As the two friends drove through the city in the open-topped corvette, Carlos leaned back and relaxed in his seat, enjoying the cool wind in his face. Trent glanced at him and smiled. Discounting yesterday morning, his best friend was in a better mood now than he'd been in for several days. He decided not to mention it; whatever Carlos was happy about, he'd leave it at that.

"So, what did you do all morning?" Carlos asked casually, drumming his fingers against the top of the car door where the window had been rolled down.

Trent thought for a moment, and then related the events of his morning, "Well, I waited around the emergency room for an hour or two . . .no, it must have been longer than that, 'cause when I finally came home, Tommy was heading off to school. I drove Tandy and Tyler to school at eight, and I was gonna go back to the hospital to check on you when your friend Detective Hall called. Seems they're short of day-shift patrolmen because of the prison break, and he wanted to know if I'd stay with one of the witnesses, Steve Evans, until they could get someone assigned to be his bodyguard. So I did, spent the rest of the morning at this sports bar he likes. I think it was called "Uppercut", or something like that . . .you'd like it, I'll take you back there some time. The owner was real nice; a guy named Butch, ex-wrestler, and a good friend of Evans'. Alex heard that I was there, and she showed up around eleven for lunch. She had one of Walker's friends from the Ranger office with her, one of the few Rangers who weren't called out to the prison break. She told me that she got another report from O'Reily, over in Midland."

"Who?" Carlos interrupted.

"I told you, didn't I? Oh, right . . .you were busy yesterday; I didn't get the chance to tell you. Walker's out on a trip in the mountains . . .I'll have to explain later, it's a long story. Well, anyway, Steve was safe there between the three of them, so I left him there at noon to visit you. Told 'em I'd be back after I dropped you off at home."

Carlos's expression soured, and for the first time, he realized that Trent was heading into the residential area of Dallas.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a second . . .You're not taking me home! I'm not sitting around the house all afternoon like some old lady!"

Trent laughed at his words, and then realized he was serious. "Carlos, you didn't expect to go back to work already, did you?"

"Yes, I did, and I am! The doctor said I was fine, and I have an investigation to lead."

"You're not going back to work!"

"Yes I am, whether you like it or not!"

"Yeah?! Well I'm not driving you!" Trent yelled hotly.

"Fine! I'll take my own car!"

"Fine!"

Angry silence hung between them for the rest of the car ride.

Trent fumed. Sometimes Carlos could be so damned stubborn!! How could he possibly want to go back to work?! He hadn't been waiting and worrying over his friend since three AM that morning just so that Carlos could go run himself down again!

Carlos was just as irritated. Trent had no right to tell him what to do, friend or not! There was some truth to his words, though; Carlos had a headache and he really wanted little more than to rest. However, that was the last thing he'd admit to.

Trent pulled the car into his wide driveway, stopping it right next to Carlos's black Camero. They both got out, slamming their car doors, and silently went into the house. The detective headed for his room to put his bag away; Malloy went into the kitchen, where the answering machine beeped with a new message. After listening to it, he sighed.

"Hey Carlos!" he called up the stairs, "Your captain called, he wants you to call him back at his office."

"Thanks!" Trent heard the still-angry strain in his friend's voice coming from the second floor room.

Malloy waited in the kitchen for Carlos to come down, wanting to talk to him before he left again. When Carlos didn't walk back down, Trent went upstairs to see what he was doing. He found his friend in the upstairs bathroom leaning over the sink, shaving.

"Isn't it a little late for that?" Trent asked, leaning into the doorway.

Carlos looked up, surprised, nicking his chin with the safety razor.

"Jeez, don't do that! No, Captain Beckett said he wants me back in the office in an hour," he explained. He splashed his face with water, rinsing off the last of the shaving cream from his face and dabbing at the lightly bleeding cut on his chin.

Watching as Carlos dried his face with a towel, Trent frowned. He didn't like Carlos going back to work so soon, especially after he first time he'd woken up this morning. "I'll drop you off on my way back to Uppercuts. You almost ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just gotta change my clothes and grab my briefcase. Oh, wait, do you have any clean gauze? This patch is kinda nasty, I'd like to change it before I go into work."

"Yeah, in the medicine cabinet. Want any help?"

"No, I got it. I'll be downstairs in a few minutes."

"Alright."

Trent went back down to waiting in the kitchen. A few minutes later, Carlos came downstairs wearing a fresh pair of gray slacks, a gray, long sleeved, button-down dress shirt and holding his briefcase. Trent noted that he had also buckled on his holster and gun, and the chain that held his badge was tucked underneath his collar.

"Let's go." Trent grabbed his car keys off the countertop where he'd left them and headed for the door.

Carlos hid a smile, not wanting to rub in the fact that he'd won the argument over his working today.
 
 

Trent pulled his car up to the front entrance of the Dallas Police Department, allowing Carlos to climb out onto the sidewalk.

"Will you pick me up at six?" the detective asked, knowing Trent would probably disagree.

"At four," Trent replied firmly, accompanied by a look that said "Don't even argue!". Carlos may be working, but he wasn’t working late.

Carlos considered contesting the time, but he decided against it. "Alright, I'll see you later, then."

"Later." Trent drove off, leaving Carlos standing on the wide front steps of the DPD.

He strode through the doors and past the public-access area into the offices, pleased to be back at work. Immediately friends looked up, recognizing him.

"Hi, Carlos. Are you all right?! What happened?!" one of the secretaries exclaimed.

He didn't know how Maria could have known about his injury, unless Mark had told her something, until he realized that the white gauze patch above his eye gave it away.

"Hey Maria. . .I'm fine, there was just a burglar at Trent's house last night."

"Oh no! Are the Malloys all right? Was anything stolen?" She handed him a stack of folders; the background and license plate checks he'd requested yesterday afternoon.

"They're all fine, far as I know. I stopped the guy before he got too far. Hey, uh, I gotta get back to work. See you later?"

"Sure, later Carlos."

Similar conversations were repeated over and over as the sergeant-detective slowly made his way up to his office, in addition to good-humored jokes like "What’s the matter Carlos, forget how to shave?" and "Hey, Sandoval, heard they finally took you away to get your head examined!". By the time he finally reached his small office and closed the door, Carlos felt like he'd just run the gauntlet. If he heard one more question about what had happened, he was sure he'd go insane.

As soon as he had sat down and begun looking through the folders, the phone rang.

"Detective Sandoval," he answered, praying it wasn't another concerned officer.

"Carlos, could I see you in my office, please?" The detective immediately recognized the gruff voice of Nick Beckett, his captain.

"Yessir, Captain Beckett, I'll be there in one moment."

Carlos hung up the phone, wondering at exactly what his captain wanted. No doubt it was something to do with his case. He straightened his clothes, took a drink of water from a cup left over from yesterday, and walked out the door of his office.

A short elevator ride took him to the fourth floor, where the captain's huge office lay at one end of the hall. The detective's guard immediately went up when he saw Alex Guidry and Scott Higgins. The two were sitting outside the office like a pair of rebellious schoolboys, silent and bored looking. They both glared at him as he approached, all but looking like a couple of neighborhood dogs growling at a stranger. Meeting their angry looks head on, Carlos walked right by them, opening the door to Beckett's office. He gulped, trembling a little as he looked in. It wasn't because the captain had called him up to his office; that didn't bother Carlos in the least. What bothered Carlos was that the entire back wall of the fourth floor office was clear glass, overlooking the street below. The afternoon sunlight streamed in, brightening the office in a golden yellow light.

"Detective-Sergeant Sandoval, please, sit down," the captain instructed him, gesturing towards the three chairs that were in front of his desk.

Nick Beckett was well suited to his rank as Captain. He wore a pair of comfortable dress slacks, not unlike Sandoval’s, and a white dress shirt with a black vest hanging lightly over his shoulders. Beckett kept his blond hair trimmed short in a crew cut, and his eyes were calm and collected. His desk was neat and cleared of all but the few papers that he’d been working on, and his office was sparsely furnished and only decorated with a few photographs and news articles that marked the highlights of his career.

Carlos closed the door behind him and stiff-leggedly took a seat in the chair farthest from the glass wall, doing his best not to look in that direction. The office's door was close on his right, the huge glass windows were to his left, and Captain Beckett sat in front of him behind his desk.

"Sandoval, your actions at the church yesterday were completely irresponsible. You left a highly sensitive murder scene in the hands of detectives less able of running it than you," the captain accused severely.

Carlos felt his anger rising again at the captain's accusations. He hadn't come back to work so soon just to be rebuked by Beckett. He opened his mouth to speak.

"However," Nick Beckett continued, cutting him off, "The actions of detectives Guidry and Higgins are even more inexcusable. The information that they so foolishly gave out, for whatever reason, nearly cost the lives of a fellow officer and several citizens."

Sandoval was alarmed for a moment, thinking that there might have been another attack, until it occurred to him that the captain meant himself and the Malloys.

"Carlos, last night you suggested that Guidry and Higgins be dismissed from Dallas PD. Is this still your recommendation?" Nick asked in a more amiable tone of voice.

Carlos was taken aback. Did Beckett just admit that he was right? Realization of what his captain was truly asking hit him; he wanted Sandoval to decide the fate of the two homicide detectives. He was silent, thinking. Sure, discharge them from the force. Hadn't they given him every reason to do so? How often in the past had they done all they could to spite their superior in any way? How often had their intentional errors caused difficulties in his cases? But no, getting rid of them wasn't the answer. Higgins and Guidry were both hard working, dependable detectives when they weren't around Carlos. They had been on the force for several years before he'd joined, and both had solved plenty of cases on their own. It would definitely be a mistake to remove them from service.

"Sir," Carlos began, unsure of exactly what to say, "Alex and Scott have both caused me trouble in the past. But despite our differences, the two of them work hard to serve the city and the people, and I respect that. I spoke last night in anger. I don't know exactly how they should be punished; that isn't my place to judge. But I don't believe that either of them should be discharged."

Beckett leaned back in his chair, considering his sergeant-detective's response. Sandoval studied him, waiting for a response. Coming to a decision, the captain stood up and went to the door of his office. Opening it, he spoke to the detectives waiting outside. The two followed him back inside, closing the door behind them, and sat down in the two vacant chairs to Carlos's left.

"Detectives," Beckett spoke directly to Higgins and Guidry, "The information that you gave to the reporters yesterday regarding Sandoval's case nearly cost him his life. This is absolutely inexcusable, and it will not go unpunished." His voice was stern, almost angry, as he spoke.

"After considering both sides of this, this is my decision: Carlos, with your injury, you cannot and will not work the eighteen hour days on this case that you have been since Friday. Don't come in any earlier than eight, and don't leave any later than five. And don't argue with me, or I'll put you on medical leave and take you off the case totally," Beckett warned, seeing Sandoval begin to protest, "Since it was their fault, Detectives Guidry and Higgins will be with you every moment you're in the department. They will work with you on your case and assist you with anything you need."

Both the homicide detectives and Carlos were astonished by the orders. Carlos thought it over. If Higgins and Guidry could stop bothering him, it might actually work out. He could always use the help on the case, especially two other experienced detectives.

Alex was the one to protest. "Captain, there is no way in hell that I'm gonna work with *him* on *anything*! It’s bad enough that I have to take orders from that snot, I will not work with him too!" He yelled hotly.

Captain Beckett stood up and leaned on his desk, towering over the seated detectives. His voice was low, so furious that he sounded calm. "Detective, I don’t know what your dispute with Sandoval is, and I don’t really care. He certainly doesn’t share your views. In fact, the *only* reason that you haven’t been fired just now is because Sandoval spoke in your defense, instead of requesting your discharge, as he has every right and reason to. I believe you owe him some gratitude, not the vicious attitude you’ve shown."

Higgins and Guidry both looked in surprise at Carlos, who shrugged.

"I really don’t want to continue this," he said earnestly, offering Guidry his hand, "Can we at least call it a truce?"

Reluctantly, the homicide detective shook it. "A truce. But don’t expect me to be your best friend now. You stick to your work, I’ll stick to mine."

"Fine." Carlos also shook hands with Higgins, who nodded appreciatively.

"Carlos, if you don’t mind, I’d like a word alone with these two," Captain Beckett spoke to him.

The detective-sergeant nodded and rose, walking out the door with the mid-afternoon sun shining after him.

After the door closed, Scott and Alex looked back at Beckett, who was standing and looking out the glass window.

"Detectives, this is a warning, and the only one you’ll get. You’re both treading on thin ice, and you know it. If there are any more 'accidental’ mistakes, or if any harm comes to Sandoval, his case, his friends, even his dog, you two will be booted out of here so hard your children will feel it. I’ve had enough of this petty argument. It ends here and now. Now get out of here, before I change my mind and transfer the both of you to the most remote town I can find in the state," Nick growled.

Higgins and his friend didn’t quite fall over each other to leave, but their haste was evident. As the door shut behind the pair, Nick sat back down at his desk.

"Carlos, you sure know how to pick them," he murmured to himself, returning to his paperwork.
 
 

The two detectives entered Carlos's third floor office shortly after he did. They were reserved, aloof, hanging back towards the doorway and silent until he invited them in.

"Go ahead and sit down, guys. I'll go over the case with you first, then we'll be able to get to work figuring this out." As he handed Alex and Scott the files on the three victims, Carlos glanced at the clock that ticked away on the wall. It was a few minutes before three. He didn't have very long before Trent got here to pick him up.

"Alright. Scott, you've got the file on Christine Mendoza. Single mother of three children, she worked at County General Hospital as a nurse. She was the first victim, killed by a shot to her heart at 5:53pm on Friday as she was exiting her car when she got home. The round used was a hollow-tipped dovetail rifle bullet, making for a pretty bloody scene. No clues or evidence found. The only witness was her three year-old son."

"Where is he now?" Guidry interrupted.

"As far as I know, he's in a foster home and going to a child psychologist; he was pretty horrified by the whole thing."

"But didn't you say she had three kids?" Alex asked.

"Yes. The other two children were at daycare, ages four and five. After some investigation yesterday morning, I found that they had left with an unknown man claiming to be their father and Mendoza's boyfriend. Remind me to have someone look into that daycare, they just broke at least two laws for childcare services."

"Alex, the file you're looking at is on Laura Thompson. Again, single mother, with one son. She was between semesters, earning her bachelor's degree in teaching at Texas State. She was murdered Saturday afternoon as she was leaving Albertson's grocery store on Orange Street with her little boy and a cart full of groceries. Again, hollow-tipped rifle shot to the heart, she died immediately. Shot went off at approximately 4:37pm. Her son disappeared, and no one is exactly sure what happened to him. No clues, no leads, and none of the information that the witnesses gave could be used for anything."

"That is, until yesterday. Erica Carter, single with no children, was killed by the same type of bullet as she left church around 10:45am," Carlos tried to keep the edge out of his voice when he spoke of the previous day's events. He didn't think that Guidry and Higgins needed constant reminding of what they'd done; he was sure they regretted it enough already. "However, the witness I interviewed yesterday, Steven Evans, was her mentor in a rehab program. He provided a significant amount of information about her past. I think the key to the case is in the info that he gave me." Scott opened the other folder that he held. It was thick with reports, papers, and notes.

"She was in the Brazos gang?" the dark-haired man asked, guessing from the materials in the folder.

That had to be the first question Carlos had ever heard from one of the pair that wasn't spoken with scorn.

"Yes," Sandoval replied, "Along with Laura Thompson and Christine Mendoza. When the Brazos gang was busted in '93, Carter, Thompson, and Mendoza all got a year in Texas State Women's Penitentiary, plus 200 hours of community service. The other women in the gang got more time. Mendoza's oldest daughter was born a few months before she left. That's all I've found so far, though I haven't been able to go through all of these files yet."

"Well then, three heads are better than one. Let's get to it. Should we watch for anything specific?" Alex asked, setting one of the two folders he held onto the desk.

Sandoval considered for a moment, and then told the two detectives, "Well, there is a possible revenge motive. Anyone who had anything against the Brazos gang could be after them. And look for any reasons why the children might be kidnapped; there has been no evidence to explain that either."

Nodding briefly, Scott and Alex both opened the files that they held and began reading through each. Being truly face to face with his ex-rivals for the first time, instead of passing their hateful looks in the hallways or ignoring them at crime scenes, Carlos finally had a chance to study the pair and get a good look at each.

Scott Higgins didn't seem like such a bad guy. He struck Carlos as more of a follower than anything, copying the actions of Guidry, his senior partner. The older man wore a regular three-piece suit, with black slacks, a white shirt, a black blazer, and a dark red tie to complete the outfit. He was of average height, with pale white skin that was unusual in northern Texas; he was probably of Irish descent. His brown hair, like so many others in law enforcement, was short and neat. Carlos noted a gold ring on his left ring finger as he turned the page of the file material. Higgins was married. Sandoval turned his attention to Alex Guidry. Alex frequently wore a sour expression on his face, like he generally disliked everyone and everything he encountered. On his left hand, Carlos saw a band of wide pale skin on his left ring finger. Alex was divorced.

'Well, that explains a lot,' Carlos thought to himself. As far as he knew, Guidry was in his forties, with early traces of grey showing against his jet-black hair. The homicide detective was taller than Higgins, but sat slumped low in his chair as he read the file on Laura Thompson.

Before he began reading through his own file, Carlos glanced again at the clock. 3:45. Sighing, trying to ignore his growing headache, he opened up the report on the license plate that Trent had seen. His brow furrowed as he scanned the given information. 'That's curious,' he thought, 'Vanity plate 'NB', registered to one Naomi Brazos of eight-five-four Boulder Avenue. . .' "Hey, what do you guys have on Naomi Brazos?" he asked, calling his co-workers' attention away from their reading.

"Naomi Brazos?" Alex repeated, scanning Thompson's file, "I don't see anything about her in here."

"There's some in here," Scott spoke up, looking back through the file on the Brazos gang that he held, "But you'd be better off finding her individual file. Looks like the courts could never prove that she did anything, even though her brothers are still in prison for the charges against them. The only charges against her, from the time when the Brazos gang was busted, were two counts of assaulting an officer when the police came into her home for her brothers. However, the investigating officer states that she had a long history of violence, several convictions of assault, although Naomi never spent any time in prison, thanks to her rich father. He managed to get her off the hook every time, but his sons had no such luck. The officer also suspected that she had strong-armed her brothers into giving her fifty percent of the profits from their protection racket and smuggling combined."

Pausing, Higgins picked up a picture and swore, "Damn, she must be one tough bitch to be able to push those two around."

"Why do you say that?" Carlos asked, not able to see the picture.

"You didn't see this picture? The one with her two brothers? They're a couple of bears!" Scott handed Carlos the only photograph in the Brazos file of the two brothers. Naomi wasn't in the picture. Higgins was right; it looked like Paul and Chris Brazos had been lifting weights since they were three.

Sandoval handed the photos on to Alex, who commented, "Jeez, you're right!! If Naomi could push those two around, can you imagine the fighting skills she must have? With muscle, brains, and attitude to match, that's one rough deal. I'd hate to face her." No sooner had he said those words than Carlos flinched. His simple headache became severe, total pain, and his hands shot to his forehead in a vain attempt to ease the sudden agony. When he shut his eyes tightly, an image appeared before his mind's eye. Long, flowing blond hair that framed a beautiful face with dark, cold eyes glittering up at him.

When the hurting was gone, it disappeared. He opened his eyes again, only to look up into the alarmed faces of Scott and Alex.

"Are you alright?!!" Alex asked. Even he was concerned. Sandoval was neat, composed, always perfectly strong and healthy. Guidry had never seen his commanding officer with so much as a cold. But just now, the sight of the man cringing from the pain of an injury that Alex had indirectly caused, that was a jarring thought. Sandoval looked better now, but not by much. His left hand still hovered near his wound, and he was trembling slightly.

"Yeah," Carlos breathed. Who was it that he'd seen? He couldn't recall the image at all. "I just. . ." He was interrupted by a newcomer opening the office door.

Trent Malloy stepped in and looked around at the faces that stared back at him. He saw the troubled looks on the strange officers' faces, and noticed how pale Carlos was.

"I, uh, Maria said to come on up here," Trent stammered, trying to explain his civilian presence. Obviously his arrival was unexpected, and he certainly hadn't known that these two other men would be in Carlos's office. "Did I interrupt anything?"

"No, nothing, Trent," Carlos recovered his composure quickly, standing, "Detectives Alex Guidry and Scott Higgins, this is Trent Malloy. I'm staying at his house until the repairs at my apartment are completed. The three of us are working on the case, now," he explained to Trent after the introductions were over.

"Guidry?" Trent repeated, looking at his friend in surprise. Alex began an uncomfortable inspection of his shoes, knowing what Sandoval's friend meant. Carlos shot him a look that clearly said 'I'll tell you later!'.

"Well, are you ready to go, or should I come back later?" Trent asked, breaking the awkward moment, "Tyler and Tandy are waiting in the car."

The detective looked from Trent to his colleagues. Carlos wanted badly to go home and just *rest*, especially after that attack of pain a few moments ago. But he didn't want to abandon Higgins and Guidry to work on the case by himself. Seeing his indecision, Scott spoke up.

"Go ahead, Carlos. Alex and I can read over the files ourselves, and then tomorrow the three of us can work on it with the same knowledge of the case," he reasoned.

"Yeah, go on home, Sandoval," Alex agreed, "You look like hell. Get some rest." Carlos knew that Guidry, for once, didn't mean that as an insult. The Cuban wasn't feeling too well now, and he probably looked just as bad. Hesitantly, he nodded.

"Alright, I'll leave all the files here then. Make sure you guys lock them up before you leave. And I'll ask Maria to pull the individual files on the Brazos family on my way out."

"Okay." Scott and Alex both took their seats again and went back to reading their files. Carlos took his coat from the back of his chair and pulled it on as he walked out the door, shutting it behind him.

Trent was waiting at the elevator. Irritating the policemen already on the elevator, he held the doors while his friend came down the hall, wondering over the scene he'd seen when he first walked into the small office. Something was bothering Carlos, and it certainly wasn't Trent's sudden arrival. He made a note to himself to ask his friend the next time they were alone.