JACK REACHER: DARK EYES
CSI: NY/JACK REACHER CROSSOVER
Minor spoilers for Tripwire, Killing Floor and One Shot.
Plus, virtual cookies if you recognise the name
McAuliffe and the CIA from another book (the niece's uncle is meant to be Jack McAuliffe, who by then is DD/O and has considerable influence).


"Name?"

"Jack Reacher."

And Mac Taylor looked up. He had already been looking at Reacher before, but suddenly he was more alert. Next to him, Don Flack fiddled with a paper clip.

"Occupation? Place of residence?"

"No middle name, no address and no job."

"Where do you come from?"

"Nowhere."

Taylor watched him with dark eyes. "Where were you born?" Flack was watching too now, head tilted in interest.

"On a US Army base in West Berlin."

Mac Taylor's face twitched in what may have been a smile. He was military, Reacher decided. Definitely military. About the other cop, Reacher had no idea. He'd said nothing since they'd lead him in. Taylor was the boss and he was most likely Army.

"What did you used to do?" And Taylor knew. He knew Reacher was ex-military, just as Reacher knew that Taylor was.

"I was in the US Army police."

Taylor smiled. "Rank?"

"Major."

"Honerable discharge?"

"Yes." What rank was Taylor? He was an average to high achiever, steady going. Captain, Major, Lieutenant Colonel?

"I was a Major in the Marine Corps." Mac Taylor smiled properly this time and Flack sat up, glancing between them. "I knew about you," Taylor said. "You won the Invitational [1000 Yard competition] and you weren't even a Marine."

"Yes."

Flack looked mystified now.

Taylor grinned (sharkishly) and changed tack. "What can you tell us about Rose McAuliffe?"

"Nothing. I didn't even know that was her name."

"Okay." Taylor shuffled the papers. "She was twenty two and a university student." – was – "As far as we can tell, the perp got away, correct?"

"Yes."

"Please, just tell us, or at least me," a wry glance at Taylor, "what exactly happened." Flak said.

"I was walking down the street. Looked like a mugging. Went for the man, but he had stabbed the girl already and he ran away." (In short, Reacher had failed.) "I tried to staunch the bleeding, but it didn't work." He gestured at his lack of a shirt.

Flack clicked his pen. "Describe the perp...please."

"Five five, five six. Caucasian. Brown hair, dark eyes. He had a black eye, right eye. Navy blue jacket, jeans, brown boots."

Flack finished writing it down, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth and looked up. "Didn't catch the eye colour?" he said.

"No. Just dark eyes."

"Alright." He clicked his pen and looked pleased with himself. "Your story seems to check out with the CCTV, but we have to do a lotta hoop jumping. She was the niece of a government big wig with buddies in Washington."

CIA or FBI, Reacher guessed. If it was something boring, like the DMV [Department of Motor Vehicles], they would have said so. But it's an invisible guy with lots of power in Washington, but not actually there himself, so he's probably some kind of spook.

"We'll get this checked out, but we'll have to take you back to your cell now, mister Reacher." Taylor again, Taylor's the one in charge, the ex-Marine.

Reacher followed, cuffed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A few hours later, the bolt shunts back with a clunk and (Major) Taylor said, "You're free to go now."

He signed his witness statement with Taylor and Flack watching him.

"We caught the guy," Flack said, "you'll probably hear about it on the news." Something like this would only be on the local news and Reacher didn't plan on being around long enough to hear the local news. Virginia sounded nice this time of year. Richmond, Roanoke, Charlottesville perhaps. It didn't matter. He had nothing more to do here, nothing more he could do. Plus, he'd seen enough of New York now, been here with Jodie already.

He wanted to get out, wash his hands. They had let him do that once already, before questioning, but he could feel blood under his fingernails. Get away from the city and the local cop and the ex-Marine.

As he turned to go, Taylor said, "I knew your father."

Reacher turned.

"He was a good man, he was my CO [Commanding Officer] for a bit. Heard about your mother too, down the grape vine. And I'm sorry for your loss." He held out a hand. Flack had disappeared somewhere.

Reacher hesitated and then shook. He could feel the other man's gun callouses. Mac Taylor looked him squarely in the eye. He let go of Reacher's hand and then did a stiff salute. "Major," he said.

I haven't been in the Army for a long time, Reacher wanted to say, but he remembered his father talking about a Taylor once; an earnest soldier, a quiet patriot and a good man.

Reacher saluted him back. "Detective Taylor." He said and then walked away (from the girl he could not save and a man – one of the many men – who had hero-worshipped his father).

He needed a new shirt. The old one was stained with Rose McAuliffe's blood.


I have changed my pen name from LylaOfTheStorm to Maywynn.

A/N: I did consider calling this Jack Reacher: Oneshots (like a play on words with One Shot the book), but I think this is just a stand alone. Although, admittedly, I would like to see how Patrick Jane (in The Mentalist) would react to him.

My reasoning behind Jack Reacher being upset about this is that he has a kind of arrogance about him (Lee Child even says this in an intro to Killing Floor) – he thinks that if he interferes, then everything will go his way, or at least, work out in the end. And as a rule, it does. And people only die if they're already dead and/or he's not there (OR Reacher kills them). Then, the NYPD catch the killer/mugger, so Reacher has nothing left in the city to do. Plus, he was there with Jodie (in Tripwire), so he's kind of uneasy. Also, he calls her a "girl" (she's twenty two), so he sees her as something kind of innocent. He's upset, but he'll get over it.

I've fudged the timelines to make Taylor know Reacher's dad. Whine if you must. Flack is just there for comedic effect. Plus, I lurve Flack.

On another note, I wrote this whole thing whilst listening to Mumford and Sons' Thistle and Weeds and The Cave (both on repeat). Which may explain why it's kinda depressing. Hope it's not too OOC.