It didn't take any effort at all to make his feelings known as to the current state of affairs.

"You blew three months of hard work," Don Eppes snarled. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" At the moment, he could afford to yell at the crime scene. His fellow FBI agents were milling around, cuffing those in a condition to be cuffed and sniffing around trying to find out where the others had run to. Still others were tacking up yellow crime scene tape to cordon off the area until all the records had been retrieved. Someone sensible with the forethought to bring along spotlights was stringing those lights up so that everyone could see what they were doing in the darkness.

"What the hell did I think I was doing? I'll tell you what I was doing: taking down a ring of child pornographers, that's what I was doing, Eppes. And what I'm doing now is getting your face the hell out of mine! You got a problem with that? Take it up with the Area Director!" She stalked away, shouting at one of her team to be ever-so-careful with the head slime ball with the expensive attorney who wouldn't be able to weasel his client out of this one.

Normally Don Eppes enjoyed looking at women with long legs, long blonde hair whether or not it was pinned up under a cap labeled 'FBI', and with more than a modicum of intelligence that would refute the title of 'dumb blonde'. It was one of the perks of his job that he got to watch several such blondes with figures like his math genius brother would never be able to add up. He'd met many drop-dead gorgeous women, on both sides of the law. He'd even dated a few. Granted, the liaisons were generally brief, but that was because of his job and how it got in the way of life. Watching those backsides run, stride, or saunter away was something that couldn't be paid for. He was a healthy male, and he liked looking at attractive women.

But in the case of Jessica 'Jelly' Morton, Don Eppes would make an exception.

Dammit, it was not jealousy! It was not the fact that Don himself was used to possessing the title of 'golden child' and getting all the accolades for the toughest cases cracked in the least amount of time. Jelly Morton had transferred in from Seattle, wanting a change of scenery and the chance to see how blondes looked with a natural tan instead of one from a salon, and the rest had been history. She'd re-opened one of Don's few unsolved cases and cracked it within forty-eight hours: she'd spotted something in one of the suspect's statements that led to a major fissure in the testimony which led to a major crime figure going down. Then she followed that triumph up by tying together a software piracy group in Seattle with a distribution ring in L.A., and now everyone in the L.A. office was clamoring to be on Morton's team. Everyone wants to team up with a winner. Well, not everyone, Eppes. You've still got Sinclair, Reeves, and Granger.

This was the last straw. Sinclair had been undercover for the last month, bringing Don in as his syndicate 'boss' for a 'deal'. Not this conversation, but the next one was the one that would be taped for later playback in front of a judge. This early in the game, the opposition was still eager to frisk both David and Don for any wires. Black Bart Blackburn was well known as a dealer of drugs and prostitution and a few other things unpleasant to think about, and the street would be much cleaner with him behind bars. Unfortunately, all they had was a name, and one that didn't pop up in any database in the country; clearly an alias that protected its owner. Black Bart had put a firewall or two between himself and the justice system. No one had ever seen Black Bart; even the crime boss's own people didn't know what the man looked like or where he lived. Don's entire team was working this one carefully, slowly, refusing to let themselves be rushed in their eagerness. They'd been working this one since before anyone had an inkling that there was any such Special Agent Jessica 'Jelly' Morton out of Seattle.

And now she'd blown it. Her team had swooped down while Don and David were conducting 'business' and snatched all the records and all the key players with the exception of Blackburn himself. A total success, that was what her people were calling it. A total fiasco, was Don's take. And the worst part of it was, no one would see it his way. All they would see was that Jelly Morton had pulled off another one, had taken one of the top crime figures in L.A. down a peg. They wouldn't see that there was a whole organization out there that she missed, that she'd only cut off a tentacle. That the rest would thrive, that another sub-leader would step into the void to keep the distribution channels going. That child porn wasn't the only line that Blackburn had been into, and he had plenty of potential lackies eager to move up in the ranks.

Sullenly, he turned back to his own team. David Sinclair was being seen by the medics, getting his face patched up where he'd caught a fist. David too was smoldering; "that was Joe DiCerno, Don, with that right hook! Didn't he recognize me?"

"What can I say? You do damn good undercover work. Even our own don't recognize you." But Don's heart wasn't in it. He was thinking of what he could say, what he could do to somehow get this investigation back on track. The thoughts weren't coming easily. "You okay?"

"Yeah—ouch! Watch it there, guy."

"Sorry." The medic wasn't sorry. He dabbed at the cut again, pulling it closed with some butterfly sutures. "Don't get that wet or infected."

"Yeah. Thanks." David wasn't concentrating on his face. He, like Don, was concentrating on how to cope with this disaster.

"I should send you home," Don told him. "He clocked you good. You sure you don't have concussion?"

"Let's just say that DiCerno is going to owe me a big one when we get back to the office," David grumbled. "No, I'm fine, Don. Let's just go home and figure out what went wrong."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"All right, so how come we didn't know what Jelly Morton was working on?" Megan Reeves leaned back in her chair, chewing the eraser end of her pencil. "Didn't she follow procedure? Hasn't she been posting her briefs?" Megan set her feet back down to tap onto the computer in front of her. "Here they are. All she's talking about is the child porn ring that she'd been assigned, no links to any of our leads. Nothing about Blackburn. Nothing about a raid." She grimaced. "Classic case of the right hand not knowing what the left was doing. She probably didn't even know that her investigation was running over ours."

Colby Granger peered over her shoulder. "Yeah, but how did she get from the Van Buren tentacle over on the west side of L.A. to Blackburn's main porn studio? You think she got a tip from somebody that she didn't have time to post? Gotta be honest, Don; that could happen. You get a hot tip and you gotta act on it. How many times have we done the same thing?"

It hurt, but Don was too honest to refuse to admit the truth of Colby's statement. This was a classic foul-up, just as Megan had said. Usually it was Don and his team that benefited from the screw-up, and now the odds were evening out. His brother would tell him that Don was way overdue for some bad luck, statistically speaking. Most of the time the hot leads for Don had panned out. This one didn't. Jelly Morton was a damn good FBI agent who happened to luck onto a piece of information that sent her crashing into his investigation. She wasn't a hot shot, she was just a good agent following up on solid detecting. Don should consider himself lucky that she was working in the same office. Now that they both were here, the closure rates would skyrocket and the L.A. office would look even better than they usually did when it came to comparing numbers back in Washington.

So why did it still hurt so much?

Don put it aside. "Okay, how much damage was done to our own case? You think your cover was blown, David?"

"Oh, yeah." David's face fell. "I think it kind of shattered into little pieces when DiCerno said, 'jeez, Sinclair, I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you.' Right in front of Tiny Doolittle, he said it."

"Damn." That hurt even more. "It took three months to get you in there. You'll never get back inside."

"Want me to try, Don?" Colby offered.

Don shook his head. "Not right now. Blackburn and his bunch will be more nervous than a crackhead without a fix. They'll be triple-checking everyone and then some. No, we need another route. Ideas, anyone?"

Megan shrugged. "I'll listen in on Jelly Morton's interrogations. Maybe somebody'll say something that we can use."

"Do that." Don himself didn't feel like doing it. Too much chance of running into Special Agent Morton and saying something not particularly useful for his long term career goals. "Keep me posted. David?"

David jerked his thumb at Colby. "I'll take along back up and squeeze some of the friends I've made over the last three months. Now that I'm out of the closet, I can lean on them, see if I can get them to talk about anything more enlightening than the weather."

"Good idea. Do it before they have time to relocate," Don approved. He sighed. "Me, I've got some reports to write. Something about not closing a case." He sighed again. "And I'll read through Morton's stuff as well." A third sigh. Not something he was looking forward to. "Maybe she'll have an idea that I can latch onto."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Want a hand with your last interview?" Megan stretched her long legs to catch up with Special Agent Morton.

Jelly Morton threw a glance over her shoulder. "No. Why should I? I've been doing interrogations for several years now. Thanks for the offer." The thanks weren't sincere.

Megan shrugged, trying to keep it easy. "She's twelve years old. She's not a suspect, she's a victim here. I just saw Charlene from Child Welfare come in, so they'll probably be ready in a few minutes."

Morton gave her a strange look. "The kid was plenty old enough to know what she was doing, Agent Reeves. She was making out okay. I expect to be able to trace some of the money that she was paid to make my case airtight."

Megan furrowed her brows. "She's twelve years old," she protested. "She may think that she knew what she was getting herself into, but kids that age usually don't realize the whole picture. They don't have the mental maturity. That's why they call them children."

"Usually," Morton pounced on the word. "Usually, Agent Reeves. But not in this case." She paused for effect. "You're one of Eppes' people, right?"

"Yes—"

"Tell Eppes that I don't need his help. He can read my reports, just like everyone else. Got it?"

"I'm not—"

Morton cut her off. "You're right; you're not. You're not going to interfere with my investigation, you're not going to screw it up, and you're not going to interrogate my suspect. I've closed a lot of cases, Agent Reeves, and done just fine. It's too bad that your boss doesn't like the competition, but he'd better get used to it, and so had you! Back off." She stalked off down the hallway, her heels spitting fire off of the linoleum.

Megan held up her hands in surrender, and slowly lowered them. "Sorry for trying to be a team player," she murmured.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Don't run, don't run, don't run!" David snarled under his breath. He pulled out his link to Colby, yelling, "he's heading for the back."

"I got 'im."

"And I've still got a head ache," David grumbled to himself, forcing tired legs to run faster than they wanted to. He pointed at the café manager. "You stay right there. I'm not finished with you."

"Right." The café manager was still clearly weighing his options. David gave himself a fifty-fifty chance that the man would still be around when they hauled Viktor's ass into headquarters for questioning. David would have been satisfied just to talk to the dude but noooo! Viktor had to rabbit. Which meant that David had to chase him, and the damn aspirin wasn't working and they had to make a federal case out of what ought to have been just a little question and answer session. He'd been right to bring Colby along. No matter what the man said to his teammates, Colby liked it when the suspects ran, liked the adrenalin rush he got from bringing someone to ground. Better him than me today. Me, I can't wait to hang it up for the day and head for some serious down time.

David bolted out through the back door after Viktor, watching the suspect race down the road—and into Colby's arms.

"Goin' somewhere?" Colby casually slammed Viktor against the brick wall, twisting an arm behind the man's back to immobilize him there.

"I didn't do nothin'!" Viktor insisted. "Lemme go, man!"

"If you didn't do nothin', why'd you run?" The amicable tone was still in Colby's voice, along with a healthy helping of steel. "Innocent people don't run, Viktor. They stick around and answer questions. They're nice and cooperative."

David huffed up beside them. "Hey, Viktor. Long time, no see," he said, reminding the man that they'd spoken just yesterday. Yesterday, when Viktor thought that David was an ex-con angling for a deal with Blackburn. Viktor had set up the meet, had been expecting a healthy slice for his efforts. "Got any more tips for me?"

"Filthy pig!" The man spat.

Colby shoved on the arm. "That spit comes any closer to my shoes, this hand will come close to your shoulder blade. Might break the arm. Things happen when you resist arrest, dude. Everyone saw you run out of there."

Viktor caved fast. He knew the routine, just had to make it look good for the faces hidden behind curtains in the windows facing the alleyway. "What do you want? I don't know anything."

David wasn't surprised. The man was low level, and caving was what he did. Nobody, and that included Blackburn, confided anything important to Viktor. They just used him as occasional cannon fodder. "Next run?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, man—"

"It's tomorrow, man. What I need to know is where you were told to be."

"Not gonna help you."

"You let me be the judge of that," David told him. "Where?"

Silence.

Colby pulled up on the arm.

"Stop it, man! You're hurting me!"

"Answer the question," Colby told him, "or the next stop will be downtown."

"Fourth and Walnut! Fourth and Walnut!"

"The warehouse?" David knew the place.

"That's it! The warehouse on Fourth and Walnut. We were supposed to meet."

David nodded. It made sense. It went along with the other things that David had learned while being undercover. "Let him go, Colby. And you, Viktor, I'd make myself scarce if I were you. It's not going to be too healthy to have anything to do with Blackburn. Get what I mean?"

"I get it." The words floated back to the agents in Viktor's dust as he scurried away.

Colby watched the man flee. "Think we can trust him?"

"Viktor? Not on your life. But he was more afraid of you at the moment than he was of Blackburn." David snorted. "C'mon. Let's tell Don the good news, and head home. I'm beat."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There. That was it. Sitting there in black and white, on Morton's preliminary report.

Morton was good, he had to give her that. She'd done her homework, done the investigative work, pounded the pavement with her team, questioned suspects and witnesses and put the whole thing together with as much flair as Don himself. And she'd used Don's own methods: when you're at loose ends, talk to a consultant.

Don looked closer. Morton hadn't named the consultant but it was clearly a mathematician. Okay, Don could live with that. There were plenty of times that he'd called his own brother Charlie in for just that reason. Math was able to predict a lot of stuff, and Charlie had more than proven his worth when it came to cracking tough cases. Yup, there it was: some sort of predictive analysis that told her where the child porn tentacle of Blackburn's operation would be with 94 percent certainty. That's how Morton's team was able to pinpoint the location. It didn't take much to remember in his mind's eye the movie equipment used to film the filth. He and David had walked through it on their way to the meet with Blackburn's representative, pretending to admire the diversity of the operation, ignoring the cries of the kids 'starring' in those films. It had taken all of Don's willpower not to call for a raid right there on the spot—not knowing, of course, that a raid was already in progress; from his own side, no less. He sighed.

He wondered who the mathematician was. Ever since he'd started using Charlie, every FBI agent on the West Coast wanted a pet mathematician of their own. They saw how useful math could be. He grinned. Yeah, but Don had the inside track to Charlie. Not everybody had a potential Nobel prize winner's cell phone number programmed into their speed dial. The other FBI agents had to make do with garden variety geniuses. Good, sure, but not Charlie.

Hah.

All right, time to put some of his own advice into action. Don gathered up the report as well as some of the other data that he and his team had amassed to take to his own pet mathematician. Charlie was always telling him about flow patterns and distribution channels and stuff. Time to put his brother to work. Don was willing to bet his brother could out-math any other guy on the planet and right now Don needed some of that expertise. He needed a lead, dammit!