 
morning about our marriage and divorce.  I talked to the 
writer, Jimmy Trumbull, and he wouldn't reveal his source but 
the only people here who knew about our marriage were you, 
me, and Scully.  I know I didn't say anything, and Scully 
would rather have recreational root canal than discuss my 
relationship with you, so that leaves just one possible 
snitch left."

"Our marriage is a matter of public record, as is our 
divorce.  Anyone could have found out about it with a few 
simple inquiries."

"Providing they even knew to look.  I can't imagine Trumbull 
showed up at the press conferences and thought to himself, 'I 
bet those two used to be married!'"

"Perhaps he sensed a certain history..."

"Oh, save it.  You fed him the story and we both know it.  Is 
that why you took my phone?  To prove some sort of connection 
between us?"

"What? No."  She rolled back from the table as if she might 
get up and leave.

"Your prints were on my phone," he said steadily.  "I never 
gave it to you to use, so you must have helped yourself."

"I--I may have borrowed it."  She did stand then, and they 
were eye to eye across the table.  "I don't really remember.  
What does it matter anyway?"

"You took it.  You took it probably before the press 
conference yesterday, in the room when you...when I..."

"When you kissed me."

"You kissed me," he said, more loudly than he'd intended.  
"And you were picking my pocket at the same time."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous.  You sound like a virgin school 
girl.  If you have to ascribe ulterior motives to me to 
justify what happened between us, that's your problem, not 
mine.  I certainly did not steal your phone like a common 
thief."

"So my missing phone was just a huge coincidence.  That's 
what you're saying."

"I don't know what you did with your phone!  Half the time, 
it's lying around on the table here somewhere.  Anyone could 
have taken it."

She halted, as though aware she'd said too much, and he 
narrowed his eyes at her as he straightened to his full 
height.  "Is that what happened, then?  You found it lying 
around?"

"I may have moved it out of the way once or twice."

"Your prints were on the buttons, Diana."  This was a lie, 
but she couldn't know that.

"Maybe I used it by mistake."

"I don't think you've ever done anything by mistake."

She shook her head lightly, not looking at him.  "Given our 
history together, I can't believe you'd say that."

"What did you do with my phone?" he asked her softly.

She shoved the chair out of the way with a hard push.  "Fine, 
I checked your messages.  I thought I was doing you a favor, 
but I gather you don't see it that way."

"Funny, then, you never relayed them to me.  Did you learn 
anything interesting?  Snooping about the X-Files job, maybe?  
See if Skinner had called with any updates?"

She looked him up and down searchingly.  "I didn't find out 
anything," she said at last, and he saw this was the truth.  
How disappointing it must have been for her.  "You always did 
give so little away."

"So you figured you'd just go rifling through my life for 
answers."

She walked to the end of the table, dragging her fingertips 
across its surface.  "Oh, please, Fox, spare me the righteous 
indignation over this.  I seem to recall coming home a few 
weeks ago and finding you -- uninvited -- in my living room.  
You had searched through my home pretty thoroughly, by your 
own admission, so don't you stand here now and pretend I've 
crossed some indelible line.  I've only been following your 
lead."

Mulder sagged a bit, touching the chair again for support as 
the pounding in his head grew louder.  He rubbed his eyes 
with the heel of one hand.  "What do you want from me, 
Diana?"

She rounded the corner of the table and drew closer to him.  
"What I've always wanted, to be your friend, your comrade in 
arms.  We work so well together, Fox."

He shook his head, more to himself than to her.  "If you 
really believed that, you wouldn't have left seven years 
ago."

"That was my mistake," she said, her voice low and urgent.  
"I don't blame you for being angry."

"That's just it.  I'm not angry.  I'm not really anything.  I 
suppose I should be grateful that you had the strength to 
walk away before things got really ugly.  Maybe I have been 
grateful.  Maybe that's why..."

"Why what?"  She shifted to try to meet his eyes.  When they 
connected, she drew back and blinked at him.  "You've made up 
your mind," she said flatly.  "You're going to keep Scully on 
the X-Files."

"The choice isn't mine.  It's hers."

She laughed richly, but without humor.  "Isn't this just true 
to form?  She doesn't want you and all of a sudden you can't 
live without her.  What if she says no?  Have you thought of 
that?  You'll be right back to where you were seven years 
ago."

He studied her for a moment.  "That's your real mistake, 
isn't it -- I will never be that person again, but you can't 
see that.  You expected to come back here and find me just as 
you'd left me, and you don't understand why I'm not falling 
right into line."

"Don't kid yourself.  We're all the same, good, bad or 
indifferent.  We may get older but we never really change."

His gaze flicked over her as he considered this.  "I hope 
not," he said quietly.  It would mean he had never loved her, 
and he had a stupid, romantic notion that love was always 
real.

He pushed himself upright again, preparing to leave.  "Stay 
out of the papers," he said.  "Or you could end up dead."

"That's the general idea, isn't it?" she asked him, her eyes 
a little too guileless.  "Make you look like you have a 
romantic attachment to catch the killer's attention?"

He limped towards the door, but she followed him.

"The killer wouldn't know any better," she said in a rush.  
"He's not falling for your charade with Scully, and all the 
other victims were married.  You and I have that, at least."

He paused, leaning on the door. "It has to be a believable 
attachment.  You and I are no longer believable."

She touched his elbow, dropping her gaze and sidling closer.  
"We could sell it, Fox.  We could catch this guy.  Remember, 
you're the man who can believe anything."   

"Not anymore."  He removed her hand.  "If I find you've been 
talking to the press again, I'll have to tell Chief Windsor."

"It's too late," she said, sounding a little desperate.  "I 
mean, the article is already out there.  I've made a target 
of myself and this is the thanks I get in return?"

"I'd clean my gun," he said as he slipped through the door.  
"Keep it close.  And don't forget to lock your doors."

The door shut between them as she continued protesting, and 
Mulder staggered away, his past still dragging, but the 
weight of it becoming more bearable with each new step.

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

Mary Winthrop called in sick to work.  Mr. Callahan probably 
didn't believe her sob story but at that point she didn't 
much care.  She started calling Jake's friends, at least the 
ones she remembered, and asking them if they knew where he 
might be.

"Tommy," she said when she got him on the line.  "It's Mrs. 
Winthrop, Jake's mom."

Her clearest memories of him were from years ago, when she 
used to pick him and Jake up from Little League.  He was 
forever a red-headed pudgy kid with dirt and orange popsicle 
juice on his face.

"Hey, Mrs. Winthrop."  His voice had deepened and he sounded 
like a man now.  He and Jake were the same age, the same 
class -- did Jake sound like this and she just hadn't 
noticed?

She strained to keep the worry from her voice.  "I'm trying 
to find Jake," she told Tommy.  "Do you know where he is?"

"I haven't seen him for a couple of days."

She put her head on one hand and slumped over the kitchen 
counter.  "The last time you talked to him... did he seem 
okay?"

"How do you mean?"  

God, she didn't know what she meant.  Did he sound like a 
killer?  There was no way to say those words outside of her 
head.  "I mean, things have been a little stressful here at 
home with Kayla's illness, and I just wanted to make sure 
Jake is doing okay."

"Can't you ask him?"

"I'd like to, if I could find him.  Do you have any idea at 
all where he might have gone?"

"Last time I saw him, he was in Davis Square."

"Davis Square?  Why?"

"We were just cruising and he wanted out.  I figured the T 
runs through there, so..."

"Why did he want out?  Did he say?"

"Well...to tell you the truth, he was pretty messed up that 
night.  More messed up than I've ever seen him."

She braced herself, eyes screwed shut as she gripped the 
phone tight against her ear.  "Drugs?" she whispered.

"No, nothing like that.  He was just talking crazy."  Tommy 
paused.  "And he had a knife."

Mary clapped her hand over her mouth, afraid she might be 
sick.

"Mrs. Winthrop?  Are you still there?"

"Thank you."  She managed to get the words out and hang up 
the phone despite her trembling.  She tried to think.  Where 
would he go?

She reached for her pill bottle and swallowed another couple 
of sedatives.  

Just think, she told herself, but her brain felt fuzzy and 
far away.  You've got to find him.  This has all got to be 
some big mistake, and when you find him, everything will be 
okay.  Just find him fast.

She put on her winter coat and gloves and went out into the 
cold, blustery day.  She had no car but she had T fare enough 
to get where she was going, the one place she could think 
that Jake might run to if he was in trouble: to Kayla.

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

Scully ate her chicken salad sandwich away from the others in 
a small back office on the second floor.  The room was 
undergoing renovation; there was plastic on the floor and two 
ceiling tiles were missing.  But it had an old table, a bunch 
of chairs and, most importantly, a window.

She had her back to the door and was watching the people 
outside struggle through the mounds of fallen snow when a 
sharp knock got her attention.  She turned and found Ray 
standing there with a folder in his hands.  "Manny said I 
might find you up here."

She grabbed a napkin and wiped her mouth.  "I just wanted a 
little peace and quiet."

"Mind if I sit down a second?"

"Not at all.  Just excuse my mess."  She moved her half-eaten 
sandwich and its wrapper out of the way as he pulled out a 
second chair.

"I got the phone records you asked for," he said, handing her 
the folder.  "All the long-distance numbers Annette Crenshaw 
called in the past two years."

"Great, thanks."  

"You're just going to start calling them and asking for 
Sandi?"

"Starting with the in-state numbers first, yes.  Finding 
Sandi is our best chance to figure out what exactly happened 
to Annette the night she reported the assault."

He shook his head.  "She's one victim out of eight.  Why are 
you so sure she's particularly important?  Seems more likely 
he picked her just to mess with our heads.  We deny she has 
any involvement with the other killings and so he takes it 
upon himself to make her involved.  We look like lying idiots 
and he has a good laugh at our expense."

"It's a possibility," she agreed.  "We still have to check it 
out." 

Ray looked over his shoulder.  "Where's Mulder gotten to?"

"I don't know.  He said he had something to do and he'd catch 
up with me later."

"Great.  I mean, I wanted to talk to you alone for a minute 
anyway."

Scully froze while reaching for her Diet Coke.  "Oh?" 

"My director pulled me aside today to ask about you, whether 
I thought you would make a good addition to the Boston 
Bureau.  I said I think you're terrific, of course, and I 
would love to have you up here for good.  I just didn't 
realize you were seriously considering a move."

She covered for a minute by taking a sip of her soda.  "I, 
uh, I haven't made any official application," she said at 
length.

"But you're interested?"

She thought of Mulder in the night, holding her with bruised 
arms.  I see you, he said, and she was starting to believe 
him.

Sometimes it was easier to see in the dark.

"Actually, I told my AD this morning that I would take the 
opening on the X-Files," she said.

Ray sat back in his seat, leaning away from her, and gave her 
a half-smile.  "I knew it sounded too good to be true.  It's 
funny, though -- back at the Academy, I never would have 
pegged you as the type to chase ghosts and goblins."

"Back then, I wasn't." 

"Mulder changed you."

"A lot has changed me.  Mulder said it was my choice whether 
I wanted to return, and he was right."

"I can't believe he was willing to risk letting you go."

She realized then how big a risk it had been for him, how 
much it must have cost him to leave the decision up to her.  
But where Ray was frowning and befuddled, she was humbled.  
Risk was hard for her, hard for her to do and hard even to 
acknowledge its value in others.  Only Mulder had ever shown 
her its beauty.

She smiled and looked down at her soda can where it sat 
nestled in her lap.  "I can't believe it either," she 
murmured with quiet awe.

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

Night threw darkness over them like a blanket over a parrot's 
cage.  The moon was just a shaving in the sky and the street 
lamps blotted out the stars.  White light beamed down on the 
long stretch of snow in the hospital's back yard.  No one had 
cause to walk there so it sat pristine and silent as the 
grave.

Jake crunched through the hard outer crust, his boots sinking 
deep into the frozen landscape.  His fingers were raw from 
the cold and he hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours.  He 
wedged open the window and dropped down in his usual spot, 
taking a moment to enjoy the high heat from the nearby 
furnace.  It made his face flush hot and his ears burn.  He 
sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

He skulked along the deserted hall until he reached the 
service elevator.  No one was about so he slipped past it to 
the stairs.

When he reached Kayla's room, all was dark.  He opened the 
door as quietly as he could and sneaked inside.  Her slim 
form was a lump under the covers.  He crept up to her bed and 
pulled a chair behind him.  All he wanted to do was sit and 
think for a few minutes.  He was tired of driving all day.

When she reached for him, he gasped.

"Jake," she whispered, and he took her hand.

"It's me."

"You're ice cold."

"Sorry," he said, scooting closer.  "It's below freezing 
outside."

She clutched him with surprising strength.  He couldn't see 
her face in the dim light.  "Jake, I'm sorry," she said, and 
it sounded like she had been crying.

"For what?" he asked just as the lights came up.

His mother stood by the wall.  Her face was pale and she held 
a black beret in her hands. 

"Mom," he said as he got to his feet.  "What are you doing 
here?"

She held out the beret.  "You gave this to Kayla.  Where did 
you get it?"

"From a thrift store.  It only cost a dollar.  Mom, what's 
going on?"

"I found the hats," she said, barely audible.  "I went to 
your room and I found the hats."

His heart rate picked up and he started for the door.  His 
mother moved as he did, blocking his escape.  

"Jake, please," Kayla called.

"What have you done?"  His mother's eyes were wild and 
stoned.  "Tell me."

"I haven't done anything!" He tried to shove her out of the 
way but she resisted.  "Let go of me!"

"Tell me," she said, clutching his coat.  "I need to know.  
We can help you, Jake, but I have to know what you've done."

He could hear Kayla crying in the background.  "Nothing!" he 
roared.  He shoved harder and his mother's back hit the door 
hard enough to knock the breath from her.  She grabbed her 
throat and stammered.  "Mom," he said, immediately contrite.  
"Mom, I'm sorry.  I'm sorry."

She grabbed him hard and held his head to her breasts.  "Tell 
me," she rasped.

"I'm sorry."  Once he started, it was all he could say.  He 
thought if he said it enough times everything would be okay.  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Her fingers fisted in his hair so tightly it brought tears to 
his eyes.  She dragged his head up so she could look at him.  
He had never seen her eyes so dark.  "Did you kill those 
people?"

"I--"

She shook him.  "Did you?"

His eyes filled as his knees buckled.  He started to collapse 
but she held him up.  "Mom, I'm in so much trouble."

One of her hands slipped down to root around in his pocket.  
She withdrew his knife and held it between them.  He saw it 
glinting there, imagined its feel in his hand.  He could take 
it from her in one easy motion and fight his way free.

He could leave them both.  He would never have a family 
again.

"Mom.  There was so much blood."

"Tell me," she said, and so he did.

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


Mulder hobbled back into the small office with two paper cups 
of coffee.  Scully moved the phone and her papers out of the 
way and accepted his offering gratefully.  Her eyes were 
starting to blur from looking at all the telephone numbers.  
"Any luck?" he asked her.

"Not yet, but I have another dozen left to try."  She took a 
sip of the coffee, which was surprisingly good for a cop shop 
brew.  "This isn't bad."

"But wait, there's more."  

She heard a rustling and he reached into his suit coat pocket 
and withdrew a vending-machine package of Hostess chocolate 
cupcakes.  He tore a paper towel in half and set one cupcake 
in front of her and the other in front of himself.

"I haven't eaten one of these since college," she said.

He picked his up.  "A toast."  He waited until she raised 
hers as well, and then he touched them together.  "Happy 
birthday," he said.

"Oh my God."

He grinned.  "Forgot, didn't you."

She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.  "With 
everything that's been going on..."

"Yeah, I know."  He looked at her fondly.  "If it makes you 
feel any better, I forgot myself until I had to fill out an 
accident report for the Bureau.  They make you write the date 
about a billion times and eventually it seeped in through all 
six layers of cortex."

She looked at the sad cupcake sitting on a torn napkin.  "And 
to think, I promised myself I'd spend this year's birthday in 
Maui." 

"I could hula if you want."

"In your condition?  I'd probably end up having to perform 
CPR."

"Might be worth it."  He bit his cupcake in half and ended up 
with chocolate frosting stuck to his upper lip.  "Sorry I 
couldn't find any candles, but I think you still get to make 
a wish."

She was busy looking at the chocolate smear on his lip.  
"Hmmm?"

"A wish," he repeated.  "You need to make one."

"I am not wishing on a Hostess Cupcake from the vending 
machine."

He smiled, making the chocolate look even more enticing.  
"Yeah, you'd probably wish for a mansion and end up with a 
double-wide trailer."  He pointed at her cupcake.  "At least 
take a bite."

"I don't know..."

His hand moved closer, touching her middle and toying with a 
button on her blouse.  "Come on, Scully," he said, leaning 
in.  "One little bite."

"Okay."  

He froze as she kissed him; she could feel his hand waving 
around behind her head before he finally grabbed her tight.  
She had one arm around his neck and the other on his thigh 
and he tasted like chocolate and sin.  

Regretfully, she broke away.  They were both breathing 
unsteadily.

She sat back and licked the corner of her mouth.  The 
chocolate was completely gone from his face.  "You're right," 
she said.  "Not bad."

He was spared from answering because her phone rang.  "Boston 
Police Department, this is Agent Scully speaking."

"Agent Dana Scully?  This is Max Bloomenthal.  You left a 
message on my machine earlier?"

Max, she thought, scrambling for her papers.  "Yes, Mr. 
Bloomenthal.  We are trying to locate a woman named Sandi 
Plecker."

"Well, that's why I'm calling.  She's sitting right here."

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

Jane was where she usually was at nine o'clock at night -- 
sitting at her desk with her shoes off and her hair loosened 
into a ponytail.  She was eating an apple and going over some 
old reports of the previous hat thefts.  One of the guys 
thought it would be funny to leave a patrolman's cap on her 
chair, so she was wearing that too.

The phone rang, and it was the dispatcher.  "Detective 
Dunbar, I've got a lady who says she needs to talk to you 
right away.  She says she has information about your hat 
case."

"Patch her through," Jane said, rocking back in her chair.  
She stretched and prepared for another crank. "This is 
Detective Dunbar.  How can I help you?"

For a long moment, all she heard was ragged breathing.

"Hello?"

"Detective," said a woman's voice at last.  "I've seen you on 
TV.  You seem like a good person."

This was not the usual intro, but Jane was prepared to play 
along.  "I try to be," she replied.  "And you are...?"

"Do you have any children?"

"No, Ma'am I don't.  I've got two nephews, though."

"I have two children myself."

Jane checked the wall clock and wondered how long this was 
going to last.  "I was told you had information for me," she 
said, hoping to spur the woman along.

"I was wondering if you might come out to my house.  My boy 
Jake and I would like to talk to you face-to-face."

"Talk about what?"

The woman hesitated again.  "About that case you've been 
working on, the one with the missing hats."

"Do you and your son know something?" 

"You might say that."  She paused.  "I found them all in his 
room."

Jane sat up, instantly more alert.  Don't get ahead of 
yourself, she cautioned silently.  This is still probably a 
crank.

"He wants to turn himself in," the woman said, her voice 
wavering.  "But I want to make sure he's going to be okay 
first.  He's a good boy."

"Your son has confessed?"

"He's ready to tell you the whole story."

She scrambled for a pen and scratch paper.  "Give me your 
name and address and I'll be right there."  She tucked the 
phone under her chin as she scrawled the information.  "I'm 
coming right away, Mrs. Winthrop.  I promise."

"Just you, right?  No one else will come."

"I... I'll see what I can do, all right?  I promise not to 
show up with a posse."

"No lights and sirens.  Please.  I don't want the neighbors 
to know."

Lady, if your son is a serial killer, his secret isn't long 
for this world, Jane thought.

"I'll be discreet," she promised.  

She started out the door and then remembered she didn't have 
her jacket.  As she plucked it from the back of her chair, 
she caught sight of Annette's picture from the murder scene.  
There was a chance that she was walking into the home of the 
man who had done this.

Suddenly uneasy, Jane glanced around the station at the other 
cops.  O'Hara was eating a donut.  She didn't see any sign of 
Manny.  

The only one who knew the whole story was Windsor.  

She snatched up the phone and dialed his number.  "Yeah, this 
is Windsor," he said.

"Chief, I need you to come with me."

"Who is this?"

"It's Jane Dunbar, sir.  I may have found our killer."

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


Sandi Plecker lived about twenty miles outside of Boston in a 
ramshackle house with her boyfriend.  He answered the door 
with bare feet, ripped jeans and a flannel shirt over a T-
shirt from a Cure concert.  "I'm Max," he said.  "Come on 
in."

There was a low-hanging light fixture in the small entryway 
that Mulder had to duck.  Scully followed him as Max led the 
way to the kitchen.  It had a grungy stove and peeling 
linoleum.  The whole place smelled like clove cigarettes.

At the table, Sandi sat with a mug in her hands.  She looked 
just the same as she had in the photo Scully had found -- 
long blonde hair, thin eyebrows and watery blue eyes.  "You 
the FBI?" she asked.

"I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent Mulder."

"Please, have a seat," Max said.  "Can I get you some herbal 
tea?"

"No, thanks.  We're just here to talk to Sandi."

She crossed her arms over her breasts.  "About what?"

"About Annette Crenshaw."

At the mention of her name, Max reached out and rubbed 
Sandi's arm.  "I heard about what happened to her," Sandi 
said.  "I can't believe it."

"When was the last time you talked to Annette?" Scully asked.

"Three weeks ago?  We had lunch in the city."

"Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm her?"

Sandi looked confused.  "I thought it was that psycho, the 
one from the news who's been killing all those people."

"We're just trying to learn as much about Annette as we can," 
Scully explained.  

"She was a sweet person.  I can't believe anyone would do 
that to her."

"Annette was attacked once before," Mulder said.  "She 
reported it to the police."

Sandi's expression became more guarded.  "I don't know 
anything about that.  I wasn't there."

"We know you and she were friends," Mulder said.  "You worked 
together."

"I don't do that anymore."  Again, Max patted her.

"Annette said you were also attacked around the same time she 
was."

"Annie told you that?"

"Was it true?"

She shrugged and started rotating her mug of tea where it 
sat.  "I had a guy get freaky on me, yeah.  He seemed normal 
at first.  Then he wanted to tie me up.  I'd done that 
before, no biggie.  But he tied me tight.  And then he wanted 
me to play dead.  I get the creeps just thinking about it."

"Did you know this guy?" Mulder asked.

"Huh-uh.  He was a first-timer.  Barbara -- that was who ran 
the whole thing -- she tried tracking him down from his 
credit card, but I turned out to be stolen.  He got away with 
it, but not before leaving me with a little something to 
remember him by."  She pulled down her sweater to reveal a 
scar on her neck.

"He cut you?" asked Scully.

"I thought he was going to kill me.  I really did.  But I 
guess he just lost his nerve or something.  He untied me and 
dropped me off outside of the city.  When the same thing 
happened to Annie, I said, 'that's it, I've had enough.  I 
don't want to end up dead before I'm twenty-five.'  I got out 
of the business and took Annie with me."

"We heard she might have had a little help."

Sandi looked wary.  "What do you mean?"

"Her parents seemed to think that someone paid Annie to keep 
her mouth shut.  We're wondering if she might have known the 
guy who did it."

"Annie?  No, she would have told me.  Right?"

"You're the one who knew her," answered Scully.

"Annie had some high roller clients.  We all did.  Maybe she 
asked one of them for some money.  I bet that they'd be 
willing to open their wallets for her."

"Anyone in particular she might have turned to?" Mulder 
asked.

Sandi shook her head vaguely.  

"Someone in law enforcement, perhaps," Scully suggested.

Sandi tensed and pulled her mug close to her chest.  "I told 
her not to report it," she mumbled.  "Annie wouldn't listen.  
She said she knew someone who could make it right."

"Who?" Scully pressed.  "Did she say?"

"She didn't want to, but eventually she told me."  Sandi 
looked up at them.  "He's all over TV, the pompous jackass.  
She used to call him Chief Wind-bag."

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

End chapter thirteen.  Continued in chapter fourteen.

Thanks to Amanda for beta help!

Feed a hungry author?  Even after a big turkey dinner, 
there's always room for feedback! ;-) syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate!

Cheers, syn