Anger exploded in his head as he slammed out of his trailer and stormed toward his brand-new Chevy Corvette. He had bought her jewelry; sent flowers to her trailer, house and favorite restaurant; had even bought her an expensive dress she had wanted for months. Still, she refused him the one thing he had ever requested of her, and her only excuse was, " You are a married man." How much more rejection could he take?

Sitting in his car, he forced himself to breath slowly, calm down. Every person has a price, and all he had to do was find hers. What more could he offer her?

Suddenly, an idea clicked in his mind, and he almost laughed aloud at the simplicity of it. If he could possibly give her such an expensive gift as this, she wouldn’t have the strength to say no again. He would have to be careful to get all the details just right so that she would never suspect until he gave it to her… Yes, this had to be it. The gift that would convince her to give him what he desired.

Chapter One

Mark Sloan walked through the front door of his beachside home, Amanda Bently and Jesse Travis close on his heels. All three doctors were starving, and Steve had promised them dinner when they got off work. However, Steve’s meals were never elaborate affairs.

As they approached the kitchen, the surprising scent fried chicken made their mouths water, and Mark wondered if the kitchen was still intact; he couldn’t recall the last time he or Steve had successfully made fried chicken.

" Hi, guys, " Steve greeted them casually from the kitchen doorway. " How was your day?"

Each of them mumbled a reply as they examined the scene before them. The kitchen counters gleamed, the stove shone as if polished, and the sinks were empty. As a matter of fact, the only evidence of a meal having been made was the savory smell surrounding them.

" Is something wrong?" Steve asked after noting the expressions on their faces.

" Uh, no…no," Mark said, shaking himself out of his surprise. " It’s just that—"

" What?" Steve prompted.

" We thought we smelled fried chicken," Amanda finished.

" You do. It’s in the dining room," grinned Steve.

Jesse finally voiced the question on everyone’s mind. " What happened to the kitchen?" At Steve’s confused look, Jesse explained, " I-I mean, it’s clean."

" No one ever said I was a messy cook."

" No one ever said you were a cook, period," Amanda teased as Steve ushered them into the dining room.

On the table sat a platter of fried chicken, a bowl of mashed potatoes, a bowl of gravy, and a basket of rolls.

" You really went all-out tonight," Mark told his son. " What’s the occasion?"

" No occasion, I just figured you deserve better than pizza."

Jesse bit into his piece of chicken with enthusiasm, and his mumbled sounds of appreciation brought smiles to the other three faces at the table.

" I take it back," Amanda said around a mouthful of potatoes. " You are a cook. A good cook, Steve."

" Thank you for saying so. Dad, what do you think?"

" Excellent, but definitely fattening."

" Forget, for now, that you’re a doctor," Steve suggested. " and just enjoy the food; you don’t get meals like this every day."

" You can say that again," Mark agreed.

Just as Steve lifted a piece of chicken to his mouth, the phone rang. Rising from his seat, he said, " Stay put. I’ll get it."

" I wonder what possessed Steve to make such a meal?" Amanda puzzled as Steve picked up the phone in the next room.

" I don’t care what it was," Jesse said, raising a forkful of potatoes to his mouth. " If it provides something other than fast food when I come over, it can stay!"

" That was the police station," Steve announced upon returning to the dining room. There was a knifing in down-town LA, so I’ve got to go check it out."

" Bummer," Jesse said, truly disappointed.

" Yeah, well, save some chicken for me. I’ll see you later."

" Okay, be careful," Mark cautioned.

" You know I will, Dad."

" And thanks for dinner," Amanda added.

" No problem," called Steve, and a moment later, he was gone.

Only five minutes later, the phone rang again, and Mark got up to answer it.

" So much for a quiet evening at home," he said when he rejoined his friends. " That was Dr. Pinkston at the hospital, and he said that one of my patients, Mrs. Austin just had a heart attack. She needs emergency coronary bypass surgery."

Amanda and Jesse’s faces fell as Mark took a final bite from his roll. " We’ll clean up here," Amanda offered.

" Thank you," Mark smiled on his way to the door.

" Any time," Jesse called after him.

" Oh—" Mark added as he pulled the door open. " Be sure to lock up before you leave."

Sighing to each other, the two remaining companions quickly finished their meals and started kitchen duty.

Pulling into the police station parking lot, Steve hurried into the building. He knew he had to get to the murder site soon, but first he needed more information. To his surprise, he was practically met at the door with the info.

" Good of you to come so quickly," Chief Masters said in his usually grim tone. " The case was just reported a half hour ago, so you should be able to get over there before the trail gets too cold." Handing Steve a sheet of paper, he continued, " These are the facts we gathered over the phone. It was the murder victim’s husband who called, and he sounded pretty shaken up. We told him to wait outside just in case the murderer is still near by."

Steve nodded and skimmed over the paper.

" Do you want to do this alone, Lieutenant, or would you like to get a team together?"

Folding the info sheet, Steve said, " Nah, it’ll take too much time. I’ll go ahead."

The Chief nodded in agreement. " We’ll send a team after you to begin the details duty."

But Steve was already out the door.

* * *

Steve found the man he was looking for pacing in front of door 116. Displaying his badge, he said, " Lieutenant Steve Sloan, Chief homicide investigator with the LAPD."

" Roland Fobbart," the man replied distractedly.

" Is the body in there?"

Fobbart opened the door in reply, and Steve cautiously walked into the room, his gun ready. However, the sight that met his eyes almost made him drop the weapon. In the center of the room lay the body of a naked woman, surrounded by a pool of her own blood. The blood had come from a gaping stab wound to her chest, but the murder weapon was not in sight.

Suddenly thankful that he had not gotten a chance to eat dinner, Steve moved in for closer observation. " Have you touched or moved anything since you found her here?"

" Nothing," Fobbart replied, his gaze resting on the body before them.

" Did you check the rest of the apartment to see if everything else is okay?"

" No, as soon as I found her, I ran to the apartment offices to borrow the phone. Then someone told me not to go back inside."

Noting Roland Fobbart’s British accent for the first time, Steve asked, " Well, could you check real quick now before we go to the police station so you can file a report?"

With a reluctant nod, Fobbart moved past the body and toward a narrow hallway that led to three doorways. " They’ve taken my wife from me, Lieutenant. I had nothing else of value."

" Do you have any suspicions of who might have done this?" Inquired Steve as he proceeded Fobbart into each room.

" Not at all," the widower replied. " My wife was the kindest, sweetest, most loving woman to ever walk the earth." Voice breaking, he added, " Her one goal in life was to bring happiness to others, even though we never had much to give. She was always finding some way…" His voice trailed off, and Steve noted the suddenly ashen shade of his face. " Please excuse me," Fobbart said before Steve could comment.

While Fobbart was gone, Steve looked about the tiny room. It was one of two bedrooms, neither carpeted nor nicely furnished. A single, bare light bulb it the ceiling was the only source of light for the room, and the dingy, cracked window high on a wall provided a definite draft. A far cry from comfortable or even adequate living conditions.

Five minutes passed, and Steve began to worry; was Roland Fobbart all right?

With a measured pace, Steve moved back down the hallway. " Mr. Fobbart? Are you okay?" he called through the closed bathroom door.

No reply.

" Mr. Fobbart, can I get you anything?" he tried again.

Still no answer.

" Mr. Fobbart, if you don’t answer me, I’ll have to come in," he warned. When no sound came from the other side of the door, Steve followed through with his promise, but was disappointed to find the room empty. Confused, he stood immobile for a second. Before he could turn around again, Steve heard a sound behind him and felt the blow of a heavy object on the back of his head. Then he felt no more.

" Hey, Amanda, I think you had better take a look at this." Jesse had just thrown the chicken bones left from dinner into the trashcan, and now he was reaching into the container in an effort to retrieve something.

" Jesse, what are you doing?" Amanda asked as she dried her hands on a dishtowel.

" Getting this." Jesse displayed a red and white box with the bold letters "KFC" printed across the front.

" What?" Amanda exclaimed. " Are you telling me-"

" Steve didn’t cook that chicken," Jesse finished for her. " As a matter of fact…" He dug through the Sloans’ garbage a bit more. " he didn’t make the potatoes, gravy, or rolls either."

Where Jesse found Steve’s clever stunt amusing, Amanda found no humor in it.

" He’s gonna hear it from me tomorrow! No, I’m calling him tonight. That scoundrel!"

" Hey, calm down," Jesse said. " It was just a prank, and besides, I ate better over here than I would have at my place. Even if it was KFC, it tasted a whole lot better than a TV dinner."

" I can’t argue with you there," Amanda agreed.

The two silently finished the kitchen, and Jesse’s thoughts were as busy as his hands. As they left the kitchen and checked to be sure everything was in order before leaving, Jesse said, " You still upset, Amanda?"

" Oh, a little; I mean, he took credit and praise for everything when all he did was go pick it up."

" So you think he should know better than to do that?" At Amanda’s non-committal shrug, he continued, " Well, maybe we can teach him."

" Get back at Steve?" Amanda guessed, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. " How?"

" Nothing harmful, of course, but something he won’t forget any time soon," Jesse replied in thought.

" I take it you already have a plan. You gonna let me in on it?"

" Not here," Jesse said. " We don’t want Steve to walk in on us. How about coming over to my place for some coffee?"

" Suits me."

* * *

When Mark finally returned home and crawled wearily into bed, his only thoughts were of a warm bed and soft pillow. Without a thought of checking to be sure that Steve had made in home safely, he closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep’s gentle call.

Only an hour later, the shrill ringing of his bedside phone roused him abruptly from his dreams. Mark reached for the receiver as he tried to clear the cobwebs from his brain before growling a sleepy, " Hello?"

" Is this Mark Sloan?" a female voice wanted to know.

" Yes, who’s this?"

" This is Dr. Georgia Mullins from Community General Hospital."

At the mention of the hospital, Mark was instantly awake, and he asked, " What can I do for you, Doctor? Am I needed at the hospital?"

Dr. Mullins hesitated before saying, " Yes, but not as a doctor…As a father."

" What do you mean?" Mark felt fear rise in his throat.

" Dr. Sloan, there’s been an accident. It’s your son."

Chapter Four

" So, my dear, what do you say now?" He watched her eyes go wide with surprise. " Is my gift enough to persuade you to give me what I want in exchange?"

She hesitated, not quite certain how to respond to such a presentation. Then she smiled, her finger coming up to trace his jaw, and her eyes following the outline of his face. It was flawless, save a two-inch scar on his left cheekbone. The scar had become his trademark, something everyone recognized and identified him by. " Every woman has her price, you know," she said softly.

" And did I find yours?"

" I suppose you came close enough, although I’m sure you could afford something even more expensive. Am I right?"

" Of course," he replied quickly, eager to win her attentions. " Just name what you want. Anything."

She began leading him toward one of the bedrooms of his massive house. "Nothing more just now, but quite possibly later. Tonight you shall have your reward."

Mentally praising himself for his genius, he closed the bedroom door.

* * *

Mark sat quietly beside the hospital bed, his eyes fixed on the pale face lying above the blankets. Steve’s healthy complexion was now ashen, his green eyes closed, and his thick copper hair matted. The blow that Steve had received to his head could have been fatal, and Mark’s heart ached to see his son in such condition. There would be no way of knowing how much damage had been done until Steve woke up.

How could this have happened? Mark puzzled to himself. It was supposed to be a standard investigation, just like all the others he has been on. Nothing like this was supposed to happen.

A knock on the door interrupted Mark’s thoughts, and he rose to answer it. On the other side stood Gerald Masters, chief of police with the LAPD.

" Come in," Mark invited, stepping aside to admit the solemn man.

" Thank you, Dr. Sloan. Has there been any change?" Chief Masters asked quietly as he approached the bed.

" Not yet," replied Mark. " The doctors aren’t expecting anything until tomorrow at the earliest."

" I see…I suppose you are wondering how this happened," Masters guessed.

Mark nodded, resuming his seat and offering Masters one as well. When Masters refused, Mark questioned, " Was it a freak accident?"

" We’re not sure. When the details team arrived at the apartment, they found Steve unconscious and Roland Fobbart pacing nervously around him."

" Roland Fobbart?" Mark questioned, not recognizing the name.

" Yes, Fobbart is the murder victim’s husband. He’s the one who informed us of his wife’s murder, which is what Steve went to look into. According to Fobbart, he had left Steve alone in a bedroom for a moment, and when he returned, Steve was unconscious in the bathroom. He tried to clean up his head a bit and managed to drag him into the living room. He was getting ready to borrow a phone to call 911 when the team got there."

Silently digesting the information, Mark asked, " So there’s no way of knowing whether Steve just bumped his head or was hit maliciously?"

" Not yet. So far, we cannot find any objects low enough for him to back his head into, but the investigation hasn’t been underway very long. The only other person we know of who was in the apartment at the time was Roland Fobbart, and I personally doubt he could have done it. He’s a small, nervous sort of man with no motive anyway that we know of."

Mark nodded his understanding and stood to thank Masters. " I’m glad you came by."

" I’m sorry I don’t have any more news for you," Masters said gravely but sincerely. " Fobbart is at the station filing reports on the murder and everything he knows about Steve. I’ll let you know when we learn more." With that, Masters took his leave and left Mark alone in the silence of the hospital room.

* * *

At promptly 8:00 AM, Jesse arrived in the emergency room of Community General Hospital. It was unusually quiet for the moment, but he knew the lull would not last long. For the time being, though, he had little that needed his immediate attention.

With a casual step, Jesse walked down the hallway toward the doctors’ lounge to get a quick (and hopefully fresh) cup of coffee. He walked into the lounge expecting it to be empty, but instead he found a certain young woman with lovely blond hair standing near a window and looking out into the morning. Susan Hilliard. Her back turned to him, she didn’t notice as he drank in the vision she made with the sunlight bouncing off her silky hair. Finally getting his fill, Jesse walked up behind her and put his hands gently around her waist as he placed a light kiss on her ear.

" Good morning," he whispered.

She turned just a bit. " More like ‘good night’ for me. My shift just ended, and I’m exhausted." Voice betraying her weariness, she allowed herself to relax in his embrace.

They stood in silence for several minutes before Susan straightened up and turned to face Jesse. Her blue eyes were tired but no less magnificent, her makeup faded but only served to reveal her naturally soft complexion, her scrubs soiled but not distracting from her picturesque figure. Without a doubt, Susan was the most beautiful girl Jesse had ever known. Even after a long, hard shift, she still looked stunning in Jesse’s eyes. He ventured to tell her as much.

Laughing, she pulled away from him and said, " Jesse, I think you need glasses…Either that or some strong coffee. It’s fresh, and there’s a clean cup next to the coffee maker." With that, she pecked him quickly on the cheek and took her exit, leaving Jesse with a smile of loving amazement on his face. Instead of going home right after her shift had ended, Susan had gone to the trouble to stay and make sure he had coffee and a clean cup to start his day. How had he ever managed to find a girl like Susan?

A short while later, Jesse joined a few other doctors in the main room of the ER, but all was still peaceful. With Mark and Amanda not scheduled to come in for some time yet, Jesse spent his time looking over the record of patients that had come through during the night. It was hardly captivating, but it passed the time and filled him in on what had happened since his departure the day before. The name of the patient was listed before the injury and course of action taken.

" Haley Martin: Fractured wrist. Treated and released; Ben McPeak: second-degree burn. Treated and released; Molly Barton: Broken ankle. Treated and released; Steve Sloan: head injury. Stabilized and transferred to ICU; Kevin Harding: heart attack. Stabilized and"--Wait a minute! Jesse reread the previous entry, his heart skipping a beat. " Steve Sloan: head injury." Must be another Steve, Jesse told himself, but a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach kept him unconvinced. He suddenly found himself hurrying to the information desk.

" Can I borrow your phone?" he asked without waiting for a reply. Dialing a familiar number, he heard the phone ring three times before the answering machine picked up.

" Hi, you have reached the Sloans’ residence. We can’t answer the phone now, but leave a message and we’ll get back with you. Beeeep…"

" Mark, Steve? Hey, if you’re there, pick up. This is important…Anybody home?" When silence met his question, Jesse replaced the telephone with a furrowed brow. That doesn’t mean anything; they probably went somewhere for breakfast. I’ll just try back later… Casually he turned and began walking away, but the act hardly fooled the receptionist, much less himself.

" Excuse me, Dr. Travis, may I help you with anything?"

" Well, since you mentioned in," Jesse decided, rushing back to the desk. Real professional, Jesse! " I could use some information on a patient who came through here last night. He was placed in ICU."

" Name?"

" Steve Sloan."

Seconds later, the receptionist said, " A man by the name of Steve Sloan was checked in at 12:40 AM. He was unconscious and suffering from a head injury. They put him in room 315 of the ICU."

" Thanks," Jesse mumbled.

" Will that be all?"

" Uh, yeah…No!" Get it together, Jesse warned himself at the receptionist’s odd stare. " Can you tell me what time Dr. Mark Sloan will be coming in?"

" Dr. Sloan was scheduled to come in at 11:00, but he called in sick early this morning. Dr. Verne Watson is going to cover for him," she replied, examining her computer screen.

" Thanks," Jesse said again. Suddenly realizing that Mark and Steve were not out to breakfast, nor had Mark used a sick day due to his own physical condition, Jesse forgot his earlier light-heartedness. This was not a good thing!

Chapter Five

Amanda Bently walked into the doctors’ lounge to find her co-worker staring into space. " Jesse?" she questioned gently.

Jumping as though he had been burned, Jesse turned in his seat and said distractedly, "Oh, hi, Mandie."

"Well, keep your hat on," she said dryly to his less-than-enthusiastic greeting. Then, pouring herself a cup of coffee, she waited for some sort of response, but even when she joined him at the table, he said nothing. "Jesse, are you okay?" she asked in concern, noting his silence with some alarm.

"Yeah, I’m okay," Jesse sighed.

"I’ve done autopsies on people who look better than you do, Jess."

Amanda’s rare use of his nickname made Jesse realize that she was worried about him, but it also reminded him anew of Steve’s condition; ‘Jess’ was Steve’s special name for him. Finding a small measure of comfort in Amanda’s dark brown eyes, he told her, "Steve is here."

"So?" she shrugged. "He’s always hanging around."

"No, I mean he’s here as a patient…He came through the ER last night."

" ‘Came through’ as in—" Amanda did not need to know the rest of the sentence, but Jesse told her anyway.

"As in ‘stabilized and sent to ICU’"

"Oh, no, Jesse. You’re kidding, right?"

"I wish I were. I just went to see him, but he’s in the same condition as when he came in—Unconscious." Amanda’s hand came to her mouth in unspoken horror, but Jesse continued, "He was just lying there, Mandie, pale and helpless on the hospital bed. No wise cracks, no sarcastic remarks…No pranks."

"How is Mark?" Amanda questioned, her tone solemn.

"Hanging in there, but he looks pretty tired. He’s been there since about 3:30 this morning, so I’m going to relieve him tonight when I get off."

Checking her watch, Amanda said, "It’s three now, so I’ll be done here in a couple of hours. Why don’t I keep him company until you get there?"

"Thanks, Amanda. I think he needs someone there with him…Listen, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight."

After Jesse left, Amanda sat in stunned silence for what felt like hours. She could hardly even picture Steve the way Jesse had described him, and if anyone other than Jesse had pitched her that story, she would have laughed. However, laughing was the farthest thing from her mind. For once, she wished Jesse’s word were not quite so reliable.

* * *

Pain. Horrible pain. It was almost enough to make him pass out again…Almost, and he wished to God that it would. Steve’s head throbbed so hard that he could hear it.

As he returned to full consciousness, his eyes automatically fluttered open, but he shut them quickly against the glaring lights. Someone just shoot me, he begged silently.

Suddenly, someone grasped his hand, and a man’s hope-filled voice said, " Steve? Are you awake? Come on, you can shake this!"

"Is he awake?" a younger female voice asked in concern.

"I don’t know," the man sighed. "I thought I saw his eyes open for a second…Maybe I’m seeing things."

"Mark, you’ve been here since last night, and you are exhausted. Why don’t you go rest for a while in the sleep room."

Those voices sound familiar, Steve thought, but he could not quite place them. In fact, it suddenly occurred to him that he could not remember much of anything. He didn’t even know where he was or why in the world his head was getting ready to explode. Somehow, he didn’t really care though. Worn out by even the small effort he had put forth over the past several seconds, Steve felt the comforting cloak of darkness beginning to cover his brain again, and he welcomed it. Any conversation with the people beside his bed would have to wait for another time.

* * *

Jesse clocked out immediately after his shift ended, but today, relaxing was the last thing on his mind. Rushing down the halls and through elevators, he prayed that Steve would be awake. To watch him just lie there was almost too much for Jesse, and he thought that he would give anything for Steve to be alert.

"Knock, knock," Jesse called quietly around the door of room 315.

"Come in," answered Amanda.

Walking into the dimly-lighted room, Jesse found Amanda sitting in a chair to the left of the hospital bed, and Steve lying in the same place he had been hours ago when Jesse had last seen him. "No change?" he guessed.

With a shake of her dark head, Amanda said, "Not really. Mark thought he saw Steve’s eyes open for a second, but that’s it."

"Where is Mark?" Jesse asked, noting his absence.

"He went to get some rest about an hour ago. I promised to wake him if Steve comes around, but I doubt Mark will even go to sleep; he’s so worried about Steve."

The room was silent then, save the steady beep…beep…beep… of the heart monitor. Jesse studied Steve’s pale face and mussed hair, wondering how Steve had gotten into this mess. Only Steve had the answers that they all wanted, but the answer Jesse wanted most was whether his friend was going to be all right.

* * *

"Mark…Mark, wake up." Amanda felt bad about waking him, but she had promised. "Mark?"

Jumping slightly, Mark’s eyes flew open. "Steve?"

"Yes, he’s trying to wake up."

Mark rose slowly, with a grunt. "Thank you, Amanda," he said, his voice a bit gravelly. As they walked down the hall, he asked, "Is he fully conscious?"

"Well, he seemed to be trying to come around, so Jesse figured I had better come get you," Amanda said, wishing she could offer more.

"Jesse’s there? What time is it?"

Checking her watch, Amanda replied, "Five till seven. You were gone for nearly two hours, but I’ll bet you didn’t sleep anywhere near that long." She watched Mark’s profile as he responded.

"Well, no, but it was enough."

Amanda shook her head in amusement and concern at his answer. "How long, Mark?"

"Well, uh…"

"And how many meals have you had today?"

"Actually, uh…"

With a sudden halt, Amanda grabbed Mark’s arm gently but firmly. Serious brown eyes looked up into weary blue ones. "Mark, I know that you’re worried about Steve even more than Jesse and I are, but it’s not going to do him any good for you to neglect yourself. If you get sick, we really are going to have our hands full."

"I know, Amanda, but my mind is too full to sleep, and food just doesn’t appeal to me right now. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, okay?"

Chuckling briefly, Amanda said, "I’m a doctor. I’m supposed to worry, but you’re my friend, and I would worry about you whether I were a doctor or a window washer."

Mark smiled then. "Thanks, Amanda."