((This is really a Thomas Crown Affair, 1999 version, fanfic. Failing an appropriate fanfic designation for that movie — - an oversight I'm working to correct - - I thought that a fan of Ian Fleming's writing and the movies that further tell his stories would appreciate the gritty, testosterone-heavy hero in mine. Michael McCann's not a suave, debonair Bond. Instead, he's a very real, very human cop who's seen too much and lives with it every day… He respects women, although they're a very real puzzle for him, and he respects anybody with half a fucking brain.))

The doorknocker sounded at Cami's apartment thirty minutes earlier than the usual fifteen minutes early.

Groaning to herself she checked out the monitor for the surveillance camera her father had installed in the hallway. Unobtrusively, of course, because the neighbors probably wouldn't have appreciated it. Although paranoia had proven time and again that the people coming to get you would wait until you opened your peephole and then pop your ass full of lead.

Not that there was anyone out to get her. And especially not in Washington Heights, NY. But old habits die hard and her dad had served too many years in companies listed as "Tactical Materials Support Group" on the books in D.C.

Like father, like daughter.

So the peephole was there for looks and the daughter now rolled her eyes at the image of the man waiting with some modified form of patience in the hallway.

"What do you want?" she asked as she snapped open the door. She hadn't unlatched the chain and Michael'd only heard one set of tumblers.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, distracted by the sight of black lace and straps and bare feet.

"None of your business," she ground out. "What are you doing here?"

"This isn't safe, you know," he told her, reaching out to finger the chain.

She rolled her eyes. Of course it wasn't safe. It was for show. The electronic locks with the silent keypad and remote tucked in her nightstand drawer were safe. This was for appearances sake.

She tuned back in since the man's mouth was moving.

"I thought I'd just stop by, check on you...you know."

"You're not my partner and you're not my LT and you're not my Captain," she began. The words became garbled as she shut the door and slid the chain free. "Thank you and go away," she told him when she opened the door.

"Okay. How 'bout this, then? Can I get you anything? Soup? OJ? Antidepressants?"

She was wearing a slip and nothing else. Her feet were bare on the polished wood floor of the entryway. The toes were painted a shimmery gold. Her skin was brushed with something else that glimmered and shone slightly in the dim light. It was all he could do not to run his finger along her shoulder and taste it to see if she really was too good to be true. That was what he was using to distract himself from the fact that the slip had some stretch to it and clung to the shapely waist and hips, just grazing her thighs. And higher - - dear sweet baby Jesus and all the saints and the good Lord above in heaven, that's the way women were supposed to be built - - the lace demi-cup bra she wore beneath the slip lifted and pushed and presented everything just so. It really wasn't fair.

"I'm fine, actually. Thanks. I have no lingering regret about shooting the guy. He deserved it. He deserved it the first time a uniform said 'police, open up.' He really deserved it when he turned around and took a shot at the guy following him out onto that fire escape. Then he really, really deserved it when he grabbed that kid and somebody else told him to drop it. When he looked twice at my car it had to end. You know how it goes."

McCann laughed. "I was the guy coming out of the window."

"Hmph. Well, you're welcome then."

She held the open door suggestively.

He ignored her and wandered into the living room. The apartment building was shoddy. The view was crappy. Her place was an oasis. With a wet bar that was probably teak and sporting liquor more comfortable on the top shelf in classy bars.

"Want a drink?" he asked as he picked up a bottle.

She gave up. "There's ice in the freezer. I have to finish getting ready."

McCann allowed for that and all its implications. And leaned backward to sneak a peek as she stepped down the hallway toward her bedroom.

Black silk was drawn up to cover the satin.

"You really are okay with taking down the perp?" he asked.

"Yup. He had ample opportunity to surrender under his own power and only chose to exacerbate the situation. Before it got too far out of control he needed to be dropped."

He wandered to her entertainment system. She had it all, of course. CDs. No tapes. No vinyl. He was a vinyl man himself. The disks didn't have the soul that records did. There was no romance in sliding a piece of plastic into a machine that was going to do all the work. Not like laying that thick black disk onto the turntable, setting it in motion and gently finessing the needle so that there was no rough, no scratch, only smooth like a salve for your soul.

"How'd you know you wouldn't hit the hostage?" he asked.

She stepped backward, in the act of fastening one earring into place, the heels she had on clicking and then stopping as she leaned back to look at him. The look in her eye said that there had only been one forgone conclusion. He shrugged.

"Why were you in a uniform?" she asked him as she moved into the bathroom.

She was already a sight. If she amped it up anymore he was going to embarrass himself in at least one of several ways. The dress was probably a simple black sheath on anybody else's body. The long legs had gone several inches longer with the aid of the sheer hose - - please, God, let it be stockings…maybe with garters? - - and the sexy heels. The neck that already begged for a man's teeth now competed with long, dangly twists of metal and stones.

"Um..." What had she asked Uniform. That was it. "I'd been in court, then the press conference. They like us to wear the black to shit like that until you hit a certain rank. And even then some. Then I got the call that Self was approaching the building. It didn't seem like much of a plan to change clothes before I met the team there. How'd you get in on it?"

"I was in the neighborhood when the 10-108 went out and called in."

"You had your gun?"

"I was on company time, yeah I had my gun."

She came out of the bathroom with the sides of her hair pulled back and up, leaving a thick mane of waves and loose curls sliding down the center of her back. She'd done something smoky around her eyes, something glistening and wet-looking to her mouth.

Yum.