The sun was coming up. Bailey could tell because the shed faced east, and the sky had brightened to azure, the few remaining clouds edged with maroon and gold. Under different circumstances, he might have appreciated the sight. He hadn't slept much. Part of him demanded rest, part insisted he remain on watch, though really he thought they were safe enough. Jack had them where he wanted them, and he was, no doubt, manipulating the VCTF's efforts back in Atlanta.

He just hoped the team would find them soon. The idea of slowly starving to death held little appeal, even if he did have company to do it with. Frankly. that made it worse. Dana was little more than an innocent bystander, she'd just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. He knew who Jack's target had been. He had no illusions about it. Frustrated by his previous plan's lack of success, Jack had gone for Bailey again, trying to separate him from Sam in whatever way possible.

He looked down, studying Dana's face where she was pillowed on his shoulder. In sleep she looked distressingly young. God... what on earth had gotten into him last night? There was no way he should have let that happen. Of course, as soon as he thought about it, his body warmed, paying no attention whatsoever to his conscience. He knew she was thirty two. Only nine years his junior, but he felt several decades older. Certainly old enough to know better.

He thought about her father, her 'kind-of-short, a-little-round, red-haired, daring-glass-of- wine-with-dinner' father, and felt like the lowest sort of scum. He knew what he'd do to someone who took advantage of one of his girls like he had Dana. Of course, they weren't anywhere near her age, but still. Dana had been scared and he'd known it, yet he'd let himself be convinced that wasn't the reason.

He shifted a little, trying to keep his legs from falling asleep, and Dana stirred.

"Mmm?" she asked sleepily, opening one eye.

He soothed a hand down her back. "Nothing, go back to sleep."

For a moment he thought he might have succeeded, but then she lifted her head again.

"Is it getting light?"

He nodded. "It is. It's stopped raining, and most of the clouds are gone, too. It should be warmer today."

"Good." She pushed away a little and stretched, her breasts rounding beneath her blouse.

He remembered the softness of her skin, the taste of her on his tongue.

"Did you sleep?"

He managed to stop looking at the part of her anatomy that wasn't talking. "A little."

"I did," she grinned. "But then, you knew that." She scooted backward, tugging her skirt down. "In fact, I slept surprisingly well." She looked down, obviously a little embarrassed.

That killed him. God, he was a heel. "Dana..." he began, trying to think how to apologize.

"Bailey..." she said, nearly simultaneously.

He stopped, and let her go on. It was only polite.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. He remembered how she'd done that last night, at the height of her pleasure.

He clenched a fist. Control, Malone. Remember what that is?

"Thank you, for last night. God, it's nice sometimes to just be a woman again. I get so damned tired of just being 'Scully'. I think I'd forgotten I could do anything besides write field reports and yell 'Mulder!'" She leaned forward and put her mouth against his, her palm cool against his suddenly flushed face as she kissed him. He mouth was warm, moist, her lips parted, her tongue seeking his.

Control? What the hell was that? His arms went around her, his tongue met hers, his hand sought out the soft mound of a breast. She wound her fingers in his hair and refused to let him go, pulling him with her as she lay back, his coat scant protection against the hard, cold floor. Her thighs opened to cradle his hips, the heat of her need suffusing him. Her uninjured hand moved between them, touching him exactly the right way. So much for guilt, he thought wryly. This was a woman who knew her own mind, and very well, at that.

He knew there was nothing to keep him from touching her, so he did. He slid a hand up her inner thigh, and cupped her delta, feeling the soft crush of curls he suspected would be as fiery as those spread out on the wooden floor. Her body wept, creamy moisture dampening his palm, his fingers. He delved deeper and she moaned, pulling her mouth from his to gasp for breath. He kissed her taut, arched throat. She took her hand from him, fingers moving down her blouse as she opened buttons, then bra-clasp. He couldn't refuse that invitation.

Her skin was very fair, ivory pale, and she smelled faintly of some subtle perfume that was more than just her own. He followed the scent beneath her breast, down her belly, pushing up her skirt until it was no bar to the soft curve of her belly and the tangle of copper there. He imagined her touching perfume to various places on her body, though she knew no one but her would know it. Her sensuality was hidden, but deep. He found its trail again on her inner thigh and scored her lightly with his teeth. She gasped, her hand on the back of his head, her fingers stroking his hair. He needed no further instruction.

He opened her, tasted her. She whimpered, hips lifting in response. She was so artless, so natural in her desire that it was stunning. He had to sit back and just breathe for a moment, on the brink of losing what little he had left of that thing he'd forgotten... control. She looked up at him, her eyes blue-gray-green, an ocean of need. Her lips were swollen a little, reddened. She reached out, holding her hand out to him. He touched her fingers with his own, which shook visibly.

"Dana, I..." He stopped. He didn't know what he'd been planning to say.

She twined her fingers through his and drew him back down beside her. She put their hands on his shirt, then let go. He obliged, opening buttons it seemed he'd done up just a little while earlier. Her fingers followed his, her hand on his skin, sliding over his chest, through the dark furring that seemed coarse next to her delicacy. He lifted his eyes to hers, querying her desire. She trailed her splinted hand down her body, letting it come to rest on her inner thigh. She couldn't have been clearer if she'd spoken aloud. He bent over her again, touched his lips to first one breast, then the other. She sighed. He moved lower, returning to the place so recently abandoned.

This time he found his control somewhere. He was able to shut out the clamor of his own need and concentrate on hers. Her fingers cupped his head as his mouth closed on her. She shuddered, her breath coming faster and shallower. God, she was wonderful, nothing artificial, nothing pretended. He moved a hand slowly up her thigh, not wanting to startle her, and he found the well of her body with a finger. She bucked against his tongue, and a long shudder went through her, then she relaxed, slowly. He almost laughed out loud, the honesty of her response was such a joy.

"Bail?"

He lifted his head from her thigh, surprised by the nickname. She didn't seem the nickname type. "What, Dana?"

"Do you charge?" she asked, with apparent sincerity, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief.

He grinned. "Only when I can't make the mortgage payments."

She sighed in evident relief. "Good, then maybe I can afford you."

He lifted an eyebrow. "You don't know how often I can't make my mortgage."

She laughed and reached for him. "Come on, we're not done yet."

"I'll put it on your tab."

She slid her hand beneath his waistband. "I'll work it off." She found him.

He almost went off in her hand. "Dana..."

"I know." She let go of him, reluctantly, and moved her hand from the inside to the outside of his slacks. Tension eased. She seemed to be much better at zippers than she was with buttons. She sighed, tugging at his shorts. "I wish it was warm enough to do this right," she complained.

"So do I," he agreed fervently, imagining her in nothing but tangled sheets.

She managed to free him. "This just seems so..." she trailed off, at a loss for words.

"It does, doesn't it?" he agreed as her fingers closed around him, her thumb moving over the sensitive tip. "I promise you room service, once we're out of here."

She groaned. "Do not talk about food, damn it!" She pulled his mouth down to hers.

Her hand moved to his hip, drawing him to her, and he followed willingly. She shifted beneath him, aligning herself to him, then he was sliding in, deep. His eyes closed, absorbing the feel of her. She was velvet, fire and silk. He moved instinctively, and felt her thighs tighten around his hips, her hands on his back, encouraging him. He wanted to be gentle, but she wouldn't let him. She took her mouth from his and bit his shoulder, her hips pushed at his, demanding fierceness. Abandoning restraint, he gave in to her. She murmured encouragement, met him stroke for stroke, and at the end, beat him to the finish by seconds.

He rolled over onto his side, taking her with him, and they lay for awhile, catching their breath as he absently ran his fingers through her hair. She watched him, her gaze thoughtful.

"Penny for your thoughts," he offered.

She looked at him a moment longer, and shrugged. "I was just wondering how you do it."

"It? Well, it seems like you already know how, but if you really want me to explain it, it's kind of like 'insert tab A in slot B.' Pretty easy instructions."

She punched him lightly in the shoulder. "You, sir, are a smart ass."

He grinned. "Guilty as charged. So, that wasn't what you meant?"

"I was wondering how someone who deals with... what you deal with, day in and day out, manages to stay so sensitive, so in-tune. Sometimes it seems like you know what I'm going to say, or think, or what I want, even before I do."

Bailey went still. God, how did he explain that? He couldn't. He sighed. "That is my gift, and my curse. Sometimes I can think so much like someone else that I almost become them. It's how I catch the bad guys. It's also why I drink too much, and smoke too much, and what ruins most of my relationships."

She frowned. "I don't understand. Why should that be hurtful to a relationship? I would think it would be good for it."

"It can be, when the other person I'm being is the person I'm with. But sometimes it's not."

He was surprised at how quickly he saw understanding in her gaze.

"I see," she said softly. "Sometimes you get... stuck."

He nodded. "Not so much any more, I've finally learned how not to do that. Because of that I'm not as good a profiler as I once was, but at least I'm mostly sane and likely to stay that way."

"You're one of the sanest people I know."

He snorted. "Yeah, but look who you hang around with."

She made a face. "That's just who I work with. You don't know who I hang around with."

"According to you, no one."

She sighed. "All too true. But I do know some very real, very normal people, and I'd definitely number you in their company."

"It's good to know I'm better at fooling people these days."

She propped herself up on an elbow and studied him in silence for long enough that he started to get uncomfortable. At last, she spoke. "You can come out from behind the walls now, Bailey. I won't hurt you."

He closed his eyes, jaw tight as he tried not to react. He took a deep breath, and let the fear wash through him, and out. Finally he found words again. "You don't understand, Dana. They're not there to protect me, they're there to protect you. I'm not afraid of being hurt. I'm afraid of hurting."

"Is that what happened, before?"

He nodded. "I can't let that happen again."

"You won't."

"I wish I had your confidence."

She sat up, awkwardly tugging her clothing into some semblance of order as she spoke, her mouth and jaw set in a stubborn, angry line. "Look at you, look at what you do with your life! You spend every waking moment fighting dragons! For God's sake, Bailey Malone, your entire existence is tied up in keeping other people from harm! Anyone who knows you also knows you would never deliberately hurt them. But you're human, and humans hurt each other. By accident or by design, it happens. We get over it. We live. We learn. Don't cut yourself off from everyone because of it or you'll end up like Mu..." she stopped abruptly, mid-sentence. "Just don't." She stood up and moved to the door of the shed, muttering under her breath something that sounded like: "Why do I do this to myself?"

"Dana?" he asked, sitting up, wondering if she'd been going to say he'd end up like 'Mulder'.

"What?" She snapped. Well, it wasn't quite a snap, but almost.

He couldn't ask her his real question, so instead he asked the first one that came to mind. "Where are you going?"

She pointed at the right side of the shed. "Where do you think I'm going? Tibet?"

She disappeared around the corner. He rolled his eyes. It had been a pretty stupid question. He started putting himself back together, thinking about what she'd said. It made a lot of sense. Her comment about him fighting dragons brought a smile to his face. As a kid growing up, he'd never dared admit to having knightly fantasies, but that didn't mean he hadn't had them. She'd pegged him dead-on. Maybe Mulder's ability to read people had rubbed off on her.

He went over to check on the fire, and added a small piece of wood to keep it going. As he did, he got the sudden eerie feeling that someone was watching him. He turned quickly and stared out of the enclosure, but saw no movement that might indicate a human presence. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling.

Dana came around the corner and stopped, studying his expression.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard... or rather, sensed someone out there. But I don't see anything."

She turned and surveyed the clearing, finally turning to him, her eyes shadowed. "Is he watching us? Was he... before?"

That hadn't occurred to Bailey, and it made him decidedly uncomfortable. "I don't know," he admitted. "I hope not."

Dana shuddered. "So do I." She sighed and turned back to him. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said. You didn't deserve to be yelled at."

He smiled wryly. "Oh yes I did, and thanks for doing it. You're absolutely right, I have to stop trying to be more than human."

"It'll be difficult, but I have faith in you," she said with gentle humor.

"I'll warn you, though, I'm no white knight."

She smiled gently. "I know. I never thought you were. In my experience, there's no such thing, though there are quite a few tarnished ones out there." She turned and looked around the shelter. "Would you hold the water for me? I need a drink,"

He nodded and picked up one of the bottles, holding it for her while she took several swallows. He did the same himself when she'd finished, then recapped it. That reminded him of another problem.

"I think we're going to have to start rationing the water. We're on the second bottle, and there's no telling how long we'll be here. What we have has to last until they find us. We could catch rain if I could figure out how to cut the top off one of these containers, but Jack neglected to leave me my pocket knife."

"Good point. Hand me the empty, would you?" He gave it to her. She studied it carefully. "Maybe if we softened the plastic in the fire, we could use a stick to push through it. Of course, it's not raining any more."

He smiled. "Just wait. It's winter in Georgia. It'll rain."

* * *

The team hopped a helicopter to Birmingham to check out the dog track whose racing form Jack had written his note to Sam on. Mulder was somewhat boggled by the idea that they could just take a helicopter wherever they needed to go. No one moaned about wasting Department funds, or mileage, or anything. They just did it. God, if he had that kind of budget he could put that damned cigarette smoking felon and his friends behind bars where they belonged. He knew it would never happen. He still wasn't sure why he was even tolerated, though he had an idea it was more so certain parties could keep an eye on him, than any more public-spirited notion. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to find Findley there, his face serious.

"I just wanted to tell you how bad I feel about Scully going missing. This must be really hard on you," he said, his voice pitched to barely carry above the engine noise. "I know about her other kidnapping."

Mulder stiffened. "How?"

"Sam asked me to check the Net for mentions of Bailey or your partner. The search turned up some news stories about her abduction. The weird thing is, there was no mention of her return. How'd you get her back?"

Mulder looked out at the passing clouds. "I still don't know. She turned up in a D.C. hospital one day. She doesn't remember anything about what happened to her in the intervening months."

The other man shook his head. "That's bad. I have to admit, I was surprised she went back to active duty. I wouldn't have thought she'd want to, after that."

"She's strong," Mulder said, not quite believing it himself. "At least this time, she was kidnapped by someone we might be able to fight."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Findley asked, puzzled.

"Nothing, never mind. What's that?" he asked, pointing down.

Findley peered over his shoulder at a clearing far below. "Looks like an abandoned farm."

"Why is there a target painted on the roof of that outbuilding?"

Findley shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe the local cropduster needed a place to practice."

The black and white bull's-eye moved from sight as the chopper beat its way through the sky toward Birmingham. Findley settled back in his seat, and Mulder stared blankly out the window. He couldn't stop thinking about it. There was something bothersome about it, but he couldn't quite make the connection. He pushed it to the back of his mind to 'percolate' and went back to worrying about Scully. It was quite a while later when he was startled out of his reverie by John calling out from the front.

"This is it. We're coming up on it now."

Mulder looked down at the stadium below them. It was empty. Apparently they didn't believe in racing dogs on the Sabbath in Alabama, which would make the search far easier. He didn't hold out much hope that they'd actually find Scully and Malone here, but they might find something that would point them in the right direction. The chopper landed, and he ducked out of the craft before the big rotors above him stopped turning. As he moved away from the copter, he could hear barking and howling dogs, a lot of them. Clearly they didn't much care for the noise of the aircraft. He didn't blame them. An old man in a plaid shirt, jeans, and knee-high rubber boots came toward them from the row of kennels behind the track building. He looked righteously indignant.

"Here now, what ya'll doin', disturbin' the animals like this?" he demanded of Mulder, who happened to be the closest person to him.

Mulder flashed his badge. "We're with the FBI, sir. We need to look around the premises."

The man frowned. "What for? We take good care of our animals!"

"No sir, animal welfare is not within our purview. We're looking for two federal agents missing from the Atlanta area. We have reason to believe they may be being held here."

"Here?" Indignance changed to incredulity. "Son, I'd know if there were anyone here who don't belong. What makes y' think they're here?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't reveal that."

The man stared at him for a long moment, then he sighed. "Well, y'all can look around, just don't disturb the dogs more'n you have to. They gotta run tomorrow. I'll show you all the hidey-holes around the place if you like. There's quite a few."

"That would be very helpful. Thanks."

The old man set off toward the kennels, Mulder on his heels.

* * *

They'd looked in every nook and cranny the track and kennel had to offer, with no luck. Nothing, no sign of either Malone or Scully. No clues either. Nothing. Had Jack's note been a false lead? Had they just spent five hours meticulously searching the track for no reason at all? John was feeling incredibly dejected. He sat down on a bench with a sigh. Grace plopped down next to him, frowning irritably. As she did, Mulder emerged from the track office with Mr. Thurlow, the caretaker who'd been showing them around. They came over to where he sat, and John couldn't help but notice that Mulder looked about as down as John felt. He leaned back against the wall with a sigh.

"Nothing?" John queried, though he knew the answer from the look on Mulder's face.

"Nothing." Mulder confirmed. "Damn it, I know I'm right! He's got them somewhere that has something to do with dogs!"

"There's lotsa places 'round here that have to do with dogs, son. We ain't the only show in town." Thurlow said.

Mulder looked even more unhappy. "I was afraid of that."

"If you tell me why ya think your missin' folks was here, maybe I could help think of where they might be. I've worked lotsa tracks.."

Mulder looked at John, who shrugged. "Why not?"

"The kidnapper left a note on a racing form from this track. Both it and his previous note made several 'dog' type references."

"Whatsa 'dog type reference'?" Thurlow asked, frowning.

"He said one of the agents had been "bad" and that we'd have to "fetch" them. He also said that we were "chasing the wrong rabbit."

Thurlow nodded. "Yep, sounds like dogs to me, too. So, got somebody in the dog house, do ya?" he asked, grinning at his own joke.

"Dog house," Grace said, her voice strained.

John turned and stared at Grace, who had a peculiar expression on her face. "Dog house," she repeated. "Why is that so familiar?" She stood up. "George?" she yelled, turning in circles as she looked for him. "George, you around here?"

George poked his head around a corner. "Yeah, what?"

"You got your machine with you?"

"It's in the chopper, why?"

"Can you get into the Net from here?"

"If I can find a line to use, yeah. Is it important?"

"Maybe."

"Get it."

George nodded and ran for the helicopter. Mulder watched him go, then turned to Grace. "What have you got?"

"I'm not sure yet, I'll let you know." She turned to Thurlow. "We need a phone line he can use."

"Got a bunch of 'em in there," he nodded toward the office.

John worried that they'd all be the hard-wired kind, but fortunately they had a data line they used for credit card authorizations. He disconnected the device from it and had it ready when George returned with his laptop. It took him five minutes to set up and dial in, then he sat, fingers poised over the keys, looking expectantly at Grace.

"Ready when you are. What am I looking for?"

"The words 'dog house.'"

George lifted his eyebrows. "You're kidding, right?"

Grace shook her head. "No, I'm not. Do it."

George shrugged. "Okay, doin' it." He typed, and waited. After a moment he looked up. "I've got over a thousand returns on that. Got anything more specific I can use to narrow it down?"

"Try ASPCA." she said, scowling.

George typed, waited, his face changed. "Twenty-eight hits now."

"Anything local?"

"The top four."

"Pull up the first one."

He did. "It's a newspaper article from the Birmingham Constitution, dated November 6th, 1994." He started reading. "Authorities in Anniston today closed down a notorious puppy mill known locally as 'The Dog House'. The owners were charged with repeated violations of animal cruelty statutes." George looked up. "Is that what you were looking for?"

Grace's eyes lit up. "That's it! That's what I remembered. The dog house. Bailey's in the dog house. That's where they are."

Mulder was nodding. "She might just have it. It fits. It makes sense. Can we get a location on this place?"

George nodded, fingers flying. "I'm on it."

"Where's Sam and Nathan?" John asked, suddenly realizing their erstwhile leader was nowhere in sight. He walked out into the open. "Sam! Nathan?" he called. He felt a moment of relief when they both came running out of a hallway on the opposite side of the stands.

"We may have something!" he yelled across to them. Sam ran faster. He found himself watching the way her body moved as she ran, particularly her upper body, and realizing that, he felt a momentary pang of self-disgust. 'You're a dickweed, Grant.' he muttered under his breath. Fortunately Sam hadn't noticed. As she and Nathan stopped next to him, he gestured for them to go on into the office as he filled them in.

"Grace had an idea where they might be. A place called 'The Dog House' somewhere near Anniston. They're checking out the location now."

Nathan frowned. "What is it, a bar? A topless joint?"

John chuckled. "It does sound like it, doesn't it? No, it used to be a puppy mill."

Nathan looked confused. "How do you mill puppies?"

"A puppy mill is an illegal breeding operation," Sam explained. "The dogs are usually kept in very poor conditions and are often ill and malnourished. Anything on a location yet?" she asked, stepping into the office.

George looked up from his computer and shook his head, frustrated. "None of these stories give a location. There's a picture in one, but you can't tell a hell of a lot from it." He turned the computer around to show her.

She stared at it, the long, barren cages, the sagging shack, the rusting truck. It felt right. "That's it." she said, confirming Grace's hunch. "I'm sure that's it."

Mulder leaned over to study at the small display more closely. "I've seen that somewhere, recently."

George looked at it again. "It does look familiar," he agreed, looking up at Mulder.

Their eyes met. John saw the exact same expression flash across both their faces.

"The target!" Mulder exclaimed.

George nodded. "Sam, there was something on the last note besides the words, wasn't there. A symbol of some kind?"

"Yes, " she confirmed. "Some nested rings. I have no idea what it was supposed to be."

Mulder groaned. "God, we're morons. He painted a big fat target on the roof, and gave us a key on the second note so we couldn't possibly miss it, but we did anyway!"

"What target?" John asked, bewildered.

"We noticed it as we flew over. A big black and white target painted on the roof of a small building that looked a lot like that one right there." George pointed to the photo displayed on the screen. "Basically, he drew us a map."

Sam stared at the screen a moment longer. "We flew directly over it?" she asked.

George nodded, shutting down the computer. "It was right under our noses."

"Then we should be able to find it by backtracking on our flight path." She turned decisively. "Let's go. We've taken too long here, and Jack's not a very patient person."

* * *

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