Ethan crossed the threshold, mood sour and belly in knots. This was the last fucking place he wanted to be. But he'd rather face this than spend hours on his couch with a case of beer and the basketball game on blast like a pathetic loser who'd just had his heart ripped from his chest.

Wallowing in self-pity had never been his style.

"Hey," he nodded at a pair of wide eyes that blinked at him like he was an apparition.

"Hey." Sheryl blinked again. Frowned. "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation? What the hell are you doing here?"

Christ, he'd hoped he'd be able to make it through the front doors of the precinct without having to explain why, as someone who never took time off, that his plans to spend making love to Alyssa to celebrate their future had instead all gone up in smoke.

After Marshall called earlier that afternoon to update him on the whole Randy situation, every fiber in his body wanted him to race over to Alyssa. To make sure she was alright. And would have, except from one vital and harsh fact: she wasn't his problem anymore.

Ethan strode past her, jerked a shoulder. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Sheryl insisted, hot on his heels as he pushed through the bullpen, "it is. You worked three double headers this week and clocked in twice that last month. You've gotta learn to take a breather. Carlos," she snapped when they reached the corridor as Carlos swung out of the kitchen, coffee in one hand and half-eaten Danish in the other. "Tell this idiot to go home."

Smirking, Carlos shifted on his feet and swallowed a mouthful of pastry. But that smirk faded as he took a hard look at Ethan and decided to swallow the joke as well. "You good, Chief?"

"Will be." Ethan hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "What's the spread been like tonight?"

"Sent Ramos and Bran twenty minutes ago to check out a B&E at the community records centre. Someone busted in the back door, rooted around the place. Made a hell of a mess."

"Jesus," Ethan muttered, pleased by the opportunity to sink his teeth into a problem other than his own personal life. "Anyone hurt?"

"No. Place was shut-up for fumigation. Mice. Was supposed to be cleared in the morning but Jacob Hanson says he saw a suspicious guy hanging about as he pulled into the lot across the street to play his lotto numbers at the convenience store. Heard the noise on his way out and called it in."

"Bran and Ramos checked in yet?"

"Was about to call them." Carlos said, nodding towards his desk.

"Good. Keep me posted."

"Ethan," Sheryl snarled, keeping hot on him as tucked away into his office and shut the door behind her.

"Sheryl, I'm really not in the mood for you."

"Tough shit, you're going to hear it." And leaned back against the door, hands on her hips, her gaze narrowed on his face. "What's going on with you, Ethan?"

"Doesn't matter. You were right, okay? There. I've said it, so you can spare me the 'I told you so' lecture, alright?"

The heat in Sheryl's gaze softened a degree. "Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"Did you tell her you loved her?"

"Ye—"

She flagged her hand in front of his face. "Stop, Ethan, and think about it. Really think long and hard. Did you actually say the words?"

"I'm sure I did."

Sheryl laughed, rocked back on her heels and laughed harder still. "Oh you handsome idiot. Let me guess, you told her that spending her life with you on Haven was the right choice? The smart choice? That she needed to trade up her life in the city to shack up with you because it made sense?"

Ethan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "Maybe not in so many words, no. And I didn't say she had to move here, I was more than willing to relocate if that's what she wanted. I was willing to compromise."

"Oh, were you willing, eh?" Sheryl bent with renewed laughter, tears gleaming in her eyes. "Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus, make it stop. I can't laugh anymore."

"What's so funny?"

"What's funny, you moron, is all you should had to say was, 'I'm in love with you', and kept saying it until the words were drilled through her equally dense skull, because apparently she has you matched for stubborn pride." Hands on her hips, Sheryl shook her head. "So she shot you down. What do you plan to do about it?"

"Not a damn thing," Ethan said with a jerk of his chin. "You were right when you said she and I were wrong for each other. I should've listened to you."

"Bullshit. I was talking out of my ass and you know it. If you love this girl, really love her, then don't walk away at the first sign of trouble."

"She's the one doing the walking."

"So fight, Ethan. Show her the kind of man you are. The man I know you to be. The one that perseveres and never quits."

And that struck a nerve and the pain jolted through every limb to lance his still tender heart. No, he didn't quit. He didn't walk away. But she had. Leaving him thoroughly pissed that she could so easily give it all up—him included—just to jump back to a company that pushed her out without a second thought. A company, only now that it suited them, deemed her to be an indispensable asset, whereas he'd always viewed her as such. Treated her as such.

"You can't make someone stay who doesn't want to stay," he said, squaring off with her. "You can save someone who doesn't want to be saved and you can't make someone love you if their heart isn't in it."

"Chief."

"What?" he and Sheryl snarled in almost perfect unison. Derek Holdon lurched back a step, eyes wide as a startled deer.

"Shit...um, call on Line 2. I've got an Indira Varma for you? Says it's urgent."

Mother of God...growling, Ethan dragged his hands over his face. The last thing he was in the mood for was a tongue lashing from Alyssa's best friend. But the idea of severing a phone call was a heck of a lot easier than prying Sheryl off his ass with anything short of C4.

"I'll take it," he said and jerked a thumb to the open door. "See yourself out."

"Don't think I'm finished with you," Sheryl said through a glower but marched off, finally leaving him in peace. The line on his phone beeped, reminding him he had a call waiting.

One down. One to go. Snatching up the receiver, Ethan answered the line with a gruff, "What?"

"Ethan?" her voice slid out, shaken. "Ethan, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," he said, crossing an arm over his chest.

"I need you to check on Alyssa."

"No.

"Ethan!"

"Not going to happen, Indy. I'm sorry but it's done."

"No—I'm not calling for that. She's in trouble."

That jerked him a little straighter. "What do you mean?"

"We were on the phone. And...I don't know, she said someone was at the door. I heard a sound—she said something but I couldn't catch what before she dropped the phone. The call was disconnected. Ethan, I'm worried something's happened to her."

Exasperated to the limits of his patience, Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. The old damsel in distress ploy was the oldest trick in the book, and though he wouldn't have pegged Alyssa to play that kind of game this wouldn't be the first time someone called wolf to get him to come running.

"Indy, if this is some trick to get us in the same room together—?"

"I'm not playing, Ethan, something's wrong. Please—go to her."

Sighing, he scraped a hand over the back of his neck. Bran and Ramos were already on the road. He could easily place a call in with them to see if they were wrapped up at the center and on route. If not...hell, he could send Carlos out that way to have a quick look. And if it turns out Alyssa really was in some kind of distress—well, at least he'd have done something about it, and if not—at least he didn't fall into the trap.

"Fine. I'll send out a squad car," he said and watched as the phone came alive in front of him, the lines winking, one after the other. On their busiest night they'd only ever had two,m maybe three come up but now all six were blazing. Jesus, what the hell was going on?

"Hold on," he muttered and sliced off Indy's curse by pressing the answer button for Line 4. "First Precinct, Officer Davies."

"Oh shit, you're there." Hearing his brother's shaky voice with an odd mix of panicked relief snapped Ethan out of his own chasm of heartbroken anger. "I've been blowing up your cell, bro. Why weren't you answering?"

"Battery died." Ethan shifted on his feet, uncomfortable with the lie but he wasn't about to confess to his brother that he'd shut off his own phone so as not to give in to the urge to call Alyssa and beg.

"Jesus—Eva's freaking out. The FBI's getting us from the newsroom...it's bad, Ethan. Eva's been trying to get a hold of Alyssa but she's not picking up. She's not answering. Is she with you? Is she safe?"

This was the second call in five minutes distressed for Alyssa's safety. Ice shot beneath Ethan's skin but he kept his voice calm, "Marshall, take a breath. What's wrong?"

"Randy," his brother said, his words hoarse. "He's not dead. Ethan—Randy's not dead."

On his feet, Ethan holstered his gun. Found his car keys. Even though his heart was in his throat and panic surged in his blood, he kept his head rooted in what he knew best—upholding the law. He couldn't afford to spin out and lose himself in worry. Alyssa needed him to be strong. To be focused.

"What do we know? Has he been spotted?"

"No one's got a fucking clue. He rigged the damn bus to have an accident, torched the wreckage and the bodies to cover his tracks. Even hauled a corpse out into the woods to throw police off his tracks. He could be anywhere. We're getting on a chopper. The whole arsenals coming, they're not taking any chances, but we're at least twenty minutes out."

Ethan checked his watch and ripped his coat from the back of his chair. "I'm on it, Bro. I'm sure she's alright. Call you soon." Half-walking half-running, Ethan burst from his office and shouted for his team.

"Okay, boys and girls, we've got a situation. You," he pointed at Sheryl, "call the folks at Second and Third. Tell them there's an escaped felon on Haven. Name is Kincaid, Randy. Wanted on four counts of attempted murder and conspiracy to commit murder. Possibly armed and dangerous. Wake up anyone and everyone. Get them to my brother's cabin now."

"Chief, that's going to take five, maybe ten minutes to coordinate."

"We can't wait that long.Get on it. You two," he forked his fingers at Carlos and Holden, "with me. Weride up ahead. Vests and walkies, boys. I'm not taking any chances."