***

The loft was completely empty. Sam wasn't surprised; when she'd seen Jarod at Bryce's, somewhere inside she'd known that was his goodbye.

As much of a goodbye as he ever gave, that is. Sam knew, with a flash of intuition, that Jarod rarely got to say goodbyes; he had to leave, had to keep moving. He was being stalked just as surely as she had been by Jack-- whether it was by a person, or by his own past, he was running. She felt sympathy, deep and painful inside her. She'd been there. She knew.

A man's voice behind her startled her. "We're looking for Jarod... Doyle."

Sam whirled around, her hand feeling for a gun she wasn't carrying tonight. There were three figures in the doorway; in the dim light, Sam saw that it was two men and a woman. The woman was about her age, slim and attractive, all hard lines and brittle edges. One man was younger and balding, obviously ill at ease; the other was older and hung back, just slightly.

"I believe that Detective Doyle has left town," Sam said, eyebrows raised. She gestured around the echoing room. "All packed up and gone."

"That's obvious," snapped the woman. She surveyed Sam dismissively, top to bottom, not caring that Sam knew she was doing it. "Who are you?"

Sam returned the survey-- the cost of the woman's suit alone could probably send Chloe to college-- but the woman didn't flinch. "Samantha Waters. I'm with the FBI." The younger man started at her words, and the woman shot him a glance that could have cut glass.

Sam smiled, falsely. "And you are..."

"Friends of Jarod's," the woman answered smoothly, looking everywhere but at Sam.

"Ah." Sam didn't believe her. The woman knew it, and didn't care.

"Did you know Jarod?" the older man asked, his gaze fixed on Sam. His voice was faintly accented, and Sam realized that he had the weariest eyes she'd ever seen-- deep and tired, but somehow very gentle. Unaccountably, he reminded Sam of Bailey.

"Yes." She smiled, just slightly, at the older man. "We worked together on a kidnapping case."

The woman was stalking around the room; it appeared she was looking for something. "I'm sure he was a model detective," she muttered.

"He was a pleasure to work with, actually," Sam said blandly. "Very insightful. Why are you looking for him?"

The woman smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "Business reasons. Did he... leave anything behind?"

With a jolt, Sam realized who the three were-- these were "the wrong people" that Jarod had mentioned when she'd noticed his encoded diary. They were still tracking him, still trying to learn what he was doing. This was what he was running from.

Sam shrugged. "Not a thing." She lowered her eyes, watching out from under her lashes. "No papers, nothing. Not even a diary."

All three of them froze when she mentioned a diary, and the woman's eyes narrowed. Sam kept her face blank, watching them, noting the looks that passed between them.

There was a long pause, and Sam could almost see the woman trying to decide what
to do next.

"There's nothing here." The woman rubbed her eyes, briefly, and for just a moment Sam thought she might actually be human. "Thank you for your help, Miss Waters," she said sarcastically as she strode out. "Broots?" she called to the younger man, snapping her fingers.

Sam didn't bother to answer, or to say goodbye. Arms crossed, she watched them
leave.

"Agent Waters?" The older man paused, turning from his retreating colleagues.

"Yes?"

"The kidnapping case-- did you and Jarod find the victim? Or victims?"

Sam smiled, for real this time. "We did. The boy is home with his parents."

The older man let out a deep breath, and his face seemed to lighten. "Good. That must have brought Jarod some peace."

An interesting, and appropriate, choice of words. "I think it did."

Sam and the man stared at each other for a long moment, eyes locked. With a slow nod, he turned and joined his companions, and the three of them disappeared into the stairwell.

Sam looked after them for a while, wondering. There were very deep secrets inside these people, and many of them must be the same secrets that Jarod carried with him. No wonder he was so driven to help people. Sam just hoped that, sometimes, he remembered to take care of himself.

Turning to leave, she touched her purse gently, knowing that the disk was in there. It was safe, and ready for Jarod when she saw him again.

Because she would see him again.

***

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