Title: Out of the Past--Ghosts

Author: Layla

Rating: R (language & violence, at the least)

Spoilers: Everything up to Adrift I, I suppose

Summary: Back at work after his crash, yet another woman (and a blonde to boot) enters Harm’s life when he is assigned to work with a local

criminalist on a troubling case.  But all is not what it seems.....

Author’s note 1:  For the purposes of this story, assume that: 1) the wedding was postponed... indefinitely, for the time being.   As time goes on, Mic is increasingly pressuring Mac to reschedule the ceremony, and becoming increasingly frustrated and upset with her reluctance to do so.  For her part, Mac is more confused than ever as to what she really wants. Why?  see...

2) Harm and Skates both survived the crash, although she fared much better than he did.   More dead than alive, he was fished out of the Atlantic courtesy of the Coast Guard.  After nearly four weeks in the hospital, and another three off duty and in physical therapy, he returned to duty quiet and subdued, keeping to himself.

3) Renee and Brumby are most definitely still in the picture.  For those of you who wonder why on earth I would do such a thing, well... you’ll see.  All I’ll say is that I wanted to have a little fun... so sue me.

Author's Note 2:  This is my first shot at JAG fanfic and the first writing I've done in years, so please bear with me

Disclaimer: All recognized characters are the property of DPB et al, and are simply being borrowed for fun.   All others, unless otherwise stated, are the product and property of my own little twisted mind.

***************************

Approximately three and a half months after the crash

JAG HQ

1048 local

"Commander Rabb reporting as requested, sir."

"At ease. Have a seat, Commander," Chegwidden said, looking up from the file in front of him and gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of his desk. He watched as the senior attorney took a seat, not missing the slight wince as Harm settled into the chair.

The Admiral sighed. "Commander, I have a new assignment for you, but I have a question for you first, and I want a straight answer.   I know the docs cleared you for full duty, but it’s obvious you’re still recovering.  Do you honestly feel you’re up to handling a field investigation?"

Harm paused before answering, choosing his words carefully.   "Sir, I won’t tell you I’m at my best.  We both know I’m not.  But I do feel I’m more than capable of handling any of my duties, including field work."

"I assume I have your word on that."

"Yes sir."

"Good." Chegwidden handed the file he’d been examining earlier to Harm.  "Nine days ago, a Lt. Commander Suzanne Nichols was found murdered near

Williamsburg.  As you’ll see, it was anything but typical.   The local authorities are hanging on to this tooth and nail... seems they think there’s a serial killer in the area and that the Lt. Commander was the second victim of three, the last being found two days ago.   On the other hand, the Navy wants exclusive jurisdiction.  As a compromise, you’ll be working with a special investigator from the Virginia State Investigative Bureau.  Now, as of this morning, they didn’t know who that was going to be, but I was promised that they would be here around 1330 to brief you on the case."

"They don’t know who they’re sending?"

"Apparently the chief investigator is very busy with the other cases and is still deciding which of his people to assign this specific case to," Chegwidden clarified, not bothering to hide the disgust in his voice.  "Commander, I am counting on you to insure this is handled competently, with or without the local officials. Is that understood?"

"Aye, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

**************

JAG HQ

1317 local

The tall blonde stepped off the elevator, surveying the bullpen.  Well, at least she was in the right general area.  "Would’ve been nice if they told me who I was looking for, though," she muttered.   Trust her idiot boss to dump this little surprise on her, especially after spending all morning in court crossing verbal swords with that damn fool of a defense counsel, the arrogant, egotistical snot.  And what was her reward? Being assigned to work with some squid lawyer who probably didn’t know jack about investigative procedures or forensics.  Just marvelous.   And on this particular case...? What else could go wrong?

She yanked at the starched collar of her prim white blouse. She was wearing her "court clothes", and hating every second of it.  The ultimate result was effective, though, she had to admit, even if she did look like a schoolmarm in the strictly tailored black suit and heels.  The bun and round, wire-rimmed glasses only added to the effect.  Better a schoolmarm than a bimbo, though.  What was it with people and blondes? If one’s a twit, we’re all twits?

Sighing, she closed her eyes and rubbed her nose under the glasses, turning to begin her search for a friendly face.... and ran right into a harried-looking petty officer carrying a full cup of coffee.

"Oh! I am so sorry, ma’am!" Tiner sputtered. He couldn’t believe he’d just dumped coffee all over...well, somebody important.  At least she looked important, or had until her suit began dripping freshly brewed Sumatra Mandheiling.  "Is there anything I can get you?"

She looked at him over the tops of her glasses.  "Well, normally I’d say a couple of sugars and some half and half," she said dryly, "but I think in this case a towel of some sort might be more useful."

From the look on his face, she half expected him to smack himself in the forehead.  Instead, it was a quick "Yesma’am" before he dashed off, returning a moment later with the requested item and apologizing profusely.

Making a few weak attempts to blot her suit, she cut him off with a wave of her hand. "It’s all right-- it’s just a suit.   Despite what some might tell you, I am not the Wicked Witch of the West and will not melt," she finished with a grin.

The PO finally appeared to relax a bit, and was just about to ask a question when a voice from behind stopped him cold.  "Tiner, what the hell is going on here?"

She never saw anyone spin around so fast. "Admiral! Sir! Um, I, uh.... well, that is..."

Taking pity on the poor man, she stepped around him, coming face to face with an extremely annoyed and rather fearsome looking Admiral in dress blues.   "I’m afraid it’s all my fault, sir," she stated, taking a closer look at the imposing officer.  Heck of a salad bar of medals, she noted, and yup, those were admiral’s stripes on the sleeves and two stars to boot... and *damn*, he was wearing a "budweiser."   A SEAL.  She was face to face with a two-star SEAL admiral. No wonder the petty officer was scared.  Oh well...

"I’m here on business, but I’m not quite sure where I should be. Anyway, I stopped for a moment and was rubbing my eyes--I’ve got a headache--and I’m afraid I didn’t open them before I started moving again. The petty officer here was the victim of my clumsiness--well, him and his coffee," she finished, babbling, her mind elsewhere.  Waitaminit...wasn’t the current JAG a SEAL? Oh, no.....it couldn’t be.  She was not meeting the man she was going to be working for standing in a hallway, babbling like a idiot and dripping coffee on his floor.   Lieber Gott im Himmel....

She groaned, muttering without thinking, "Kill me now. Please."

"That won’t be necessary," he responded, a slight grin sneaking out. "You are....?"

"Your V-SIB investigator, believe it or not.  I’m here about the Nichols murder."

"Ah, yes. You’ll be working with Rabb on that one, " he commented, before extending a hand.   "Admiral A.J. Chegwidden, JAG."

His comment caught her off guard.   Rabb?  No way.  It couldn’t be.   Yeah, he was in the Navy... and it had been almost 15 years.....she had to find out.   So she lied.

She reached out, accepting AJ’s handshake.  "Mercedes von Kleist," she said, praying he wouldn’t notice the name on her visitors’ badge, since it was not the one she gave him.

PART 2

****************

1345 local

JAG HQ

Harm nearly ran down Tiner in his haste to reach his office.  Once again, he’d lost track of time, and was praying that the VSIB investigator was running later than he was.

No such luck. "Commander!" Tiner exclaimed, trying to keep a hold of the stack of files in his hands, "Sir, there’s a lady in your office.  She’s here about the Nichols case."

"Thank you, Tiner," he gasped out, before he strode toward his office, pausing briefly to compose himself before entering.

"I’m sorry for the delay, ma’am.  I’m Commander Rabb," he said to the back of the woman’s head. He opened his mouth to continue as she turned in her chair, but suddenly found himself speechless as she fixed a pair of eerily familiar azure eyes on him and gave a wry grin.

"Hey...long time, no see, hotshot," she said, grinning.

"Mercedes?" Harm gasped.

"The one and only," She replied. "What’s up, cousin?"

"Wha...what are you doing here?"

"I’m your VSIB investigator."  She eyed him over the top of her glasses. "Ummm, no offense, but you look like you’re listing a bit to starboard there, sailor.  Might I recommend sitting down before you fall down?"

Numbly, Harm took a seat behind his desk.  "God...how long has it been, C.D.?" he asked, using her childhood nickname.

"Since we last talked? Little under 15 years.  Longer since we’ve actually seen each other in person.  You were just shipping out for your first stint on a carrier."

"And you were gearing up for your fourth full season of racing..."

She smiled, but there were shadows in her eyes. "Yeah... both of us following in our fathers’ footsteps," she said quietly. "I suppose the next question is, what the hell happened to us?"

Harm sighed.  "You want to go first, or should I?"

She shrugged. "Doesn’t matter to me."

Silence fell, neither one willing to relive their past pain.   Finally, Harm turned to stare out the window as he spoke.  "It was a night landing on the Seahawk in ‘91.  One minute everything was fine, and the next...." he paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.  "I came in too low, and hit the ramp.  I tried to eject us, but it was too late.  Mace...my Rio... was killed."

He turned back to face her, but didn’t meet her eyes. "They diagnosed me with night blindness, and that was it. No more Tomcats.   Turned out later that wasn’t exactly the case, but that’s another story.  At any rate, I decided I wasn’t ready to give up on the Navy yet, so I went to law school and ended up here."

He finally looked up, only to see her looking away, her face unnaturally pale.  "C.D.?" he asked quietly.   "What happened to make you stop racing?"

It was a moment before she spoke.   "It’s kind of eerie, really...." she said quietly.  "The similarities, you know."

"I was one of the rising stars in European sportscar racing, well on my way to the top.....  Then came the Nurburgring in ‘88.   Even though the weather was shit--cold, rainy, even some fog-- everything was going great.  Me and Pedro, my teammate, were running one and two, him leading.

It was at the start of the last hour... Pedro, he was just approaching pit out... the mist from the cars, the rain...you couldn’t see a damn thing.  And he didn’t. Specifically, he didn’t see the rookie driver re-entering the track.  Pedro wasn’t that experienced himself.   Hell, I wasn’t that experienced."  Her eyes grew distant as she continued.  "It was just matter of physics and timing, I suppose.  The rookie, Anders, accelerated too hard on cold tires and spun, collecting Pedro in the process.  Since everything was wet, the asphalt didn’t even slow them down.   And I couldn’t react in time once I saw what was happening. I was running full out, too close behind... had to be going close to 200 when I plowed straight into them," she finished, her voice empty and dead-sounding.

Harm stared at her.  How come he’d never heard about this?  Had he been that out of touch?  "What happened, CD?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She continued in the same flat voice, still staring off into the distance.  "I hit Anders’s car precisely at the cockpit. He was killed instantly.  The three cars were tangled together, and still moving at high speed.  The crash report said we were going about 170 miles an hour when we hit the wall.  Pedro...  took the brunt of the impact.  He was in a coma for three days before he died."  She closed her eyes.  "As for me, I was supposedly lucky to be alive.  It took two years of physical therapy and recovery before I was completely back on my feet, literally and figuratively.   But my racing career was over.   So I came back to the US, went back to school, studied criminology, forensic anthropology, and archeology.   Finished that, then went to work with a crime scene unit in Fort Worth. Got sick of it about 2 years ago, and went job hunting.  Ten months later, it was hello Virginia," she finished, looking back at him.

"Mercedes....I don’t know what to say."

She smiled, a genuine smile this time, so much like his own. "Well, you could say you’re glad to see me, and want to help me nail the bastard who butchered Suzanne Nichols, Claire Tabram, and Annabella Chapman.    We’ll deal with the rest later."

Harm returned the grin. "You always were blunt as hell."

"And you were always certain that smile could get you anything you wanted.  Some things never change, do they?" she shot back, crossing her arms and grinning.

Harm laughed, really laughed, for the first time in months. "All right, you win.  I am damn glad to see you again, CD."

"Likewise, cousin o’ mine.  Now let’s get down to business."

PART 3

******************

Two days later

JAG HQ-- Harm’s office

1730 local

"And that's what we've got.  Three women with absolutely nothing in common except their gender and the way they were killed," CD finished, frustration evident in her voice.

        Harm glanced over the file in front of him one more time before answering.  "Three unrelated victims, but all killed in the same general fashion.  I don't see it, CD.  Why are you so certain it's the same killer?"

Across the desk, CD pushed her glasses up on to her forehead and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  "Because of the specifics of the crimes.   All three first had their throats cut, then were systematically disemboweled."  She looked down, consulting the file in her lap.   "Furthermore, all wounds were inflicted with similar weapons---possibly the same weapon.  Something extremely sharp, small, light, and easy to handle.  Probably only sharp on one side, rather than a double-edged blade.  Also probably a fairly short blade-- these were blitz-style attacks, but the first injuries--the neck cuts-- were fairly shallow."

          Harm flipped through a few pages, then looked up at Mercedes, an odd expression on his face.  "Where'd you get that?" he asked.

          "I was there for the autopsies, Harm.  Not to mention I know all the M.E.s.   It's my job, remember?  That whole forensics thing?"

          Harm looked at her skeptically.  "Okay, wiseass, what else?"

          Mercedes grinned back. "Better a wiseass than just an ass," she pronounced solemnly.   "One of the MEs I talked suggested that the weapon might be a surgical scalpel, and I'm inclined to agree with him.  All the wounds are consistent, on all three of the victims.  Also, our killer is right handed.  Almost always, when a vic's throat is slit, they're attacked from behind.  There's nothing to indicate that this is any different.  The victims' throats were slit from left to right, which means the killer was holding the weapon in his right hand."

"Impressive," Harm admitted.  "But we still don't have any clue who we're looking for, do we?"

CD sighed, pushing her glasses up on her forehead and rubbing the bridge of her nose.  "No, we don't.   That’s what’s been giving everyone headaches about this."  She leaned back, throwing the file on the desk in frustration "Dammit, I know I’m missing something here... something big.  And it’s annoying the crap out of me."

"What do you mean, missing something?" Harm asked, looking up from the coroner’s report he’d been rereading.   "CD, I’ve looked over the reports, the evidence, all of it.  I don’t see where anything’s been missed.  We’ve got everything available."

"That’s not what I mean," she snapped, then sighed.  "Sorry.  Look, what I was trying to say is that I keep getting this gut feeling that I’ve seen this before.  I know," she said, holding up a hand to stop him interrupting, "there’s no reason to think that these murders are in any way related to any other crimes.   But I still get that same feeling in my gut." She picked up several reports, glancing through them before throwing them down in frustration.

Harm glanced at the clock.  "Look, it’s closing time here.  How do you feel about stopping for a drink?"

"Sounds like a plan."

**********

A Little Later

McMurphy’s Tavern

"You did WHAT?"

"You heard me."

CD shook her head in disbelief.  "Only you would consider firing a weapon in court a valid legal tactic."

"Yeah, well.... it wasn't like I got away with it, " Harm replied ruefully, taking another swig of his beer.

"Ah, yes. I met your boss the first day.  I don’t imagine he made things too pleasant for you."

"When did you meet Chegwidden?

"Like I said, the first day.  Which reminds me...If anyone asks, my last name is Von Kleist."

        "Do I want to know?" Harm asked warily.

        "Probably not," CD admitted.  "That way if the fit hits the shan, you can deny everything with a clear conscience," she said logically, taking a swig of her beer.

        "Why doesn't that make me feel any better," Harm muttered, more to himself than to her.

        "Probably because you've gotten paranoid in your old age," Mercedes shot back, grinning wickedly.

        He glared back at her.  "Old age? May I remind you that you're not that much younger than me yourself?"

        Mercedes was ready to deliver a parrying shot when Harm's cell phone rang.   Instead, she leaned back and gave him a look that said 'you got lucky that time' as he fished the phone from his pocket and answered.

        "Rabb?...Hi, Renee...McMurphy's....I'm just having a drink with a friend, that's all. ...No, not Mac.... Renee--we were?...Renee, I'm sorry, I just forgot....I know. Look--....Renee... Renee?" He sighed, putting away the phone.

       CD just looked at him, eyebrows raised.  "I'd ask if that was your mother, but I happen to know for a fact her name's not Renee," she said carefully, taking another swig of her beer.

      "Renee's my girlfriend."

      If CD's eyebrows went any higher, they'd be bangs.  "Really.  Well."   Suddenly, her glass of Bitburger became immensely fascinating to her.

      Harm just looked at CD. He knew this routine; this had always been CD's way of keeping quiet when she was just dying to say something she knew the other person wasn't going to like.  He sighed, saying, "All right. Out with it, CD."

      "I didn't say a word," she proclaimed defensively.

      "You didn't need to," he pointed out wryly.

      "Fine. You asked for it," she stated, before pausing to consider her words.  "Harm, I admit I know nothing about the person on the other end of that phone.  But I know you.  The little bit you were allowed to talk, you didn't sound happy.  You sounded weary...tired.  That's not usually the sense I get when listening to people talk to their loved ones," she finished, taking a long swallow of her beer.  "And that's all I'm gonna say."

     "That, and your previous comment," he said pointedly.

     "Hey, I call 'em like I see 'em," she defended, wondering just what sort of woman this Renee was.  She remembered the picture and letters Harm had sent from the Academy, and the bright, quick-witted brunette that was the focus of them.  Harm needed someone like that...someone who gave as good as they got.

     Mercedes half-listened as Harm began telling her more about JAG, her mind still stuck on the mysterious Renee.  She was just going to have to meet this person, she decided.  If she liked her, great.  Harm had always wanted a family, and Mercedes would just give matters a little help.  If not, well....nice meeting you, Fraulein.  Don't let the door hit ya in the heine on the way out.

     Satisfied with her course of action, Mercedes turned her full attention back to her cousin.  Hmmm, she was going to have to meet some of these people her worked with.  Especially this Mac he kept mentioning.....

PART 4

****************

The following Monday

JAG HQ

0915 local

     Mac wearily made her way to the break room in search of a much-needed cup of coffee.  What had started out as a simple dinner had ended in yet another round of arguing, fighting, and battling with Mic-- the worst to date.   He wanted a wedding, and he wanted it now.  Worse yet, she couldn't really give him any better reason to delay things other than she just didn't want to, not yet. He just didn't seem to understand...

    Lost in thought as she entered the room, she made a beeline for the coffeemaker. She grabbed her mug and reached for the coffeepot.

    "You might want to make another batch.  I suspect someone's contaminated the pot with decaf," a voice commented from behind.  Startled, Mac spun around, inadvertently stumbling into a stray chair someone had left behind.

    "Might want to watch your step, too," the voice added wryly, although this time Mac was looking at its source.  Leaning against the wall was an unusually tall blonde, dressed in a black trenchcoat and jeans and a white buttondown shirt, her hair up in a haphazard bun. She was regarding Mac somewhat curiously over the tops of gold rimmed reading glasses and the file folder in her hands.

     "What the--? Who are you?" Mac demanded.

     The woman pushed off the wall, stepping forward.  "Sorry.  I guess that wasn't the best way to go about things," she said.  "Mercedes von Kleist.  I'm a special investigator from VSIB-- I'm working with Commander Rabb on a series of murders."  She gave Mac's uniform a quick once over. " You must be...Lt. Col. ...MacKenzie?"  Immediately her eyes narrowed.  "You wouldn't happen to go by 'Mac', would you?"

     Before Mac could answer, in strode Harm.  "Morning Mac, Morning CD," he said, greeting the pair before stopping short.  "Um...am I interrupting something?" he asked warily.

     "Only me having another memorable introduction to one of your

co-workers," CD answered.

     Mac was surprised to see a mischievous smile on Harm's face. "Well, it has to be going better than the last one," he commented dryly, "Since you're not dripping coffee."  CD's only response was to shoot a thoroughly dirty look in his direction.  She was more interested in the lady Marine in front of her.

     Mac's initial anger was now thoroughly replaced by confusion. "Dripping coffee?" she asked, glancing from Harm to the blonde, who winced slightly.

     "My illustrious partner is referring to the fact that my first day here, in the space of about fifteen minutes, I ran down a petty officer with the grace and style of a runaway freight train and then promptly ended up meeting your CO with the contents of his coffee cup dripping down the front of my suit," CD explained.  "You see, Colonel, I didn't mean to catch you off guard like that... I was just engrossed in what I was reading and apparently left my brain in the file folder." Mercedes's matter-of-fact tone left Harm snickering.

     Mac could only shake her head.  "This sort of thing happens to you often?" she asked.

    "What can I say. I'm gifted. Anyway," CD announced, "It was an accident.

  Besides, Commander, I wouldn't have been in here in the first place if you hadn't been late and spent the past half hour undoubtedly receiving some choice words from your boss."  Moving as she spoke, she dumped out the remaining coffee and promptly put a new pot on to brew.  Mac noted approvingly that she made the coffee even stronger than Mac herself did.

     At CD's comment, it was Harm's turn to wince, and Mac couldn't help her grin.  "I think she's got your number, Harm."

     Mercedes returned Mac's grin.  "Yeah, well, I'm familiar with the type."

     "Hey, when did it become 'abuse Harm" day?" he whined, looking for his coffee cup, only to realize Mercedes had it. "Of course, I could always start telling blonde jokes," he added.

     Mercedes gave Mac a long-suffering look.  "The things I have to put up with."  The coffee was ready, so she filled her own paper cup and Mac's mug, which she held out. "I need to go check something in one of my files.  Meet you in the conference room in five, Commander?" she asked, finally filling Harm's mug and handing it to him.

    "Sure. Be there in a minute," he answered, taking the mug.

    "A pleasure to meet you, Colonel," Mercedes said, picking up her own coffee and making for the door.  Mac simply nodded, taking a long swallow of the hot liquid.

     With Mercedes gone, an awkward silence fell.  "She's interesting," Mac finally commented.

     "Yeah."

     "So how are things?"

     Mac looked away.  "Fine.  You?"

     "Well enough, I suppose."

     They both fell silent again, wanting to talk, but uncertain where to begin, or even how.

     "Mac-"

     "Harm, I--"

     They both stopped short, having begun at the same time. It was Harm who finally spoke.   "Mac, you know... if you ever need to talk... if you ever need anything.... I'm here," he said quietly.

     Mac was still trying to come up with a response when Tiner came in. "Ma'am, Sir.... the Admiral wants to see you."

****

     "Have a seat, you two," Chegwidden waved them down without looking up from the file in front of him. "Commander what is the status of the Nichols case?" he finally asked, looking up.

     "We're working on it, sir. Ms. Von Kleist has several ideas, but nothing concrete yet."

     "And why is that, Commander?"  Chegwidden's tone held a distinct note of irritation.

     "There's just nothing to go on, sir.  There's plenty of evidence to indicate how the murders were committed, but not who committed them."

     Leaning back, the Admiral sighed.  "I was afraid that was the case."

     Mac spoke up.  "Sir, if I may, why am I here?  This isn't my case."

     "It is now, Colonel.  It has been strongly suggested both publicly and privately that not enough time and manpower are being devoted to this case.  After a particularly pleasant chat with the SecNav, I've been told to put more of my people on this, specifically, you, Mac."

****************

Same time

Harm's office

     Mercedes was comparing coroner's reports on the victims when her cell phone rang.  "Yes? ...What? Scheisse..." The reports were flung aside as she dug for her field notebook, quickly flipping it open and scrawling notes. "Right....uh hunh...okay.  Let me round up my partner and we'll be there ASAP."  She shoved the phone and notebook back in her coat, then took off like a shot for the Admiral's office.

     "Hi Tiner," she tossed off, going straight past him to the inner office door without slowing.

     "Hello ma'am...Ma'am? Ma'am!" Tiner was startled when she knocked twice then strode right in without waiting. "Ma'am, you can't go in there!" he added desperately.

    AJ looked up with a weary expression. "Miss Von Kleist, I assume there's a good reason for your lack of manners?"

    She paused only long enough to acknowledge his presence. "Hi. 'Scuse me," said quickly, then turned to Harm.  "You. Wrap this up und macht schnell. We've gotta go," she ordered, the turned to leave.  I'll be downstairs in the car--the black Explorer."

   "MISS VON KLEIST!" The Admiral's voice fairly echoed through the building.  "I don't know how things run at your office, but here you observe protocol," he stated in a low tone that left no room for debate.

    Mercedes slowly walked back up to the desk, leaning forward until she was face to face with Chegwidden.  "With all due respect, Admiral, I don't have *time* to observe protocol," she said in a low, lethal, voice. "I have two more murder victims to deal with. A housewife and a Navy Lieutenant. Just like the others. Disemboweled, their internal organs lying next to them, and their throats slit from behind.  And every second I stand here wasting time on 'protocol', I lose more evidence that with help me catch the sick sonofabitch doing this."

    They stood there, eyes locked, neither wavering, for seconds that felt like years.  Finally AJ spoke. "Go. Take them with you," he said, motioning to Harm and Mac.   "I'll let it go this time, Miss Von Kleist," he added.

    CD simply nodded, then looked at the other officers.  "Move it," she said, heading out the door and past an astonished Tiner.

PART 5

WARNING:  This section is a bit graphic… if you have a weak stomach, read with caution.

********************************

Approximately 1237 local

Behind The Fiddler's Green Pub

Newport News, VI

     Harm and Mac ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that blocked off the alley, following a silent Mercedes. In fact, the trip down had been silent, except for the terse instructions that had been issued upon arrival.   "All right. Let me take the lead. Stay back, and keep your eyes open," Mercedes had stated as she retrieved a case from the back of the car.  Handing them each a pair of rubber gloves, she added, "Wear these, just in case. If you see something, get me or one of the techs.  We'll handle it from there."

    Harm took the proffered gloves and passed a pair to Mac.  "You know, we have done this before," he told CD, with just the slightest note of irritation in his voice.

    "I didn't mean to imply you hadn't," CD stated amicably.  "But I have a feeling this may be a bit out of your depth. Hell, it may be a bit out of mine."

    "What do you mean by that?" Mac asked, keeping her voice level. 

Intended or not, she and Harm weren't rookies, and didn't appreciate being treated as such.

    Mercedes retrieved her kit and shut the back of the car before turning to them. She didn't have time for this.  "Look.  This case is bad even by my standards, and I've been doing this for several years now.  I know you haven't seen the photos from the other scenes," she commented to Mac, before turning to Harm, "but have you?"

    "Some of them," he admitted. "Mostly I went from the reports, though."

    "Yeah, well, even then, looking at the pictures is different from being there.  And I have it on good authority that these scenes are worse, for one reason.  The heat."  Both officers still looked at her with stony expressions.   "Fine, whatever.  Let's go."

     That was several minutes ago, and Mac was beginning to reconsider CD's warnings.  This was quickly becoming one of the worst scenes she'd been at, and they hadn't even made it to the body yet.  The combined smells of rotting trash, vomit, and urine were made even worse by the heat, but now, they were almost to the body, and the sickly sweet scent of decomposing flesh left her fighting the impulse to retch.  A glance at Harm told her he was having similar problems.  Mercedes, however, seemed unbothered, instead focused on the job ahead.

    They reached the back of the building, finding another detective and two other crimialists already at work.  The detective looked up at their approach. "Hey, CD.  Got another one for ya."

    "Gee, thanks a million, Dave.  Just what my morning needed," she replied sarcastically, then gestured behind her.  "Dave Halliday, my JAG cohorts, Commander Harmon Rabb and Lt. Col. Sarah MacKenzie."  Introductions over, she got to work. "Okay, Dave, what'd we have so far?" she asked, moving to photograph the body with a camera pulled from the case.

    "Margaret Stride, age 34." Mercedes knelt next to the victim as Dave began his recital. "Married, two kids.  Husband's a civilian contractor at one of the local bases.  Last seen around 9:00 PM last night--was on her way to check on a neighbor's cat."

    "Uh-hunh.  And the body was found when?"

    "Shortly after 10 this morning.  Cleaning crew was taking out the trash and found her."

    "Right.  Let's see what we've got."  Mercedes stood and began her inspection of the body, pulling out a camera and snapping off shots. 

Margaret Stride was lying on her back, dressed in a long t-shirt dress and sandals.  Her head was turned to the left, displaying the vicious gash across her neck.  Her limbs were at odd angles to her body, giving the impression of a discarded, broken doll. But the large puddle of congealed blood under the body left no doubt this had once been a human being.

    Mercedes put the camera away, and again knelt by the body.   "Definitely killed here," she commented, moving to the lower half of the body.  "Dave," she asked, "I thought you said this was like the others.... but there's no abdominal mutilation?"

    "Nope.  But the MO's the same, and given that we found the other only a few blocks over, we thought it's the same guy.  Figured he got interrupted here, and then started fresh with the next vic."

    "Makes sense," Mercedes replied, her eyes never leaving the victim's body. "Wait.  What's in her hand?"

    Mac looked.  Sure enough, the victim's right hand was clenched around something. "Dunno," the detective replied.  "we saw it, but I figured I'd leave it for you."

   "Awww...I didn't know you cared," she shot back sarcastically, then motioned to Harm. "Hey. Come here. I'm gonna need some help with this."

   Harm was fighting a battle with his stomach as he bent down next to

Mercedes.  He thought he had a strong stomach; after all, he was fighter pilot, and this was hardly the first dead body he'd had to deal with. But God Almighty, the stench.....  "Help with what?" he asked.

   "Prying open her hand. I want to see what's there.  Here, like this," she instructed, placing Harm's gloved hands into position; one on the wrist, the other curled under the fingertips. "When I say so, try to pull back the fingers--firmly but gently," she told him, pulling out a pair of forceps. "Don't want to break any bones if we don't have to......alright, now."

   Harm pulled, and CD reached in and grabbed the package with the forceps. "Got it," she announced, then looked over at Harm, who looked like the definition of the phrase 'green around the gills'.  A quick look at Mac made it clear she probably wasn't much better off. "Umm, why don't you two go back to the car and catch some fresh air.  I don't have too much more to do here, and I'll catch up with you in a bit."

   As they watched the two officers make their way out, noticeably fighting for control, Dave snorted, "Rookies."

   "Aw, lay off.  You gotta admit, this is pretty high on the vileness scale," Mercedes defended, dropping the paper package she'd retrieved from the body into a plastic evidence bag.  "Besides, being used to this stuff isn't exactly something to be proud of."

   "You've got a point.  So what'd ya find?" the detective asked.

   She held up the bag. "'Loudon's Authentic Sweetmeats'.  Looks like some sort of fancy candy.  I swear, this case gets weirder and weirder."

*****

   About twenty minutes later, CD returned to the car to find both officers looking better. "Hey, you two," she greeted wearily, "I don't supposed you're ready for contestant number two?"

    They looked at each other grimly before Harm answered.  "Yeah. Let's go," he said flatly.  Both Mac and CD could tell he was trying to stay detached from the case, but not necessarily succeeding.  Mac herself was fighting a similar battle.

    Mercedes began checking and refilling her kit from spare supplies in the car--she knew she'd likely need the whole thing for the next scene.  Back to them both, she said quietly, "You know, it's not a sign of weakness.  Being bothered by it, getting ill.  Just means you're human.  And nothing prepares you for it. Trust me."

   "It didn't bother you," Mac observed, as CD finished and they all moved to get in the car.

   "Sometimes I wish it did.  Like I told Dave, it's not a skill to be proud of.  And besides, that's not necessarily true.  It just gets to me in a different way."

   Harm spoke up, after a glance at Mac.  "What do you mean?"

   Mercedes continued to look away, focusing on the car as she put it in gear.  "First and foremost, I have to look at a body for what it can tell me, and only for what it can tell me.  I can't get distracted, or I might miss something important.  Critical evidence can be microscopic. But after that...." her voice drifted off.  "Well, let's just say I haven't slept really well since college."

   "Then why do you do it?" Mac asked.

   "The dead can't speak for themselves.  Someone has to do it for them.  And I do good things, useful things.  I give people answers they might not ever get otherwise.  Everything else is secondary," she stated.

    Mac was still trying to adsorb all this when the car pulled to a stop.  "We're here," Mercedes announced, shutting off the engine.  "Let's go see what Catherine Eddowes has to tell us."

PART 6

WARNING: Again, this gets a bit gruesome... fair warning. (If you can't handle the gross stuff on CSI, this will likely be too much.)

***********************

Commercial docks

Newport News, VI

1548 local

This time, Harm and Mac had agreed to examine the scene while Mercedes dealt with the victim.  CD had introduced them to the lead criminalist present, Maria Locke, and then disappeared toward the back of the alley between the two large warehouses. That was over an hour and a half ago.

Even working with Maria and the other crime scene "collectors" present, there was precious little to be found.  A few inquiries of the talkative Maria had gained Mac the knowledge that no one was surprised by this.  All the previous scenes had produced a similar dearth of physical evidence.

Harm came over to where Mac was standing, surveying the alley.  "So how's it going over here?" he asked, pulling off the mandatory rubber gloves.

Mac sighed. "We've got nothing.  According to Maria, normally there'd be some sort of indication, some minimal trace of the killer left behind. It feels like we've scoured every last inch of this alley, and haven't found a damn thing."

"Same on this side," Harm commented.  They'd each worked with a separate group looking for trace evidence; Harm's team had taken the north side of the alley, Mac's the south, and a third group was covering the area close to the body.  "These people are good, Mac.  They know exactly what they're looking for, and even they can't find anything." The frustration in his voice matched hers as they made their way back to the car.

Silence fell between them, both too weary to feel awkward. It was Mac who finally broke it, as they both gazed back into the darkened alley where a small cluster of police stood.

"Wonder how Mercedes is doing?"

*****

Back in the alley, the work was painstaking, meticulous, and gruesome.  More than one police officer had been relieved, only to stumble off to a 'safe' corner and lose the contents of his stomach.  Mercedes had been repeatedly tempted to join them.

But she couldn't.  She was still on duty, still trying to find a way to speak for the hideously butchered dead woman at her feet.

Lieutenant Catherine Eddowes had been a beautiful woman in life.  A tall, statuesque redhead, she likely would have garnered much attention.  But sometime last night, someone had determinedly set out to destroy that beauty.

Like the other victims, the apparent first wound inflicted was a long, lethal gash across the neck.  But either she had fought her attacker, or he hadn't been satisfied with the first attack.  There was a shallow gash across her forehead, and a long, disfiguring slash started under her left eye and traveled over the bridge of the nose across the face.

But bad as the damage to the upper half of the body was, it was nothing compared to the sheer destruction inflicted on her abdomen.  Sightless eyes looked away from the ripped and torn uniform skirt that had been crudely yanked upward to reveal the damage.  A ragged cut had sliced through the muscle of the abdomen, and much of internal organs had been removed.  Some lay on the street next to the body or had been positioned crudely on it; others, the ME on site had confirmed, had been removed completely.

Mercedes had photographed the scene and catalogued the placement of everything with meticulous precision, taking detailed notes of random observations and seemingly innocuous details. She took no notice of the time passing.

Finally she stood up and addressed one of the officers. "That's it. All yours," she said tiredly, pulling off her gloves and closing up her kit.  "Let me know if you learn anything."  With that, she wearily drug herself back to the SUV and the waiting military officers.

Mac saw her first, and nudged Harm, who had been staring out over the water.  Both saw the same thing; a bedraggled woman who looked ready collapse.  She glanced at Harm, who nodded. They both recognized a person pushing too hard for too long--having seen each other do so far too many times. "I take it there's no good news," Harm commented as she approached.

CD paused to give him a dark look. "I just spent several hours with a woman whose internal organs were dumped on the pavement.  There is no such thing as good news," she snapped bluntly.

Mac intervened.  "Did you find any leads?" she asked, hoping to steer the conversation.

It was as if someone had let the air out of CD. She dropped the case and slumped against the side of the car. "No.  Not a dammed thing," she sighed, and the weight of the world was in her voice. "And on top of it, I'm even more convinced that I've seen this before."

Mac's surprised look of confusion led Harm to explain.  "We haven't had a chance to really go over the case with you yet, Mac, but Mercedes is convinced she's familiar with something about these murders," he explained.

"Yeah...I just can't seem to come up with what, though," she added, glancing at the case she'd dropped.  "Look, there's nothing more to do here, and I'm not sure I'm up to driving all the way back to D.C.  Hell, I'm not sure I'm up to driving, period.  How about you?"

Harm glanced at Mac. "I think we're all pretty weary.  Suggestions?"

"Is there a good place anywhere closer we could all stay?  Harm and I could get guest quarters at one of the bases around here, but that kind of leaves you out," Mac stated.

Mercedes thought a bit before speaking.   "Do you think between the three of us, we could make it up to Fredericksburg?  It's still a drive, but a good hour and a half shorter than D.C."

"Why? What's in Fredericksburg?" Mac asked.

Mercedes grinned, for the first time that day.  "My house, and more importantly, my library.  We can all sleep in honest-to-God beds, and I can maybe figure out once and for all why this is setting off alarms for me."

Harm and Mac looked at each other. "Sounds like a plan," he commented, retrieving the case and putting it in the car.

"Great," Mercedes sighed. "Heads up, Colonel," she said, tossing the car keys to Mac. "You do the honors?  I've seen him drive."

The women's laughter drowned out Harm's protest as they all climbed into the SUV.

PART 7

Mercedes actually lived about 20 minutes east of Fredericksburg, on the Chesapeake Bay.  Mac was in awe as she pulled the car up to a good-sized two-story house that overlooked the water. "Wow," she gasped.

Mercedes smiled as she got out of the car.  "Pretty cushy, eh?  Thank my mom's parents.  Only decent thing they ever did was leaving me their money. There's no way I could afford this otherwise. Come on," she said, leading the way in.

For his part Harm was more than a little curious to see what kind of a life Mercedes had made for herself, and how it differed from what he remembered of her.  He followed her and Mac in, stepping right into the main room of the house.  Wide open and airy, everything was done in shades of blue and white, from the living room area on the left to the kitchen on the far right.  Recalling her great love of music, he wasn't surprised when he spotted the piano at the end of the sofa.

"Make yourselves comfortable," CD tossed over a shoulder as she disappeared down the hallway leading off the living area. "I'll be back in a bit."

Harm did as suggested, dropping on to the sofa. Only then did he realize Mac was still standing in the entryway.  "Mac? he asked softly.

"This place is unbelievable," she said, moving in a bit of a daze to look out the French doors that made up most of the back wall of the house. "It's so peaceful, she added, gazing out over the water, noting the powerboat tied up at the dock.  "Harm," she asked, turning to him, "What kind of person is this woman?"

He grinned.  People had been asking similar questions about CD for as long as he'd known her. "Confusing, opinionated, and frustrating," he answered, which brought one of those luminous smiles from Mac that he loved, something he'd seen so rarely of late.

"Sounds like someone else I know," she commented.   Actually.... it seemed like Mercedes and Harm were two of a kind, Mac thought. Pushing away that random thought, she asked, "What do you know about her?" as she sat down in an overstuffed chair opposite him.

"She's been in Virginia for about a year.  Lived in Dallas before that," he answered, treading carefully.  He knew a helluva lot more, but how much to tell Mac? "Not from the US, actually.  She was born and raised in Germany, but her Dad was an American."

"When did you learn all this?"

Uh-oh. Harm's mind scrambled for an explanation. "We went out to

McMurphy's the other night after work."

"Oh."

"It was a friendly drink, Mac.  I'm not interested."  Why was he telling her this?

"What did Renee think, or did you not tell her?" Mac asked pointedly.

Harm grimaced.  "She called while we were there.  I was supposed to take her out to dinner that night and forgot."

"Ouch."

"Yeah.  But you know, I'm really not sure I even care," he said absently.

Mac rolled her eyes.  Another conversation where she needed a Harmon Rabb decoder ring. "What does that mean?"

"CD couldn't resist making a few comments after hearing my end of the phone call, and I hate to say it, I think she's got a point. Renee doesn't make me happy, Mac.  I'm not sure she ever did."

Mac could only sit and stare at Harm in silence. If she heard correctly, Harm was thinking about ditching the Video Princess because of something Mercedes said? And he wasn't interested in Mercedes? God help her, but she actually believed him on that. It was the way he said it--it wasn't a denial or a protest, but a simple statement of fact. What the hell was going on...?

Thankfully, she was saved from having to come up with a response by Mercedes, who reappeared freshly showered and looking much better, dressed in clean jeans and a oversized t-shirt emblazoned with the phrase "Drive it like ya stole it".  For once, her blonde hair was out of its bun, instead pulled back in a ponytail that reached most of the way down her back.

"Next!" she announced, then tossed some sweats at Harm.  "Here.  These belonged to an ex.  They should fit okay, and I'm pretty sure that you'd appreciate a shower.  Mac, these should work for you," she said, and another lump of clothing came flying in Mac's direction. "Harm, you can use the spare bathroom.  Third door on the left." He nodded, then stood and made his way back.  CD turned to Mac. "You get the deluxe version," she said, grinning. "Follow me."

Mercedes led her to the first door on the right, and into what was Mercedes's own bedroom and to the attached bath.  "Use what you like," said, gesturing into the room.

Mac could only stare.  While it had the typical sink, toilet, and shower stall, in the middle of the room was a tub big enough for two people, complete with whirlpool.  Mac looked back at CD, who was still grinning.  "I believe quite firmly in periodic indulgence in hedonism.  Good for the soul.   Clean towels are on the vanity, and if you like, there's a robe for you on a hook behind the door.  Take your time and relax," she directed kindly.  "I think we all need a little relaxation after today. I'll cook up some pasta and leave it on the stove; help yourself whenever.  Otherwise, I'll be in my office--other side, second door."  With that, she disappeared into the bedroom and out the door.

Mac surveyed the room in front of her.  "What the hell," she said, then turned on the faucets for the tub. Fifteen minutes later, she was dozing slightly, soaking away her troubles in a tub of lavender-scented bubbles.

*****

    Harm finished his shower and returned to the living room, only to spy CD at work in the kitchen, a serious look on her face. "Hey, it isn't brain surgery," he teased, leaning against the counter.

"Nope--it's Italian.  Much more serious than that," she shot back, continuing to stir the large pot of sauce on the stove.

"What're you making?" he asked, reaching around to try and steal a taste.

A sharp rap across the knuckles with a wooden spoon stopped him short. "Hands off. It's Mama Andretti's capellini al pomodoro, and you can wait like the rest of us," she chided.

"Sheesh! That hurt, CD!" Harm fairly whined, rubbing his hand.

"Good. It was supposed to."

Harm sighed, giving up. "So where's Mac?"

"Probably still enjoying my bathtub," CD admitted with a smile before sampling both the sauce and the pasta cooking on another burner.  "Perfect. Almost ready.  Anyway, she looked ready to drop, so I thought she could use the break." She looked at Harm curiously.  "If I may ask, what's the story with you two? And don't tell me you're just friends. I'm blonde, not blind and stupid."

That, of course, had been exactly what Harm was going to say. As was appearing to be standard with CD, she cut through the crap and got to the point. "Where were you a few years ago?" he asked wearily.

"Working my heine off in Dallas with a shitload of gang murders. Answer the verdammte question."

Uh-oh, the German was slipping in. That was never a good sign.  "I'm not quite sure anymore, CD. Once we were partners, best friends, and maybe more. Now... she's engaged to somebody else, and would be already married to him if I hadn't crashed my plane on the way back to her wedding."

"Whoa! Back up there, hotshot. You crashed again? Hell, you're flying again?"

"It's a long story."

"I would think so," CD commented, dishing up two large plates of pasta, handing them to Harm and directing him to the table. "Sit. Eat. And then you're going to tell me all about this fiasco that your life seems to have become."

He watched her duck into the fridge, retrieving two beers.  "And what? Auntie Mercedes will make it all better?" he snapped sarcastically.

She ignored the sarcasm, sitting down across from him. "You know damn well I'm not your Auntie anything, and you should also know that the only person who can 'make it all better' is you.  But maybe I can offer a different perspective-- one you might not be able to see," she finished quietly, fixing a pointed gaze on him.  "After all, what have you got to lose just by telling me and listening a little?" With that, she dug into her pasta.

Harm sighed and did likewise, taking a long swig of beer before telling her everything.

PART 8

********************

O248 Local

Mercedes's house

The house was quiet and dark, except for one room.  Mercedes sat at the desk in her office, pouring over old criminology textbooks and old case files of which she had saved copies. It had been hours since she listened to Harm's tale, promised she'd think on it, and mother-hen-ed him into one of the spare bedrooms. Shortly after than, she'd found Mac asleep in the bathtub, and with remarkable ease, fed the tired Marine and similarly mother-hen-ed her into the other spare bedroom.  Both had been asleep for hours.  Mercedes was nowhere near it.

She'd started with the textbooks, going back to the beginning and creating a new profile of the killer.  Unfortunately, it was remarkably similar to her previous attempt. Then she went on to her case files. She kept copies of them for every case she'd worked on, both in Virginia and in Texas. While there were a few possibilities, none really fit nor rang the bell of familiarity that'd been going off in her head since the beginning of the case.

Sighing, she tossed another case file on to the mess her desk had become. She was getting nowhere fast.  She leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes and pushing the reading glasses on to her forehead. Maybe the similarity wasn't in one of her old cases, but with another case she'd studied rather than actually worked on.

She picked up her notepad, and began writing random facts about the case. 'Victim: young caucasian females, approx. 20-40 years old. All killed where body found.  MO: cut throat, abdominal mutilation.  Possibly escalating.' She added this, recalling the facial wounds of Catherine Eddowes.

Catherine Eddowes.  The name itself was familiar, but CD knew with certainty she'd never met the Lieutenant. Catherine Eddowes. Margaret Stride. Annabella Chapman. Suzanne Nichols. Claire Tabram. The names.  That's what was familiar. Something about the names....

Mercedes retrieved a large book from the bottom of a bookcase.  It was one of many encyclopedia-types books on famous crimes and criminals she owned, but this one had proven particularly useful in the past.  Flipping through the pages, she found the 'E' section and began searching for 'Eddowes'.

What she found made the blood freeze in her veins.

PART 9

Mercedes stared at the words on the page before her, not wanting to accept the implications of what she read, even as she knew it was true.

***

***

Mercedes began pulling books off the shelves with a frantic energy.  How could she have missed it? She'd done her senior year criminology thesis paper on the Ripper murders. And the link was so obvious; the same MO, and the victims all shared a last name.  First Claire Tabram, paralleling Martha Tabram. Then Suzanne Nichols and Annabella Chapman, just like Polly Nichols and "Dark Annie" Chapman.  Then the Double Event: Margaret Stride and Catherine Eddowes, the same as Liz Stride and Kate Eddowes in London.  Mother of God.

Mercedes continued to work at a frenzied pace, only slowing later as fatigue caught up with her.  Finally, near dawn, it overtook her, leaving her asleep at the desk.

*************

0530

The following morning

    Harm shuffled into the main room of the house, less than completely awake. No matter how hard he tried or how many years he'd spent living on a military schedule, he'd never quite achieved the vaunted title of "morning person".  By this point in his life, he was pretty much convinced it was something you were born with. Or weren't, in his case.

On the other hand, Sarah MacKenzie was the epitome of the term. Here it was, just after dawn, and she was already awake and eating breakfast, admiring the view out the French doors.

Speaking of admiring the view, Harm was indulging in it himself. Not the serene view of the water and sky, but of Sarah MacKenzie.  Apparently CD had come up with something besides sweats for her to sleep in, and he mentally thanked his cousin for her extravagant taste in nightclothes. Otherwise he might never have been treated to the vision before him.

Mac sat at the table, munching on a muffin and dressed like an angel come to earth.  A full-skirted robe of shimmering white silk covered what appeared to be a gown of the same material. Wide ruffles of soft lace trimmed the neckline of the gown, as well as the hem and elbow length sleeves of the robe.  With her hair still slightly mussed from sleep, she presented a picture of remarkable beauty--and one Harm could easily get used to seeing every morning.

But reality intruded, the light catching the ring on her left hand as she reached for her coffee cup, and an empty feeling settled in Harm's gut. Stop it, he chided himself. You had your chance.  She's with Brumby now.

"Morning," he greeted her quietly, pushing aside his previous thoughts. "Sleep well?"

Mac looked up as he joined her at the table. "Yes, actually," she admitted. "I guess the bath did the trick," she added with a smile.

Harm returned the smile.  "So where's our host?"

"Probably still asleep." She pointed to a piece of paper in the center of the table. "I found that next to the coffee."

Harm picked up the paper, grinning inwardly at Mercedes' uneven scrawl.

"I assume that's her," Mac said wryly when she saw Harm notice the initials.

"Yeah. I've seen her sign stuff that way," he replied.  Then again, he also knew what all the letters stood for, too.  He looked back up at Mac, setting aside the note.  "So what's the plan, Marine?"

She looked thoughtful. "Breakfast, a quick shower, retrieve our hostess, and hit the road," she stated decisively.

"Sounds good."

******

Forty minutes later, clean and dressed for work, they met again in the living room.  "Harm," Mac said, a tinge of concern in her voice, "Where's Mercedes?"

"In bed, I assume," he said, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "Why?"

"Because I just checked her bedroom, and she wasn't there."

The two officers looked at each other. "You don't think..." Mac asked uncertainly.

"Probably. Office was the second door on the left?" he asked, setting down his coffee and heading for the hall.

"Yup." Mac was right behind him.

They opened the door, and sure enough, there was Mercedes, asleep at the desk, face in a book and her glasses perched crookedly on her forehead.  The room itself looked like a small tornado had hit. Files and books were scattered about, with a good four-inch layer of both spread precariously over the desktop.

Harm glanced at Mac, then reached over and gently shook the sleeping woman. "Mercedes," he said gently, "Wake up. We've got to get back to Falls Church."

"Hur..? Was...? Nein, lass mich schalfen," she mumbled sleepily.

Harm looked up at Mac, who was grinning. "Yeah, she's German," she said.

"Well, we'll have to try German, then?" he replied, grinning back as Mac's eyebrows rose.  Turning back to CD, he tried again.  "Mercedes," he said softly, then added sharply, "Wach auf!!"

CD sat up like a shot, eyes flying open and her glasses tumbling down to hang lopsidedly off one ear. Collecting herself, she turned to Harm. "I'll remember that," she said sternly, a disgruntled look on her face as she tried to ignore Mac's attempts not to laugh.  Stretching her arms overhead, she asked, "What time is it, anyway?"

Harm didn't even bother to look at his watch, instead turning to Mac. "0627," she stated, without missing a beat.

Mercedes glanced at Mac's bare wrists.  "You're not wearing a watch? How do you do that?"

Harm's eyes glinted with amusement, wondering what the response would be this time.  Mac smiled, and rattled off something in what Harm thought was Russian.

Mercedes got an odd look on her face and tilted her head to the side briefly.  Shrugging, she replied, "Ah...da.  Spaseeba."

"You speak Russian?" Mac asked in surprise.

Mercedes nodded.  "My dad traveled a lot with his job, and met a lot of people from different places. I speak a fair number of languages, actually.  But enough of that," she said, remembering her previous night's activities.  "We do need to get back.  I've found something about this case you're not gonna believe."