Al spent most of Monday worrying about whether or not HR would find out about his arrest, and then being disappointed when nobody from HR called him by the end of the day. He supposed the police didn't feel the need to call his employer and tell on him.

Modo, on the other hand, didn't waste any time calling him. In the aftermath of the accident, the arrest and the tow, he hadn't returned the car before the booking ended, and they were none too pleased to discover the car had been in an accident with a police cruiser, after a high speed police chase, and he'd neglected to call them and report it. Parvati, with whom he remembered speaking the time he'd been looking for the car Rachel had booked, and who'd been so sympathetic, now stiffly informed him that his account was being suspended pending the resolution of his appearance in court; if he received jail time or had his license revoked, that would be it. Even if they decided not to revoke his membership, there would still be some hefty fines to pay before he would be square with them again and, to his dismay, Rachel wasn't allowed to book either because he was the member and she was the secondary driver. He felt wretched, but he didn't think he would have done anything differently.

By the end of the day, he was thoroughly depressed, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and huddle under the covers. Just as he was about to leave work, however, his phone rang. It was Rachel. "Hi, honey," he said. "I'm just leaving work now."

"Al," Rachel said, "I'm still at work too."

"Oh, okay," he said. "Are you going to be a while? Should I start dinner?"

"Um, could you actually come over here?"

Al was confused. "You mean, go to Justiciar?"

"Yes. Lauren is here with me. We'd like to talk to you about something."

Al stood blinking rapidly as he listened to his wife. This was not how she talked at all. The tone of her voice, too, signalled something was wrong. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We'll tell you when you get here."

Al wondered why she would want him to go over there. She never had before. Oddly, the memory of last night came to him, when Lauren had been driving them back from Aldergrove, and Rachel had consented to them getting together again, and Al had met Lauren's bright eyes in the rear view mirror. He wondered for a millisecond if Rachel was inviting him over for just that, a wild romp in Lauren's office, which apparently had been the scene of her and Rachel's trysts before Lauren had confessed their affair to him. He dismissed that possibility; why not just take the fun to their apartment? It would be more comfortable there, and more private.

"You and Lauren are there together," he said. "In Lauren's office?"

"Yes."

Suddenly he had a thought. "Are you on speakerphone?" He quickly added, "It feels tinny on my end of the line," just in case someone was listening and they wondered why he asked that question.

"No, we're just chilling here, catching up on paperwork," she said, but again, it wasn't her usual casual tone.

"Is there someone else in the office with you?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a good day if there wasn't." She was telling him yes without saying yes. Someone was with them. Someone she didn't want to alert.

"Should I call the police?"

"It's up to you, but come by and we'll see."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought. "I will, and I'll be there right away."

"See you soon." How Rachel remained so calm and emotionless right now Al couldn't fathom, but it was probably what saved her, because she wasn't letting on to whoever was there with her and Lauren that she'd alerted him to a potentially dangerous situation.

Al hung up and just ran. He didn't sign out, didn't grab his jacket, or his backpack, just made sure he had his phone, wallet and keys, and bolted, stunning other VPL employees in the halls as he weaved around them on the way to the doors.

As he emerged from the loading bay onto Hamilton Street, he dialled 911. As he ran, the phone took an infuriatingly long time to connect. Finally, the dispatcher came on the line. "Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"I'm calling to report a potential hostage situation at the office of Justiciar Security and Investigative Services," he said, breath coming out in puffs like a steam engine as he weaved around slower pedestrians on the sidewalk. He rattled off the address. "Send police, quickly! My wife and my friend are in trouble."

"Sir, may I have your name, please?" the dispatcher asked.

"Yes, my name is Alistair Mackenzie. The Vancouver Police Department has an open file on a couple of crimes committed against me, against my wife, Rachel, and against Lauren Hasegawa, my friend, as well as against her husband, Joe DiTomaso. I think one of the suspects in these crimes currently has Rachel and Lauren hostage, as they both work at Justiciar." Al wasn't sure at all if this was true, but it was the simplest explanation that would get them going. "If you need more confirmation, contact Detectives Parsons and Reynolds, who have been investigating these crimes."

"Mr. Mackenzie, we're sending police units to that building now. Please stay on the line. Where are you at the moment?"

"I'm heading over there too. I think the hostage taker wants me there for some reason. Rachel called me to come over, I think at the hostage taker's instruction. I was able to ask her, without alerting the hostage taker, whether or not she was in trouble, and if I should call the police."

"Mr. Mackenzie, do not go in the building, I repeat, do not enter a dangerous situation if there are hostages involved."

"I can't do that! That's my wife inside! My friend!"

"I understand that, Mr. Mackenzie, but have you considered that the hostage taker is simply waiting for you to get there before they proceed to do harm to all three of you?"

It had. Of course it had. "Nevertheless," he said, his lungs straining from sprinting and talking at the same time. He was vaguely aware he'd  zoomed into an intersection just as the light was turning red, and a car turning left narrowly missed him and blared its horn. "I can't wait outside while my wife and friend are in danger. What if this person kills them anyway? What if this person kills them because I didn't go there? I couldn't live with myself if I knew that."

Suddenly another voice replaced the dispatcher. "Mr. Mackenzie, this is Detective Parsons, I've been patched in by the dispatcher and have been listening to your conversation for the past ten seconds. I advise you not to go in that building if you believe Rachel and Lauren are in a hostage situation. If you do that we'll have three hostages to worry about instead of two."

Al thought about what he'd said as he neared the building on Beatty Street that housed the firm. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I have to."

He hung up just as Parsons called out his name again. He reached the front door and ran up the stairs to the second floor where the firm was. He found the glass door that marked the entrance to the firm and tugged on it, finding it locked. He pulled and pulled again. No luck. Vainly he searched for a rock just like he had when he'd broken Danny Trybek's window, but the hallway was free of any objects that could be used for the purpose, and anyway the glass was far too thick; the firm was meant to be open, airy and bright, at least in the entrance and lobby. Offices might be behind closed doors, but the initial impression was meant to be welcoming. He didn't see any of them in the lobby; Rachel mentioned they were in Lauren's office.

He did spot an intercom next to the door, as well as an RFID card reader just like at his work. Perhaps clients or workers could let themselves in this way after hours. He pressed the button for the intercom.

After a second, Rachel's voice said, "Al?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Come on in."

The door buzzed, and he rushed inside, knowing he could very well be running to his death, but he couldn't let Rachel and Lauren die without him, if that was what the hostage taker meant for them. He couldn't live without either of them; he'd been serious when he'd had that chat with Rachel on the taxi ride home from the hospital. He wouldn't go on knowing she was gone, and he owed it to Joe and their kids to ensure Lauren was safe too.

Eventually he found Lauren's office. It was the only one with an open door. Rachel and Lauren sat in chairs facing the desk, Lauren's desk, he assumed, although he'd never been in her office before. Ralph Rose sat at the desk, and a handgun sat on top of the desk within easy reach.

"Good of you to join us," Ralph said. "We've been eagerly awaiting you."

Al looked at the gun, then at Ralph, and then at Rachel and Lauren, who stared straight ahead, struggling to keep their composure. He looked back at Ralph. "What is this?"

"Pull up a chair. We'll have a chat."

Al looked around the room. "I don't see any other chairs."

"Grab one from out in the cubicles."

Al grabbed one from a desk at which someone's computer had a screensaver of a beautiful white fluffy cat, and pictures of a wife and children pinned to the fabric of the cubicle wall. He wheeled it in and sat himself between Rachel and Lauren, making them move over to accommodate him. He wanted to be able to place himself in front of one or the other if Ralph decided to pick up his gun and start shooting. Not that he thought he would be fast enough to do that, but he needed to communicate bodily that he was there for both of them, and put his hands on both their legs in reassurance.

"How sweet," Ralph said. "Keep them there. It lets me see your hands at all times."

"I have no weapon," Al said. "I had no idea I'd need one."

"Good. We're just talking. No need for anything to get out of hand."

"If we're just talking, why is there a gun on the table? Do private investigators even get to have guns? Don't you need to be a sworn peace officer to get one?"

Ralph just shrugged. "Do you want to answer that, Lauren?"

"P.I.s are private citizens like anyone else," Lauren replied matter-of-factly. "They have to be licensed and their firearms registered and locked away. They're not allowed to carry one while doing their work. And it certainly shouldn't be sitting on a desk, loaded... it is loaded, isn't it? We haven't established that yet."

"Oh, yes, it is. I could be lying, of course, but is that something you really want to test?"

"I might," Lauren countered. "Lying comes naturally to you, Ralph. You've been lying to me since the day I met you."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Rachel asked.

"Well, maybe not lying," Lauren said. "More like, holding something back. See, when I first got hired on here, I didn't know when I met Ralph that I'd met him before."

"So, you were looking at the yearbook," Ralph said, shaking his head. "I should have taken that out of my office a long time ago."

"I never got to look in your desk drawers, though," she said. "Was there something even more incriminating in there?"

"Actually, no, I really was worried you'd seen the yearbook."

"I don't understand, what's so incriminating about a yearbook?" Al asked.

"Nothing in itself," Lauren said, shrugging. "The only two people who would see anything significant in it are Ralph and I." She turned back to Ralph. "So... what? Were you just nursing some creepy obsession with me all these years?"

"Wait, you two knew each other in high school?" Rachel asked.

"You told me once, Rachel, that Ralph told you his legal name was Randolph. When I was in high school, after you and Al were gone, a guy named Randy leered at me every day at the lockers."

"I didn't know how to approach you," Ralph said. "I was trying to figure out a way to talk to you without sounding like a total idiot. I kept freezing, so all I could do was stare at you."

"I call bullshit on that. Your note told me everything I needed to know about you."

Ralph blinked in surprise. "What note?"

"Come on, you know the note. Don't make me say it out loud."

"I really am mystified, Lauren. I didn't leave a note. I remember the one you left me though. I was duly chastened, and there went any future effort to talk to you."

"You don't remember writing I have yellow fever?"

Ralph grimaced, and Al could tell he really was dismayed by what she'd said. "That really wasn't me. I didn't have some weird Asian obsession. I was attracted to you for other reasons; I don't know, I just thought you looked sad and scared all the time, and I wanted to introduce myself and maybe be your friend. Sure I would have liked more, but I couldn't even get a hello out of my mouth."

"I could tell you wanted more. You were practically undressing me with your eyes, and I noticed my initials as one of the girls you wanted to go with in your graduation blurb."

He blushed. He actually blushed.

"So, that note really wasn't you?" Lauren asked.

He shook his head.

"Well, it's not like there weren't other jerky guys tormenting me in high school," Lauren said, sighing. "Still, you were a creep, and I was afraid of going to my locker every day thinking you might be there."

"I'm truly sorry for that," he said. "Scaring you was the last thing I wanted to do."

"It's hard for me to think you're sincere when you have a gun pointed at us."

"It's not pointed at you, it's just on the table."

"Not at first."

"I just needed you to sit and talk. I needed to explain myself after everything that's happened. It's just gotten all out of hand, and I don't know how to fix it."

Al wasn't sure how long they would just be talking once the police announced their presence; they had to be outside the building, at least. "How has it gotten out of hand?" he asked. "Is everyone else in the office gone? Or are there bodies in other offices that I haven't seen?"

"Don't be dramatic," Ralph said. "I'm not a crazy mass shooter. I sent everyone else home a little early but didn't tell these two about it. I needed to talk to them alone, and you too, I'm sorry to say, since I had to involve you in this situation, which I'll explain shortly."

"So, when we met in the work world," Lauren said, returning to the subject of Lauren and Ralph, and Al wondered if this was a strategy of hers, "you must have thought you'd struck gold, especially when I'd completely forgotten I'd met you before. Maybe I'd just wanted to forget you and everyone who made my life hell in high school, or you just looked different, the glasses, the change in hair style. I think you gained some weight and wore different clothes."

"Marriage agreed with me," he said. "Liz was one of the other names next to yours, I don't know if you realized that; she went by Elizabeth back at Endub. To my great fortune, I didn't strike out with her. I really am a good guy, and she could see it. Reuniting with you was a chance to reintroduce myself to you and have you think well of me, just like Liz does. I thought we could start over."

"We did. And I did think well of you. I liked you a lot. So what the fuck is this? Does Liz know you're doing this?"

He shook his head. "It might be hard for you to believe, but this has nothing at all to do with the past. I'm perfectly happy leaving high school in the dust bin of history. It wasn't such a great time for me either."

"Aw," Lauren said, pouting. "Did you get bullied too? Did the girls not like you?"

Al gently squeezed her leg and raised his eyebrows at her. He couldn't believe she was provoking him. None of them could reach that gun before Ralph did.

Oddly, though, Ralph looked relaxed and congenial, not at all close to snapping. "It doesn't matter now," he said. "That was a long time ago. My problems are much more recent than that."

Lauren took a deep breath and said, "So, what does Carrie MacDougall have on you?"