Chase McDonald steered the car through the streets, while August Brooks lazily flipped 
through a three week-old magazine. He felt the car come to a stop at a red light, but 
didn't look up until he heard his partner say, "Now there's something you don't see 
everyday."
	August looked and saw a young kid, no older than twenty-five, crossing the street 
in front of them. He was wearing a backpack, and sticking out from it was a bazooka. 
"What the hell?" he said slowly in disbelief.
	When the kid reached the sidewalk, Chase turned and let the car roll alongside the 
curb. August rolled down his window. "Excuse me," he said, and held out his badge. "Mind 
telling us where you got that popcicle stick?"
	"Oh, this?" the kid asked, gesturing over his shoulder.
	"Yeah, that. What the hell you doing with a bazooka?"
	"I bought it down the street. What do you care?"
	August showed him his badge again. "Because you're carrying something that's illegal 
for civilians to have, and I'm a cop. Now be smart and hand it over."
	At that, the kid ran. But not far. He was only twelve feet down the sidewalk when 
Chase whipped the car right and bounced up into the entrance of an alley. The kid nearly 
ran right into the side of the car, and August grabbed him through the window. "Ha. Gotcha."



Elsewhere, the streets of Los Angeles where alive with gunfire. It was a rundown section, 
old buildings covered with graffiti and age lining garbage-filled streets. At the end of 
one block, a series of black-and-white units had swerved to their halts, creating a make-
shift barrier. Halfway down the block, another line of cars were turned sideways. The 
space between the two was filled with an array of bullets. Windows shattered, tires 
flattened, and medal was punctured.
	Stopping to reload his gun, James Harris looked back as he heard sirens approaching. 
The coming car screeched to a stop, and Chase McDonald and August Brooks scrambled out 
and hurried forward, crouched, taking up position on either side of him. "What are you 
guys doing here?" James asked, slapping the clip in.
	The others drew their guns. "Dispatch was alerting for backup," August said, trying 
to get a look at the opposition without revealing too much of his head.
	"Thought you could use some help," Chase said, doing the same.
	"You want to help?" James asked. "Get us a rocket launcher or something."
	It was the three of them plus six more officers against a dozen-and-a-half drug 
dealers. The bust was supposed to have gone down smoothly. It was James' case, and he knew 
there might be trouble, so he requested back up, and got it in the form of three double-
men units. But the bust went anyway but smoothly, and they were now turning the street 
into a war zone.
	Chase and James fired over the hood, August over the trunk. "Is this your car?" Chase 
shouted about the gunfire.
	"Hell no!" James shouted back. "I got a ride with one of the officers. And I'm glad 
I did, now."
	The exchange of bullets continued, and over the course of the next five minutes, 
three officers and four dealers went down. Then August looked back at Chase, as if suddenly 
he remembered something. "Chase. That's it."
	"What's it, August?" he asked, firing over the hood.
	"James said get him a rocket launcher."
	"So?" Chase replied, then looked at his partner.
	Chase opened the trunk lid, and James saw the confiscated bazooka sitting inside 
atop the spare tire. "Where'd you get it?"
	"Took it off some kid walking down the street," Chase said, taking the weapon out 
of the trunk. They hurried back to the car and crouched.
	"You know how to fire one of those things?" James asked.
	"Let's just say I've had previous experience with shoulder-launched weaponary."
	James just looked at him. "Chase McDonald with a military arsenal. Now that's scary."
	Chase extended the weapon, the sight popping up into place, and leveled the bazooka 
across the hood of the car. He adjusted his aim just slightly, resting his finger on the 
button-trigger. "Fire in the hall!" he shouted, and pressed the button.
	The rocket launched out across the road, slamming into the side of a bullet-riddled 
car, and turned the vehicled into a twisted piece of scrap medal. Flames snapped and 
gray smoke billowed. The impact of the explosion threw all the dealers to the ground, and 
as the shooting momentarily stopped, the other officers rushed forward. Behind the dealers, 
more patrol units were turning the corner. The gunfight was over.
	The three detectives stood as the officers began making arrests. "Here you go, 
James," Chase said, handing him the empty bazooka. "Should make a nice souvenir."
	"Don't feel bad," August said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "He gave me one 
during the Bobby Cole incident."
	James just stared at the weapon with his mouth gaping as the detectives walked away. 

It was late evening when Carrie Westmiller and her date, Brian Carlson, stepped out of 
The Rose, a fancy little restaurant on Rodeo Drive. The sidewalks were crowded with 
shoppers and tourists, and they walked down the street to Brian's car. He unlocked the 
door and held it open as she climbed in, then shut it and hurried around to the other 
side. He got in, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.
	"I had a really great time tonight," she said as he drove.
	"Me, too. I'm glad Valerie set us up."
	"I have to admit, I was very nervous about doing a blind date. I've never done 
one before."
	"Really? Oh, now that's such a relief. I was nervous, too. I haven't been on a 
blind date since by best friend Tony set me up with Heather Weisberg in the eight 
grade." They both laughed.
	Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up out front of Carrie's house, located in a 
quiet residential section of Inglewood. Brian took a few bags from the trunk of his 
car, and they walked along the marble path that lead up to her front door.
	"So how much do I owe you for all that?" she asked, gesturing at the bags of 
clothes.
	He shook his head, smiling. "No, don't worry about it. I wouldn't think of making 
you pay me back."
	"Well, that's sweet. You don't get that much these days."
	"Tell me about it."
	When they reached the porch, Brian set the bags down by the door. "Well, uh . . ." 
He didn't know what to say, and they both stood there as that awkward, post-date nervous 
thing set in. They both broke the tension by laughing. "I had a great time," he finally 
said.
	"Me, too. It was really nice."
	"Well, um, I guess I'd better be going. I got a busy day tomorrow."
	"Okay. Yeah, me, too. I've got a lot of stuff to do at the school for this big 
assembly we've got coming up at the end of the week."
	They both knew he wanted to kiss her, and when he finally moved in, they could 
feel the nervousness and excitement building up. His lips were inches from her's when 
something behind them snapped, like a twig. They both turned and looked, but saw 
nothing.
	"What was that?" she asked.
	He shook his, squinting through the darkness. "I don't know. Maybe just a cat or 
something."
	Suddenly, without warning, a dark figure exploded from the shrubs lining the 
walkway. All Brian saw was a flash of moonlight glaring off the long blade of a knife, 
and then his screams were filled with blood. His body toppled down and landed near the 
small flower bed at the base of the steps. Carrie turned and frantically fished for the 
keys in her purse, crying, screaming.
	She never made it. The knife drew back and shoved forward. The keys flew from her 
hands. Two more violent jabs, and her body slid down against the door.
	The figure stood back and looked around for a moment, then turned and fled down the 
steps. The person nearly slipped in the blood around Brian's body, and threw out an arm 
to steady their balance, and disappeared down the pathway.



It was just after one A.M. when Chase McDonald awoke to the ringing phone. He reached 
over and lifted the receiver to his ear. "McDonald," he said, ninety-perfect asleep.
	"Rise and shine, partner," he heard August's voice say. "We got a double homicide 
here in Inglewood."
	"Near you?"
	"About five blocks from our place. 1244 Cook Street."
	"Okay. I'm on my way."



Chase saw the flashing lights of patrol cars as he turned onto Cook Street. He pulled 
up beside an unmarked car and climbed out, making his way through the crowd of 
residents that had gathered. He flashed his badge to an officer and stepped under the 
yellow police line tape. He spotted August walking up to meet him. "So much for a nice 
nights' sleep, hu, partner?"
	Chase shook his head. "No kidding. What do we got?"
	August lead him back down the marble path. "Two victims. Female, 26, and a male, 
28. Apparently they were just returning from shopping. There's a couple bags of clothes 
near the front door."
	Chase saw the bodies as they approached the house. A photographer was moving 
around, the flashbulb a little too bright for Chase's eyes.
	August gestured at the man's body. "Brian Carlson. It looks like he was attacked 
on the porch and fell down the steps. You can see the blood trail going down right 
behind him."
	Chase knelt and inspected him. A single cut to the throat was all it had took. 
He spotted a shoe-print in the blood near the victim's shoulder. It looked streaked out 
a bit, like someone had slipped in it. "See that?"
	"Yeah," August said. "Probably our mystery man. Take a look at the girl, though."
	They climbed the steps and found Carrie's body, crouched on the porch and slumped 
against the door. "Three stab wounds to the lower back," August said as Chase looked 
around the porch. "Her position indicates she saw Brian get taken out first, then 
turned back to the door and tried to get inside the house."
	Chase pointed behind a flower plot. "There's her keys. Almost made it. We have a 
name?"
	August checked his notepad. "Carrie Westmiller. Divorced, no kids. Ex's name is 
Douglas Westmiller. Doesn't live far from here."
	Chase sighed. "Let's go tell him the news."



Chase and August pulled up along the curb of Doug Westmiller's two-story house less 
than twenty minutes later. "I hate this part of the job," August commented quietly as 
they walked to the front door.
	The house was huge, set back off the street, with a large front lawn. Small black 
lights lined the walkway, leading them right up to the porch. August knocked on the 
door. "Mr. Westmiller?" he called, but got no answer. He knocked again. "Mr. Westmiller? 
LAPD."
	Chase saw that a light was on down the driveway, which ran alongside the house. 
"I'll see if anyone's in back."
	He stepped off the side steps of the porch and walked down the driveway. A black 
SUV was parked at a slight angle. The light was near the truck, and so Chase could see 
through the driver's-side window. And what he saw shocked him. "August," he hollered 
back as quietly as possible. "August."
	His partner came fast. "What? What is it?"
	Chase gestured into the truck. "Look at the steering wheel."
	Sure enough, August saw it. On the top of the wheel, right where a pair of hands 
would rest, it looked like blood. Chase saw more blood on the bottom of the door, and 
still more on the driveway. "What do you think?"
	"I think we might have a triple tonight," August replied, and they both drew 
their weapons and made their way toward the back of the house. They followed the bloody 
footprints right to the backdoor. August paused to look up and down the alley that ran 
between the backs of the houses, then stepped up to the door. "Ready?"
	Chase nodded and tried the handle, and the door opened. They stepped inside, 
moving through the house quietly, watching where they stepped. They followed the prints 
up the staircase, where they were beginning to fade. By the time they reached the top, 
they were barely visible, and they completely disappeared right in front of the door 
leading to the master bedroom. But they found what they were looking for in the room.
	Lying on the floor near the foot of the bed were a pair of black hiking boots. 
Chase walked to the bathroom as August pushed the shoes over with his foot. "Bingo," he 
said. He could see blood on the soles.
	Chase came out of the bathroom shaking his head. "Nothing. What do you think?"
	They holstered their weapons. "I think Mr. Westmiller has some explaining to do," 
August said.



Within a half-hour, the house was crawling with cops, searching every square inch of 
the house. Chase found August in the kitchen, looking at pictures of Carrie held to the 
refrigerator door by magnets. "Cragmeyer just left with the shoes," he said. "He's 
gonna run 'em and see what he gets."
	"Turn up anything else?"
	"Well, as it turns out, Carrie and Brian Carlson were on a blind date. A mutual 
friend named Valerie Smith set them up. Luckily, she knew what their plans were for 
the evening."
	August turned around. "And they were?"
	"Dinner at six, and then a couple hours of shopping and whatever else on Rodeo 
Drive. She said Carrie told her she had to been home by eight-thirty because she had a 
lot to do the following day; she works at an elementary school."
	"So what does that tell else?"
	"Well, according to the receipts in the shopping bags, the last purchase was at 
approximately 8:05."
	"And she had to be home eight-thirty."
	"Right. And her place is about fifteen minutes from Rodeo Drive, so I'd say the 
murders took place sometime after, say, eight-twenty."
	August was about to respond when Det. James Harris came in and said, "Hey, guys. 
I think you might be interested in this."
	They followed him to the living room, where he pressed the PLAY button on the 
answering machine. After the date and time was announced, they heard, "Doug, I got the 
tickets for your 9:45 flight. Could you be any more last-minute next time? Anyway, I'll 
be waiting for you." And that was it.
	Chase looked at August. "Flight? To where?"
	August raised an eyebrow. "Away from the murder scene?" he suggested. He turned 
to James. "The machine said that call came in at seven-thirty. Get Westmiller's phone 
records and find out who that was."
	"I'm on it," he said, and left.
	Chase and August headed toward the front door. "So you think Westmiller did it?" 
Chase asked.
	"That's what it's starting to look like. I mean you got his ex-wife murdered, a 
foot print in the blood, and then here at his place you got bloody footprints and more 
blood in the truck. Cragmeyer get some of that?"
	Chase nodded. "Yeah. He's gonna stop by Carrie's place and get some samples, then 
compare them. I guess if they match we know who our suspect is, hu?" he asked as they 
walked outside.
	"Yeah. Then we just have to find out where he is."

A limousine drove through the morning traffic. Sitting in the back, Douglas Westmiller 
was in the middle of a conversation on the phone. "Yeah," he was saying, "I got back in 
last night. You still have the merchandise I hope? Good, good. No, you keep it there. 
I'll pick it up. Yeah. I'll be there in"--he looked at his watch--"in thirty minutes. 
Okay. Bye." He hung up and looked out the window at the passing cars.



The next morning, Chase and August were heading for forensics. "Kendra's still out of 
town?"
	"Yeah," August said, obviously disappointed. "Should be back in another couple 
days."
	"How's her aunt doing?"
	"I talked to her last night. She said the doctor's told them they were expecting 
her to make a full recovery."
	They entered the lab and found Cragmeyer at the computer. "Morning, guys."
	"What do you got for us, Cragmeyer?" Chase asked, leaning against the rail behind 
the desk.
	"Well, I ran the blood samples, and they all came back positive. The blood from 
the shoes match Brian Carlson's blood, and the blood on the steering wheel matches 
Carrie Westmiller's blood."
	Chase sighed, looking over the folders Cragmeyer handed them. "Guess we know who 
to look for now."
	"Yeah," August said, "only where the hell is he?"
	"Let's see if James has turned up that mystery caller," he said. He handed the 
folders back to Cragmeyer and walked away. "Thanks, Alan."
	"No problem, Chester."
	Chase looked back and gave him a glance as he and August left.



James was returning as they entered the main area. "Got our special guest caller IDed 
for you." He handed August a file. "Guy's name is Vincent Rosner; travel agent. His 
office is over on Wilshire. Douglas Westmiller is one of his clients."
	"Let's go show this to the Captain," August said, gesturing with the file. "Good 
work, James."
	"No problem."
	They walked toward the captain's office. Chase knocked on the open door. "Captain. 
Got a minute?"
	"Come on in." Jensen was typing at his computer, but stopped as they came in and 
took a seat. "How's that double homicide coming along? Any luck yet?"
	"As a matter of fact, there's been quite a bit of luck, Captain," August said, 
then explained. "Cragmeyer ran some blood analysis tests, and found traces of both 
Carrie Westmiller and Brian Carlson's blood at Douglas Westmiller's house. Carrie and 
him used to be married. They divorced two years ago."
	"Do we know where he is?"
	"Well, we know he's not anywhere around here," Chase said. "There was a call on 
his answering machine from someone saying he had picked up Westmiller's tickets for a 
9:45 airplane flight."
	"Turns out the man on the tape is Vincent Rosner. Westmiller's travel agent."
	"Did you talk to him yet?"
	August shook his head. "We were getting ready to head over right now. Just wanted 
to update you on what we had so far."
	"Okay. Sounds like you two are making real progress. Go talk to this Vincent 
character and keep me posted."
	"Right, Captain."



August pulled up outside of Rosner Travel Agency. "Do you have a travel agent, Mac?" he 
asked as they climbed out.
	"Nope," Chase replied, walking up to the door. "Never needed one. You?"
	August shook his head. "You kidding me? Why pay some fool in a suit to get you 
plane tickets when you can do it yourself?"
	They walked into the front office and proceeded to the main counter, where a 
young redheaded secretary was sitting. "Good morning," she said in a cheerful mood. "May 
I help you?"
	"Yes," August said as they both showed their badges. "I'm Det. Brooks, this is my 
partner, Det. McDonald. We'd like to speak with Vincent Rosner, please."
	"I'm sorry. He's not here today. He called in this morning and said he wouldn't be 
in; some kind of last-minute thing or something."
	"Do you mind if we take a look around his office?" Chase tried.
	She started to laugh. "I'm afraid I'll need to see a warrant first."
	Chase sighed, rolling his eyes. "Ah, August, she wants a warrant," he said, with 
just a touch of ten-year-old whining into his words.
	"Ma'am, uh, we could get a warrant, but believe me, it would be a real hassle. I 
mean, the judge we go to for our warrants, his niece just died in a car accident, and 
the family is very emotional right now, and, well, I think asking him to make out a 
warrant would be a little . . . "
	"Inappropriate?" Chase offered.
	". . . inappropriate at this time," August finished. "So, could we just take a 
quick little look?"
	She looked back and forth between the two. "I need to get a file from the cabinet 
behind me, and when I turn around, you two better be gone." She underlined her final 
words by flicking her eyes in the direction of Rosner's office. Chase started to go. 
"Ah-ah," she said, then turned sharply to face the file cabinet.
	Like two little kids sneaking into a kitchen, Chase and August ran across the 
floor to the door marked VINCENT ROSNER. Once inside, they went through everything: 
desk drawers, cabinets, shelves. Chase found a day planner in the bottom right desk 
drawer. He took it out and flipped through the pages until he came to the previous day. 
His eyes widened. "August. Check this out."
	August walked over. "What'd you find?"
	Chase pointed at the hand-written message scribbled in the little box representing 
the day before. "Look. Pick up tickets, Flight 220 to Dallas, departure 9:45."
	"Son of a bitch, our boy went to Texas."



"Texas?" Jensen asked in disbelief.
	"Well, Dallas, to be more precise, Captain," Chase said.
	"We believe Westmiller committed the murders, then returned home to drop off the 
bloody shoes, and took another car to L.A. International. We checked with them, and they 
were the only airport with a 9:45 flight to Dallas last night."
	"Another car?"
	"On the answering machine, Rosner said, 'I'll be waiting for you.' So we think he 
was already waiting for Westmiller at his house. To drive him to the airport."
	Jensen leaned back in his chair, thinking. "I don't know, guys. Dallas is quite out 
of our jurisdiction."
	"I know, Captain," Chase said, "but this is the best chance we've got of catching 
this guy."
	The both watched Jensen, waiting for an answer. They all knew he would ultimately 
make the right choice. "Okay. You guys are going to Dallas. I'll call ahead and let 
them know you're coming."



Westmiller followed Charlie Hemmings into the man's office. "Everything went fine in 
L.A.?"
	"Just some unfinished business to take care of," Westmiller said.
	On the wall behind the desk, Charlie removed a painting, revealing a wall-safe. 
He turned the dial clockwise, counter-clockwise, and back again, then turned the handle 
and opened the safe. From inside he removed a tiny black box. As he walked with it back 
to the desk, he picked up a small silver briefcase from beside the desk. He set both on 
top and opened them. "Have you heard from the girl?" he asked as he went about 
transferring the contents of the black box into the briefcase.
	"No. But I'm confident she won't be a problem."
	"How can you be so sure?"
	"Let's just say she has something that will make perfect insurance to make sure 
she does try anything stupid."
	Charlie smiled knowingly. "Ah. I gotcha. So she's a babe, hu?"
	"A major babe. Blonde, gorgeous, and a fabulous pair of legs. Maybe I'll take her 
with me after this is all over."
	Charlie laughed. Finished, he shut the lid and locked the latches.
	Westmiller picked up the briefcase. "Very good," he said, and they headed toward 
the door.
	"Do you have the location and time yet?" Charlie asked, following.
	Westmiller opened the door. "I'll call you when I do. Just stay by your phone."
	"Yes, sir," Charlie said as the door shut.



Flight 118 touched down at Dallas/Ft. Worth International Airport just after three. 
Chase and August got off and made their way to baggage claim, where they found a large 
group already gathered around the revolving luggage holder. "You know," August said, 
"you do remember who lives here in Dallas now."
	Chase hesitated to speak. "Yeah. I know."
	"Thinking about looking her up?"
	Chase sighed, glancing around. "I don't know."
	"Well, you miss her, don't you?"
	"Of course I miss her, August, but . . . "
	"But what, partner?"
	"It's just that . . . I don't know. I'm, I'm afraid if I do something'll happen."
	"Like what?"
	"Like, we'll start reminiscing, talking about how much we miss one another, and 
then bang. She'll start trying to talk me into retiring and moving here permanently 
with her, just like she used to do."
	The luggage began to appear coming down the chute, and the group moved closer as 
people started grabbing their bags and suitcases. "I never told you this, Mac, but I 
always pictured you and Jodi together, married for life, with a family and everything."
	"So did I, August. I would have loved that to happen. My whole life I wanted to 
devote to her. Oh, there's our bags."
	They stepped forward and grabbed their luggage, then turned for the main entrance. 
"You got our hotel rooms booked, right?"
	August nodded. "The beautiful Hyatt Regency," he said in a mock voice of elegance. 
"Two adjoining rooms, because I do not want the guys back at the station knowing I slept 
in the same room as Chase McDonald."
	"What's that supposed to mean?"
	"And besides. You snore."
	"I don't snore."
	"Oh, yes, you do."
	"Do not."
	"Do, too."
	"Do not."
	"Do, too."
	They were still bickering when they stepped out into the bright Dallas sun, but 
they stopped when August said, "Mac, I have you on tape from that stakeout we did last 
month. Believe me, I know. You snore."
	Chase just shook his head annoyingly, and they put on their glasses. "Now where 
are these cops supposed to be to meet us?"
	"Detectives McDonald and Brooks?" a voice called.
	They turned to see a man with a short-cropped beard and mustache approaching them, 
wearing a cowboy hat and a silver star on his jacket.
	"Yes," August said. "I'm August Brooks. This is my partner, Chase McDonald."
	"Cordell Walker," the man said, "Texas Ranger. Welcome to Dallas." They exchanged 
handshakes, and then Walker said, "Our ride's over here if you're ready to go."
	"All set," August said, looking suave and sophisticated in his dark shades, and 
they set off toward the ten-minute parking, where a Range Rover sat waiting.
	Walker opened the hatchback. "Dump your luggage in their, guys."
	Chase and August put their cases in and shut the lid as Walker went up to unlock 
the doors. Chase climbed in beside him as the ranger started the engine, and August got 
into the backseat. Walker put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb, guiding 
the SUV toward the airport exit.



Jerry Felding was working on his house, repainting the wood posts on the front porch. 
He'd been putting it off for the last few weeks, but when his fiance had finally 
started pressuring him to get it done, he decided to call in sick for the day and get 
it done. "Excuse me, Mr. Felding?" a voice asked behind him.
	He turned and looked down. "Yes?"
	Two men wearing dark clothing and ski masks grabbed his arms and pulled him from 
the ladder. The can and brush fell, paint spilling everywhere. The two dragged him 
kicking and screaming to the sidewalk, where they threw him into the back of a van and 
drove off.
	He took a punch to the stomach, then one to the face. He tried to see who they 
were, but the masks covered their faces. "Your our insurance," the bigger of the two 
said. "To make sure that blond babe of yours cooperates."
	Another punch to the face, and the Felding was out cold.



Chase and August followed Walker through the Texas Ranger headquarters. As they walked, 
another Ranger was approaching. "Guys, this is Ranger Jimmy Trivette."
	"Hi. How you doing?" he asked, shaking the detectives' hands.
	"Nice to meet you," Chase said.
	"These the L.A. guys?" Trivette asked.
	Walker nodded. "Afraid so," he said, then smiled and said. "This way."
	Walker lead them up to the main office, and as they entered, Chase collided with 
a woman carrying a stack of manila folders. The folders and papers fell to the floor. 
"Oh, I'm sorry," Chase apologized, kneeling to help. "Here. Let me give you a hand."
	"Oh, that's okay." The girl looked up, and both of them stopped and stared.
	Chase was instantly taken in by the gorgeous girl in front of him. "Uh, hi," he 
said.
	"Hi."
	"Syd," Walker said, "this is Detective Chase McDonald of the LAPD."
	They stood. "Oh. I heard you were coming. Sydney Cooke," she said, shaking his 
hand.
	Chase just stood there, smiling. August cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, this is my 
partner, um . . . "
	August rolled his eyes at Chase's behavior. "August Brooks."
	"Nice to meet you," she said.
	Chase was still staring at her. "Will you be helping us out while we're here?"
	Walker said, "Actually, Syd's got her own case to worry about at the moment. How's 
that coming along, by the way?"
	She struggled to straighten the stack of folders and loose papers in her arms. 
"Oh, so far so good," she said. "I'm on my way to interview one of the witnesses. Gage 
is meeting me there."
	"Okay. Keep me posted on it. I wanna know how it turns out."
	She walked toward Chase as she headed out of the room. "I guess I'll see you 
later," she said with a smile, then walked away.
	Chase watched her leave, muttering quietly, "Yeah, uh . . . later, I guess."
	August stepped up behind him. "You might want to put your tongue back in your 
mouth now, Chase."
	He turned and looked at his partner. "Mind your own business," he said.
	Walker and Trivette looked at each, laughed. "Okay, guys."
	They followed the rangers to Walker's desk, where he started sorting through the 
mess of files. "When your captain called and told us you were coming, he faxed us over 
a picture of Westmiller. We recognized him instantly."
	"We think he may have recently been involved with a robbery here in Dallas about 
a week back," Trivette said.
	"Great," August said. "Now two cities'll want him."
	"Well, I talked to the mayor," Walker said. "He said that if you guys found him, 
you could take him back to L.A. and commence with your case, and then, after he's 
prosecuted there, he'd be brought back to stand trial here."
	August sighed. "So where do we start?"
	Walker took from a folder a blow-up copy of a screen capture from a security 
camera. They saw Douglas Westmiller is plain view. "This was taken a week ago at a 
highly-secured computer firm," he said. "Some of the people we've questioned identified 
him as Anthony Tolkin, but as you can clearly see, it's your guy Westmiller."
	"So he's using an alias here in Dallas," Chase said. "But for what purpose?"
	August shook his head. "As far as we know, he wasn't involved in anything back in 
L.A. that would require an alias."
	"What did he do out there?" Trivette asked.
	Chase looked down. "Contractor, I think. Right?"
	August nodded. "Yeah."
	"Well, whatever he is," Walker said, "he's not acting like one in Dallas."
	Chase handed the security camera picture back. August sat on the edge of Walker's 
desk. "What did he still from this firm?"
	"A cache of prototype computer chips," Trivette explained, flipping through the 
appropriate file.
	August looked at Chase. "Black market."
	His partner nodded. "Yeah. Computer chips, especially prototypes or rare ones, are 
hot products on the black market. What do these chips do?"
	Trivette read through the rest of the file. "No specifics, but they're supposed to 
the closest to a revolutionary advancement computer chips can get."
	August sighed. "Okay, so, again. Where do we start?"
	"We're waiting for an address," Walker said. "A witness identified one of the men 
Tolkin has been seen with. She said she'd seen him coming out of an apartment complex 
across the street from her. As soon as we get it--" His phone started ringing. "Excuse 
me."
	Trivette walked around to Chase and August. "Don't worry, guys. If he's in Dallas, 
we'll find him."
	"Thanks." Walker hung the phone up. "Address just a came in. Guy's name is Charlie 
Hemmings."
	"Let's check him out then, hu?" Chase said.
	Walker lead them out of the office. "You guys need a car, right?"
	"It'd be nicer than riding around in backseats all the time," August said.
	Walker laughed. "We'll get you a temporary one downstairs."

Chase and August, driving their temporary Ford Taurus, followed behind Walker's Dodge 
Ram. "I'd much rather be riding in that than this piece of junk," Chase said as he 
drove.
	August patted the dash. "Ah, it's not that bad, Mac. You know, car's have 
feelings, too."
	Chase just glanced at him. "Ford. Fix Or Repair Daily. That's been my experience, 
especially with the 90s ones."
	Up in the Dodge, Trivette said, "Those two certainly are some characters, hu?"
	"Reminds me of another couple of cops I know," Walker said, then glanced at 
Trivette.
	Trivette laughed. "LAPD and the Texas Rangers. Who ever thought those two'd team 
up, hu?"
	Chase followed Walker into an area of apartment complexes, and pulled up behind 
the Dodge as it parked against the curb. The detectives climbed out. "This is the 
address," Walker said, looking up at the building. "Fifth floor, room 19."
	"Let's go," August said, and they entered the building.
	The elevator doors had a sign taped on them that said "Out of Order," so the four 
of them used the stairwell. "Guess you guys have these kind of places even in Dallas," 
Chase commented as they climbed the steps, looking at all the peeling paint and 
numerous cracks.
	"Yeah," Walker said. "But this is nothing. Should see the run-down places."
	They reached the fifth floor and walked to the door numbered 19 in large brass 
numbers. They drew their guns, the detectives and rangers standing on either side of 
the door. "Ready?" Trivette said.
	Chase and August nodded.
	Walker knocked on the door. "Charlie Hemmings? Texas Rangers. Open up." No answer. 
He knocked again. "Charlie Hem--" Shattering glass.
	Chase lowered his weapon and looked at August. "Again? Here? In Dallas?"
	Walker said, "You guys get this, too, hu?"
	August shook his head. "All the time," he said, then he and Trivette kicked the 
door in. They charged into the apartment, both yelling "LAPD" and "Texas Rangers" out 
of habit.
	Chase caught a glimpse of someone ducking out onto the fire escape. "Fire escape!" 
he shouted.
	Trivette was closest and came running, and saw Chase go after him. "Walker! 
Suspect's heading for the roof!" He jammed his gun into his holster and followed Chase 
out the window.
	Charlie climbed fast as Chase and Trivette hurried up the ladders below him. Chase 
looked back down briefly as he hurried for the next ladder, and saw that Trivette was 
following him. "You have this kind of thing often, too?" he hollered.
	"Not all the time," came the answer, "but often enough to make it tiring."
	Chase ran for the next ladder as Trivette came up the one below him. "Ha! You 
should try this everyday."
	August and Walker exited onto the street and looked up. "There," Walker said, 
pointing. They could see Trivette and Chase one floor apart, while Charlie was three 
floors above Chase.
	"What's behind this building?"
	"More apartments," Walker said. "Come on."
	They ran back to the Dodge and climbed in. Walker fired up the engine, hit the 
sirens switch on the dash, and raced down the street.
	Charlie reached the roof and broke into a full-out run. Chase came up moments 
later, and Trivette hurried to catch up. "Everyday?" he mumbled to himself as he left 
the fire escape and ran across the roof.
	The three of them moved across the wide roof of the apartment, dodging around 
fire places, skylights, and the small structures that enclosed the roof access stairs. 
Charlie stopped at each one and tried to open the door, but when he saw they were 
locked, he kept going. When he stopped at the second door and looked back, Chase yelled, 
"Hold it, Charlie!" But the man instead kept running.
	Up ahead, Chase say they were approaching the side of the building, and Charlie 
leaped across the gap. Chase jumped, and a brief look down showed he was too high up 
for his liking. Trivette followed right behind him.
	Walker sped down the street, him and August leaning forward and trying to look 
up at the roofs. "See anything?"
	August strained. "No. They must be back from the edge."
	"Tell me something. Does this kind of thing happen often with you two?"
	"Chase and I could go to Pluto and this kind of thing would happen."
	Atop the next roof, one of the access structures was open, and Charlie ducked 
into and ran down the steps. Chase and Trivette followed. They hurried down the stairs, 
their feet clattering on the steps, turning the corners as best they could without 
losing balance. Floor after floor, step after step, tired breath after tired breath, 
they finally reached the bottom floor.
	They ran after Charlie down the hall and out the front door, where a man was 
just opening the door to his car. Charlie grabbed the keys from his hand and shoved 
him to the ground, climbed in and fired up the car.
	Chase and Trivette exited onto the sidewalk just in time to see him burn off down 
the street. "Great," Trivette shouted. "He got away."
	Chase turned around. "Not yet." He stepped out into the street and held up his 
badge, causing a car to brake hard right in front of him. "Police. Out of the car."
	"Hey," Trivette said. "You can't do that here."
	Chase opened the door and pulled the guy out. "You wanna catch him or not?" 
Trivette considered for a moment, then ran around and climbed into the passenger seat. 
"Oh, great," Chase said. "A stick."
	"You don't know how to drive one?"
	"It's been awhile," he said, then go the car into gear and took off down the 
street.
	They caught up with Charlie quickly. As they crossed an intersection, they caught 
a glimpse of Walker's Dodge coming down the adjacent street. Chase hit the horn to get 
their attention.
	"Hey, hey," August said, pointing. "There goes Chase and Trivette."
	"Hang on." Walker hit the the brakes and spun the wheel, sending the Dodge into 
a precision turn, and hurried to catch up. August took out his cell phone and dialed.
	Chase answered his phone. "McDonald."
	"So, who are we chasing here in Dallas, Mac?"
	"Hemming is two cars up. The beige one."
	"Okay. Let's get him. Uh, I'll talk to you later."
	"Sounds good." Chase hung up and put the phone away.
	The two cars and the Dodge raced through the streets, weaving in and out of traffic 
to the screeching of tires and honking of horns.
	"You've done this before, right?" Trivette asked.
	Chase looked at him and laughed. "Jimmy--mind if I can you Jimmy?"
	"No, you can call me Jimmy. Just watch where you're going."
	"Jimmy, there's one thing that happens every single day to me in L.A., sometimes 
twice, sometimes even three times a day."
	"And that is?"
	Chase smiled. "We're doing it right now."
	Trivette gripped the handlebar above the window and pushed himself back into his 
seat. "Oh, God."
	Chase started closing the distance between them and the car up ahead. In the 
rearview mirror, he could see the silver Dodge truck weaving around cars as Walker raced 
to catch up. One by one, Charlie, Chase and Trivette, and Walker and August turned onto 
another street. Cars were stopped, backed up because of an accident. "Watch out!" 
Trivette yelled.
	Charlie clipped the side of a flatbed tow-truck and went sailing through the air. 
Chase hit the brakes, but it was too late. Trivette screamed like a kid as their car 
lifted off the ground and spun side-over-side through the air, right behind the other 
car.
	"Hang on." Walker hit the brakes and jerked the wheel, bringing the Dodge to a 
spinning stop.
	Both cars flew through the air and landed hard, crashing around and spinning 
wildly. Walker and August climbed out and ran toward them.
	The cars slid to a stop within yards of each other. Chase climbed out and went 
around to help Trivette out. "You alright?"
	Trivette got to his feet and put his hands on the bottom of the car, steadying 
himself. He blinked his eyes a few times, and shook his head. "Yeah," he mumbled, 
looking around as if amazed he were still alive. "Yeah, I'm, I'm fine. I think, anyway."
	Walker and August ran up. "Trivette, you okay?"
	He kept shaking his head. "Yeah, I'm fine, Walker."
	"How about you, Mac?"
	"Fine, August. Always. Come on." Chase went over to the other car.
	Trivette looked at August, leaning against the car. "How do you survive yourself 
being around him all the time?"
	"You know, I have absolutely no idea myself," August replied. "When I find out 
I'll let you know."
	Chase was pulling Charlie from his inverted car when the other three arrived. He 
slapped his cuffs around the man's wrists. "Charlie," he said. "You should learn not 
to run from the police." The man just looked back at them, a dazed and confused look on 
his face, and Chase lead him away.



Chase and August sat across from Charlie in the interrogation room. Walker stood. In 
the adjacent room, watching through the two-way mirror, were Trivette and Sydney. 
"He's kind of cute," she said, referring to Chase.
	Trivette smiled. "If you say so."
	"What? You don't think he's attractive?"
	Trivette looked at her, as if in shock. "What makes you think I would find him 
attractive?"
	"Not even handsome?"
	"Are, are you trying to accuse me of being something I'm not?"
	She laughed. "I'm just saying that it's perfectly alright for one man to find 
another man handsome without it meaning anything. So?"
	Trivette hesitated, as if unsure what to say, looking back and forth between 
her and the interrogation room. "Okay, okay. Yeah, fine. Sure. I think he's a handsome 
man, if that's your type. Now can we drop this, please?"
	She smiled. "If you say so."
	"What's your association with Anthony Tolkin?" Chase asked.
	"Who are you two?" Charlie asked Chase and August. "You don't look the Texas 
Rangers-type."
	Walker said, "They're LAPD detectives. Now answer the question."
	Charlie sighed, giving in. "I'm a friend of Anthony's," he said.
	"Where is he?" August asked.
	The man shrugged. "I don't know. How should I know? I was just waiting for his 
call." He grimaced as he realized he blurted something he shouldn't have.
	Chase glanced at his partner. "What call?"
	Again, Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. Something to do with some babe that he's 
trying to get to help him."
	Walker leaned over, putting his hands on the edge of the table. "What's Tolkin 
want with the computer chips?"
	"Black market?" August asked.
	Charlie shook his head. "No. He's gonna sell them to some Russian guy named Ivan 
Petrofsky or something."
	"How does he plan to get them out of the country?" Chase wanted to know.
	"They're gonna smuggle them out in a painting," Charlie explained. "That's where 
that blond babe comes in. She works at a museum here in Dallas, so he's using her to get 
them out of the country."
	Chase asked, "What's her name? Do you know?"
	"Judith, I think. Judy, Judy . . . No. Jodi. That's right. Jodi."
	Walker saw the look that Chase gave August, but said nothing. "When's the deal 
going down?"
	"Sometime tomorrow, I think. Not sure where and when exactly. Anthony's supposed 
to call me and let me know. After he does, then I call and tell her."
	Chase sat back. "How much is this deal worth?"
	"Enough to retire to your own private little tropical island."



Walker turned Charlie over to a uniformed officer as they stepped out into the hall. 
Sydney and Trivette came out of the next room. "Hi," she said with a smile when she 
saw Chase.
	Chase got that same look on his face from when he had first seen her. "Uh, hi. 
Sydney, right?"
	"You can call me Syd."
	Trivette looked at August. "Looks like you got some leads, hu?"
	"Yeah, some. But we still don't know what time the deal is going down tomorrow. 
Or where."
	"Charlie," Walker said, "is supposed to get a call tonight from Tolkin to find 
out when and where the deal is going down. Trivette, go with him back to the apartment 
and wait for the call. When it comes in, let us know, then bring Charlie back to the 
station."
	"You got it," he said, and headed down the hall.
	"Syd. How's your case coming along?"
	"All wrapped up. The guy was innocent after all. We found the murder weapon and 
connected it to someone else."
	"Good. Why don't you and Gage give us some help on this. If the Russian mob is 
involved, there may be plenty of people at the deal tomorrow."
	"Okay. No problem." She gave Chase a playfull little smile as she walked past him 
down the hall. He turned to watch her go. August cleared his throat to get Chase's 
attention, and he turned around sharply. Walker just laughed.



Douglas was standing in his office, looking out over the city of Dallas when his phone 
started ringing. He lifted the receiver. "Yes? Oh, hello, Ivan. Yes, I've been expecting 
your call." He pulled the chair out and sat down. "Hope your flight in was comfortable. 
Good, good. Yes, I have the chips all ready and waiting for you."
	He put his hand atop the small silver briefcase that sat on his desk. "How does 
eight A.M. sound to you? Very well. I'll meet you at 5436 West Stuart Ave. Warehouse 6. 
Good. I'll see you tomorrow morning at eight then. Goodbye."
	He hung up, then dialed a new number. "Hello, Charlie."



August was coming out of the bathroom in the Rangers station when Walker turned into 
the hall. "August," he said, walking up. "Just got off the phone with Trivette. 
Westmiller called Charlie and gave him the time and location of the drop."
	"Where?"
	"Over in the warehouse district, eight sharp tomorrow morning. As soon as Trivette 
gets back we'll set everything up."
	"Great."
	"Hey," Walker said as they started walking. "What was with Chase in interrogation 
room when Charlie said what the girl's name was?"
	"Jodi used to be Chase's girlfriend," August explained. "They broke up, oh . . . 
it's been almost about four years now or so, I think."
	"Messy break-up?"
	"Not really. See, she wanted him to give up being a cop and concentrate on his 
art, but he wanted to do both."
	"He's an artist?"
	"He medal sculpts. Jodi was offered a job at a museum here in Dallas, and she 
wanted Chase to quit the force and move here with her."
	"Oh. Must have been painful for him."
	"He never talked about it much after it happened, but I think he still thinks 
about it a lot."
	At another area in the station, Chase was standing at a phone booth. He held the 
phone book open, his finger resting on a certain number. He picked up the phone and 
paused, holding the change in front of the slot, hesitating. He started to drop the coins 
in, but hesitated again. Eventually, he sighed and hung the phone up, and just walked 
away.



James Harris pulled up and climbed out of his car. A uniformed officer met him near 
the string of caution tape. "What do we got?" James asked.
	The young cop lead him past the small crowd of curious bystanders and down the 
alley. "Looks like a homicide. Male, probably mid-40s or so. Single gunshot wound to 
the head."
	Three more cops were on the scene, two talking together and making notes, the 
other questioning a man who obviously worked at the little restaurant next door. The 
victim was slumped over on his side in a pile of garbage bags beside a large blue 
dumpster. James crouched down, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. He searched the 
man, finding a wallet in the back pants pocket. He opened it and took a look at the 
identification. "I'll be damned," he said silently, then looked at the dead man. 
"Guess your client wasn't satisfied."
	The name on the driver's license said the man was Vincent Rosner.



"Okay," Walker said. They all stood around his desk, on top of which he had spread out 
a map of the warehouse district. "These all are the warehouses over on Stuart. Warehouse 
6 is here, at 5436." He pointed to the location on the map.
	"Sorry I'm late, guys." Gage came into the office. He noticed the newcomers right 
away. "Hi," he said.
	"Gage," Walker said, "these are Detectives Chase McDonald and August Brooks. LAPD."
	They exchanged handshakes. "So what's going on?" Gage asked.
	Walker explained. "There's a deal going down tomorrow. The detectives trailed a 
murder suspect out here from L.A., and as it turns out, it's the same guy that was 
involved in the theft of those computer chips last week."
	"Oh, right, right. I remember. Tolkin, or something, right?"
	"Anthony Tolkin," Chase said, "is just an alias. His real name is Douglas 
Westmiller."
	"What did he do out in L.A.?"
	"He murdered his ex-wife and a man she was out on a date with," August said.
	Walker pointed back at the map. "The deal's going down at eight tomorrow morning, 
over in the warehouse district. Tolkin's selling the chips to a Russian mobster named 
Ivan Petrofsky. They'll smuggle the chips out of the country in a painting."
	Walker went over all the steps, pointing out and explaining where they would all 
be set up and how they would take the men down once the deal was made. After everything 
was worked out, Walker looked over and saw the time. "What do you guys say we get some 
dinner, hu?"
	"Well, I could use something to eat. August?"
	August laughed. "Sounds good to me."
	Walker told them about a little restaurant called C.D.'s, and they headed out of 
the office. Chase said, "Oh, Walker. I gotta make a call real quick. Mind if I use your 
phone?"
	"No, go ahead."
	"Okay. I'll catch up with you downstairs." He walked back to the desk as they left. 
He picked up the phone and hesitated, then dialed quickly so that he wouldn't have the 
chance of stopping himself.



A short time later, they were all sitting at a table in C.D.'s, laughing as Walker told 
them about the time he took Trivette snipe-hunting. "Of course," Walker was saying, 
"there's no such thing as snipe, but there's Trivette, out there in the middle of night, 
crawling around the woods with a flashlight making these funny little snipe calls."
	Trivette walked back from the bar with a tray of drinks, Sydney carrying the food. 
"Yeah, that wasn't funny, Walker. I still haven't gotten you back for that."
	Sydney laughed. "I wish I could've seen that."
	They all took their orders and started eating. "So how's the detective life out 
in L.A.?" Gage asked.
	August took a drink. "About the same as any other place. Car chases, break-ins, 
car chases, murders, car chases, robberies, car chases."
	"Sounds like you guys see a lot of action."
	August nodded as he ate, pointing over at Chase. "With this guy, anybody could see 
a lot of action."
	"You know," Trivette said, "Chase McDonald. I've been playing that name over and 
over in my head. It sounds familiar."
	"Maybe you read a story," Chase said, then took a bite of his food.
	August laughed. "Yeah. 'L.A. Detective Rolls 18-Wheeler During Freeway Rush 
Hour.'"
	They all laughed. Trivette snapped his fingers. "I know, I know," he said 
excitedly. "You're the one that took down that drug guy, right? What was his name? 
Um . . . "
	Chase looked up. "Bobby Cole?" he said, sounding as if he'd rather talk about 
something else.
	"Yeah, yeah. Bobby Cole. That big-time drug dealer. Tried to take of the West 
Coast drug trade, right?"
	"Almost did, too," August said.
	"I remember now," said Syndey.
	"Yeah," Walker said. "He did some dealings here in Dallas a few years back that 
got our attention. We almost got him once, but he got away, and we had no idea where 
he had fled to."
	Syndey looked at Chase. "Guy was pretty slick, hu? Nothing ever stuck to him I 
read."
	Chase nodded. "The Teflon Crimelord was his nickname."
	"So August tells me your an artist," Walker said.
	Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Really," she said with a smile.
	"Medal sculptor, actually. I've been doing it for a long time."
	"Have you sold any of your work?" she asked.
	"A couple, but not recently. Haven't had time to work on it much the last couple 
of months. There's a small art gallery in L.A. that I do shows at occasionally."
	As the group went on talking, Chase happened to glance over and see someone 
coming into the restaurant. "I'll be right back, August," he said, getting up and 
moving away from the table. They all looked to see what it was. 
	"Who's that?" Trivette asked.
	Chase walked across to the door where she stood and stopped. "Jodi," he said.
	She turned and smiled. "Hi, Chase," she said. "How you been?"
	"Good. And you?"
	"I've been doing fine."
	They both stood there, not knowing what to do next. Chase broke the silence by 
saying, "Jodi, I know you're tangled up with this Anthony Tolkin guy." He put a hand on 
her shoulder and lead her away from the door as a couple headed out. They sat down in 
an empty booth next to the window. "How did you get involved with this guy?"
	She didn't speak at first, and he started to ask again, but then she said, "He 
came in about three weeks ago. He said he was an art dealer, and was interested in 
buying some paintings from the museum I work at. He kept asking questions about how 
they're shipped overseas and how they go through customs and such. He asked me to help 
him smuggle some things out of the country. When I refused, he told me he'd kill my 
. . . my fiance if I didn't."
	Her final words seemed to take Chase by surprise. "Fiance," he said. "You're 
engaged?" She nodded. "Congratulations."
	She smiled, glad he was okay with it. "Thanks. Anyway, they kidnapped Jerry to 
make sure I show up at the deal tomorrow with the painting."
	He reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. Everything's gonna 
be fine."
	"What are you doing here, anyway? I was so surprised to hear you on my machine."
	"Well, August and I were called to a homicide, a young couple. Turned out the 
murderer is the girl's ex-husband, and we followed his trai here to Dallas. Anthony 
Tolkin is really Douglas Westmiller, the murdered girl's ex-husband."
	"What? Why did he kill her?"
	Chase shrugged. "We don't know yet. But when we got here, we found out from the 
Texas Rangers that Westmiller has been using an alias here, and he was involved with 
stealing some prototype computer chips. So August and I are working with them to stop 
him. Why do you have to be there tomorrow?"
	"Tolkin, or Westmiller, whatever his name is, wants me there. He wants me to 
make sure the painting is back in an unsuspecting condition after they place the chips 
inside."
	"Don't go. Send someone else."
	"I can't send someone else, Chase. He won't except anyone else but me."
	"This never would've happened if you had stayed in L.A." His words came out 
louder than he meant, and several people glanced over. They sat in silence for a long 
moment until he put his hand on her's. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.
	She picked his hands up and held them in her's. "It's okay."
	"I've missed you. A lot."
	"I've missed you, too, Chase," she said, smiling warmly. "You'll be there tomorrow 
when they do the deal, right?"
	He nodded. "We'll be all set up and in position by the time they get there." He 
leaned toward her. "Listen, if things get bad, just get the hell out of there. Okay? 
Just run and find a place to stay until it's over. You hear me?"
	"I will." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and then left.
	Chase stood and watched her leave, then walked back to the others.

It was a quarter to eight when the limosuine came down Stuart Street and stopped in 
front of Warehouse 6. A large man who looked like a linebacker climbed out and opened 
the roll-up door. The vehicle pulled in, and the man walked in behind it, leaving the 
door up.
	Chase and August were positioned on the roof of the adjacent warehouse, armed 
with binoculars and a walkie-talkie. "Okay," August said into it. "Looks like one guy 
has arrived. Can we get a confirmation of who?"
	Sydney and Gage were across the street, disguised as a phone service crew 
checking up on a large open phone box. They both took a casual glance over and saw 
Westmiller climbing out of the limo. "It's Westmiller," she said into her lapel mike.
	"Or Tolkin," Gage added into his own, "depending on which city wants him."
	Walker and Trivette were sitting in the Dodge, parked at the back of the 
warehouse, angled so they could see between the two to the front. "Keep your eyes 
open for Petrofsky," Walker said. "He should be here soon."
	"Why is it always the Russian mob?" Trivette asked.
	Walker shrugged. "Guess they got nothing better to do anymore."
	Chase lowered the binoculars and sat down next to August, concealed from view by 
the short wall that ran around the entire roof of the warehouse.
	"So what was that like last night?"
	"What?"
	"You know what. Jodi."
	Chase was quiet. "It felt . . . strange, for some reason. I mean, I hadn't seen 
her in almost four years, but last night it was like we were together again. You know? 
But, we're not. I don't know."
	"Life goes on, partner. You two were good together, but it's obvious it just 
wasn't meant to be."
	"It could've been."
	"I know, Mac, I know. But you have to admit, it's not hard to understand why she 
would want to quit the force and move with her. Is it?"
	"I understood, August. I knew she had a good reason, but I just couldn't do it. I 
loved her and I loved my job too much to choose."
	"Don't think you could convince to come back to L.A., do you?"
	Chase shook his head. "No chance," he said. "She's engaged."
	August was taken by surprise. "Engaged? Really? Well, good for her."
	"Yeah. Good for her."
	"Ah, come on, Mac. You can at least be happy for her."
	"Westmiller and his guys kidnapped her fiance yesterday."
	"What?"
	"Insurance to make she shows up and doesn't call the police."
	"Look alive, guys," Gage's voice said over the walkie-talkie. "There's another 
car approaching."
	Chase grabbed the binoculars and looked over the wall. He saw a small car coming 
down the road. "Got an ID yet?" Walker's voice asked.
	It was Jodi. Chase picked up the walkie-talkie. "It's Jodi," he said. "She's the 
only one we need to protect down there."
	"Copy that," came the reply from both groups.
	Jodi pulled in and stopped as Westmiller walked toward her. "Where is he?" she 
demanded.
	He just smiled. "Relax, baby," he said. "Don't worry. Your fiance is perfectly all 
right. Do you have the painting?"
	She looked at him for a moment, then stepped back to the rear passenger door and 
gestured in through the window. "Right here."
	"Good. Bring it." She took the painting, wrapped in a brown blanket, and followed 
him back to the limo.
	Less than five minutes later, a large SUV turned onto the street and drove toward 
the warehouses. Sydney saw it approaching and conspicuously said into her hidden 
microphone, "This must be Petrofsky. Looks like the party's about to begin."
	"Syd," Walker said, "you and Gage pack up and pull out; meet us around back."
	"Copy."
	Chase watched through the binoculars as the SUV, occupied by three men, slowed and 
pull up into the warehouse. He looked at August. "Let's move," he said, and they hurried 
toward the roof access stairwell.
	Sydney and Gage loaded their equipment into the back of the van, climbed in, and 
drove away. Westmiller's bodyguard, Harold, looked at him. "Good," he said, and his 
boss nodded.
	Petrofsky and his two guards, one carrying a briefcase, climbed out of the SUV as 
Westmiller walked up with his hand out. "Welcome to America, my friend," he said 
cheerfully, shaking the Russian's hand.
	"Thank you." His accent was heavy. "Now where are these chips?"
	"You don't waste time, do you?" Westmiller laughed. "I like that. Come."
	He lead Petrofsky toward the limo. The Russian spotted Jodi standing nearby and 
changed his course. "Who is this interesting piece of art?" he asked.
	"She's going to make sure the chips are undetectable for us," Westmiller said.
	"Really." Jodi tried to ignore him as Petrofsky walked around behind her. He put 
his hands on her arms and leaned close to her ear. "Maybe I'll take you back to Mother 
Russia with me. You look like the kind that could keep me busy for a long time."
	Westmiller cleared his thought. "Um, Ivan . . . " He gestured toward the limo.
	Petrofsky looked up and smiled. "Of course," he said, then whispered to Jodi. 
"I'll finish with you later." She let out a sigh of relief as he walked away.
	Chase and August came out one of the back doors of Warehouse 5 just as the fake 
phone van was pulling beside the Dodge. Walker and Trivette were already out and 
waiting.
	"Okay," Walker said as Syd and Gage came up. "We worked out all the details last 
night. We go in nice and quiet, take them down once the deal has been made."
	"And watch out for Jodi," Chase said. "Nothing happens to her."
	Walker nodded. "Right. We all set? Let's go." They all drew their weapons and 
moved for the back of the warehouse.
	Westmiller set the silver briefcase on the truck of the limo, undid the latches, 
and raised the lid. The inside was padded with black foam, into which the computer 
chips were spaced evenly. Petrofsky removed one glove and picked out a chip, holding 
it up in the light.
	"Meets your expectations?" Westmiller asked anxiously.
	"Let me see it work."
	"Thought you might. Carlos." One of his men came over and sat a laptop on the 
trunk, hooked the chip up to the computer with a series of external wires, and went to 
work, his fingers flying rapidly over the keys. Petrofsky and Westmiller watched side-
by-side.
	Chase and the others snuck in unnoticed and quietly took their places. They were 
only several yards from the others. Chase saw Jodi, standing behind the limo with the 
large, wrapped picture in her hands. Petrofsky and Westmiller were standing behind a 
young guy using a laptop, and both mens' bodyguards stood close to their respective 
bosses.
	Carlos finished and stepped back from the computer, allowing the two to get a 
better look at the screen. "There," Westmiller said. "You see? Revolutionary."
	A smile of satisfaction creeped across the Russian's face. "Excellant," he said, 
then laughed and gave Westmiller a slap on the shoulder. "Excellant."
	"I'm glad your pleased. Jodi? The picture, please."
	Jodi laid it on the truck as Carlos retrieved the computer, making sure Petrofsky 
saw him replace the chip into the briefcase. He did, and gave the young man a "you did 
the right thing" look. Jodi unwrapped the blanket from the frame, exposing the paper-
covered back of the painting.
	"An ingenious way to smuggle them," Petrofsky said.
	"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Westmiller said, then looked at Jodi. "Open it just 
enough for the chips to be put inside."
	"Hang in there, Jodi," Chase whispered.
	Jodi obeyed without question, cutting the backing paper and pulling it away from 
the corner of the frame. Westmiller snapped his fingers, and the briefcase was brought 
to him by his other guard, David. Westmiller took a flat, foam-lined blue box from his 
jacket pocket, opened it, and carefully placed each chip inside. Finished, he snapped 
the lid shut and held the box out to Jodi. "Place this inside," he ordered, "and 
recover the painting so that it won't arouse suspicion."
	She took the box and pulled the paper back a bit more, then placed the box inside. 
It fit just perfectly. "I need some tape," she said. David came back from the front 
seat with a roll of masking tape. She tore some strips off and placed them over the box, 
securing it inside.
	August looked over at Walker. "Almost there."
	When Jodi had repaired the back of the paiting, Petrofsky started to pick it up. 
Westmiller put his hand down on his. "Do you have my money?"
	The Russian smiled. "Of course," he said, and motioned for his bodyguard, Thomas.
	Chase made a gesture to the others, and they all began making their way into 
position so they could take them down from all sides.
	Petrofsky held the briefcase for Westmiller to see and opened the lid. Inside 
were bundles of hundred dollar bills. "It's all there," he said.
	Westmiller smiled. "Good." He took the case and shut it, then shook Petrofsky's 
hand. "Nice doing business with you. It's all yours."
	The Russian took the painting and wrapped the blanket back around it. "Good 
day," he said, and he and his guards walked back to the truck.
	"Now!" Chase, August, and the Rangers exploded from their hiding places, guns 
aimed, again yelling "LAPD" and "Texas Rangers." Westmiller grabbed Jodi and pulled her 
back to the limo. "Westmiller! Stop!" Chase shouted.
	Petrofsky and the remaining guards charged, and the fight broke out. There was 
one for each of them. The limo screeched out of the warehouse as Chase ran after it. 
Seeing it was no use, he ran for Jodi's car. "I'm going after Jodi, August!"
	"Okay," his partner shouted back, and got slugged in the jaw.
	Walker took on Petrofsky, while Sydney, Gage, August, and Trivette each dealt 
with one of the bodyguards.
	Chase climbed into Jodi's car and was releaved to see that the keys were still 
in the ignition. He fired the engine up, put the car in reverse, and squeeled the tires 
as he backed out. He spun the wheel and straightened the car, slipping it into drive 
and punching the gas all in one swift motion.
	Walker kicked the Russian in the ribs, but his next two punches were blocked. 
Petrofsky got one good punch to Walker's stomach in before the Ranger came back with 
an upper-cut that threw him back. Gage and Trivette, fighting nearly back-to-back, 
threw punch after punch into the bodyguards, who weren't that great at fighting. 
Sydney blocked each of Thomas's punches, kicked him in the ribs, hit him in the face, 
and dropped and spun with her leg out, knocking his feet out from under him. August 
caught David in a choke-hold and held them for a moment, until he brought the heel of 
his boot down on August's toes. August yelled out and stumbled back, but threw a 
punch right David turned to charge, and hit him square in the face.
	Chase had the peddle to the floor, racing down the street after the escaping 
limo. "Hang on, Jodi," he said. "Hang on."
	In the limo, Jodi fought to break out of Westmiller's grip, but he held on hard. 
She tried the door, but he had it locked somehow. The limo swerved all over the road 
as he tried to keep her from pulling the wheel.  "Keep it up and you'll die like my 
ex-wife," he yelled. "That bitch wanted to take away everything. Divorced me for some 
young guy. Said I was a psycho; that I tried to beat her up."
	"I can see why she'd call you a psycho."
	That made him reach under his coat and pull out his gun, but she knocked it 
from his hand. It clattered to the floorboard. At one point she happened to look back 
and see out the rear window, and she saw her car approaching. "Chase," she said.
	Westmiller looked into the rearview mirror and saw it. "Damn." He whiped the 
real right and turned onto a new street.
	Jodi struggled to climb into the back of the limo. Westmiller reached back and 
tried to grab her leg. "Hey, hey! Get up here!" She grabbed onto the front edge of the 
rear-facing seat and pulled. "Hey!" She pulled with all her strength and fell into the 
back. "Ah, forget it! Jump if you want! I got my money!"
	Out the back window, she saw Chase was right behind them. She tried the doors, 
but they were all locked. That's when she spotted a small button-filled control panel 
next to one of the doors. She found the button she was looking for and hit it, and the 
sun roof began sliding open.
	August had had about as much as he could stand of David, so he delivered three 
more punches to his face, then grabbed his arm and spun him around, letting him fly. 
David stumbled back and crashed through a pile of car parts. Trivette and Gage slammed 
their two guys together, knocking them out cold.
	Walker found Petrofsky to be a pretty good fighter. He held up well, but Walker 
could tell he was starting to lose it. He spun-kicked him and knocked the guy flat, 
but he got back to his feet.
	Syndey's guy charged. She turned and ran, as if fleeing from him, but she had 
something else planned for him. She leaped forward with her feet out, pushed off the 
side of the SUV and spun around, locking her legs around the guy's neck, and slammed 
him into the ground. But he got to his feet and came back. "You don't learn, do you?" 
she asked, then kicked him in the stomach, causing him to double over. She kicked him 
in the back and rammed him forward, and the guy put his head right through the back 
passenger-side window of the truck.
	With three high kicks so fast they were almost a blur, Walker finally dropped 
Petrofsky. This time, he didn't get back to his feet. He didn't even move. He just laid 
there on the ground, knowing his time was over.
	Walker turned to the others. "You all okay?" They nodded.
	Chase spun the corner as Westmiller again tried to lose him. When they 
straightened, he saw something that made his eyes widen. "Oh, Jodi. Oh no."
	Jodi was climbing up through the sun roof. She waved back to him. "Chase! 
Chase!"
	He motioned for her to not do anything, then said, "Now what." He looked up and 
saw the release latch for the car's convertible top. He pulled it and before he could 
do anything else, the force of the wind blew the top back, nearly tearing it from the 
car. He came up alongside the car, but Westmiller whipped the wheel over. Chase swerved 
to avoid a collision, and nearly took out a man and woman standing at the trunk of 
their car.
	Jodi stood through the sun roof, waving for Chase to get closer. "I'm trying, 
I'm trying," he said, more to himself than her.
	Westmiller looked back and saw that Jodi was up through the sun roof. He looked 
down and pressed a button. The roof started to close. Quickly, Jodi scrambled up onto 
the roof to avoid being trapped inside.
	"Jodi, what're you doing?" Chase asked in disbelief, not knowing the reason she 
had done so. "Great. Great!"
	"Chase!"
	He pulled up behind the limo and got as close as he could. "Come on! Jump!" She 
looked down from the roof at the three foot gap between the back of the limo and the 
front of her car. Chase was waving for her. "Come on, Jodi! Do it!"
	"Oh, God," she said quietly.
	"Hurry!" She was just about to go for it when Westmiller hit the brakes. Chase 
slammed into the back of the limo, and the jolt threw Jodi forward. She landed on the 
hood of her and nearly slid off. "Jodi!" Chase screamed. "No!"
	She climbed up the roof as best she could, grabbing onto the top of the windshield. 
He put a hand on hers. "Just hang on!"
	"No kidding!"
	Westmiller lit up the brakes again, causing Chase to rear-end him. He spun the 
wheel, trying to recover, and the car went into a spin. Jodi screamed as the car went 
wide, hitting the curb and bouncing back into the street. Chase hit the brakes and spun 
the wheel, and the car spun to a stop against the back of a parked car.
	Westmiller laughed as he looked out the back window, then turned back. His laugh 
turned into a scream of terror as he saw the back end of a stalled semi-truck racing to 
meet him. He spun the wheel and swerved left, crashing into a propane tank-filled 
trailer being hauled by a pick-up. The tanks ignited, and the car erupted into a huge 
ball of flame and smoke. Traffic came to a halt, tires squealing as cars tried to avoid 
the explosion.
	Chase climbed out and helped Jodi off the roof. She put her arms around him and 
cried into his shoulder. "It's okay," he told her quietly. "It's okay." He heard sirens 
and looked. The Dodge Ram and the Taurus were approaching. "Come on. It's all over." 
They walked back to meet August as he parked and got out.
	"You two okay?"
	"Yeah," Chase said. He saw Walker approaching. "Where're the others?"
	"At the warehouse waiting for back-up to arrive."
	Chase looked at Jodi. "Jodi, you remember August, right?"
	She looked up and smiled at him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Hi, August."
	"Fancy meeting you here."



Back at the station sometime later, Chase was standing with Jodi on the steps of the 
Texas Rangers headquarters. At the curb, her fiance waited in his car.
	"Well," she said, "I guess this is goodbye. Again."
	"Yeah, again."
	"Take care, Chase McDonald." She embraced him lovingly, gave him a kiss on the 
cheek, and then turned and walked away.
	"Goodbye, Jodi," he said quietly.
	August was waiting in the office with the others when Chase returned. "She gone?" 
Chase just nodded. "Our flight leaves in an hour," he said, "so we should head on over 
to the airport."
	"Trivette," Chase said with a smile. "Wanna give us a lift?"
	Trivette looked up and shook his head. "No, no. I'm not getting into another 
moving vehicle with you, McDonald. It's been nice knowing you." He shook their hands 
with a smile and left.
	"I'll give you guys a lift," Walker said.
	Sydney came in as they were talking toward the door. "You guys taking off?"
	"Yeah," Chase said, "our flight leaves in--" Before he could finish, she threw 
her arms around him and kissed him long and hard. Walker and August just glanced at 
each other with amused smiles on their faces.
	Sydney finally pulled back, display a coyish grin. "I'm sorry," she said. "But 
I just couldn't hold it back anymore."
	Chase just stood their with a look of bewilderment, then shook it off and smiled. 
"Um. Actually, uh, I, I think we can take a flight to L.A. tomorrow. Don't, don't you, 
August?"
	August cocked his head, considering. "You know, maybe I'll call Captain Jensen 
and tell him we've . . . had some unexpected developments here, and that we need to 
stay for another day. We'll catch a flight tomorrow night. What do you say?"
	Chase looked back at Sydney. "What do you say?" he asked, offering her arm.
	"I say I know this great restaurant across town." She took his arm, and they 
walked away. "And I know this great dance club we can go to. Do you know how to salsa?"
	August and Walker watched the two leave. "I think it's gonna be an adventure 
getting Mac to leave Dallas tomorrow night."
	"I think so, too," Walker said.
	Laughing, they both headed out of the office.