Title: No Easy Way Out

Author: Ardeth Saunders

Rating: M for language, violence, and sexual situations.

Summary: Frank Donovan leaves the UC team in Chicago after a nasty divorce and begins a new career with a serial killer task force in Miami, Florida.

Genre: Suspense, drama, and romance.

Disclaimer: UC: Undercover belongs to the writers, creators, etc., of NBC. I do not own the character of Frank Donovan, I am only borrowing him for a few minutes. All other characters, the plot, and themes belong solely to the twisted imagination of the author. Please do not use any original concept without the express permission of the author.

A/N: Some areas in Florida do not exist. The towns of Springville and Brandonville do not exist as far as the author is aware. There is no such resort as Favron. All other locations such as Chicago or Miami exist, but the author is unaware if Miami actually has a Spicer Avenue.

Chapter 1

He stood over his latest victim. Up until four hours ago, she had been a model. Her chosen stage name was Aspen Greene. A slight bit pretentious, he thought, but since when were models not like that? He had made it a point to check into her background and he could understand why she chose such a goofy Hollywood name. Before the term 'super model' entered her vocabulary, she answered to the name Patsy Sue Greer. She didn't look like a Patsy. Tall, leggy, and busty with long black hair, Aspen actually fit her better. Still, her runway name made him want to gag. He glanced over at his partner. She had helped him dupe the girl. She didn't participate in any of the killings, but she surely liked to watch. He caught a gleam in her eye that usually precluded a wild night of sex. Before that, they had to prep the body, clean the crime scene, and hot foot it out of there.

Jack Ashcroft had been in the FBI since finishing law school. Currently, at thirty-seven, he had put in a fair amount of time. Ashcroft had worked dozens upon dozens of cases, so little could disturb him, to shake him to his very core. Today was bound to wreak him. He thought it was a good time to call upon some help. There was a serial killer working in Ashcroft's midst, within his entire goddamned sector for Christ's sake.

In so many weeks, bodies had shown up with peculiar things done to them. One was found with her hair shaven off her head, her locks placed almost lovingly into a gift box. Another was brutally raped. She had one finger missing from her left hand. Ashcroft later learned she was married and had a reputation of jumping from one illicit lover to the next. Two other bodies were found together at the same crime scene. If all assumptions were correct, they had also died together. Like the other victims, these two were also missing part of their anatomies. One ear had been carved off each of their heads. The killer had been dubbed The Souvenir Killer or TSK for short.

After being called to yet another TSK crime scene, Ashcroft did not know what to expect. Gathered neatly around the body, a local CSI unit worked diligently at collecting evidence, bagging the victim's hands, etc. Although all the crime scenes were disturbing, this somehow was worse. The victim seemed quite familiar to him. His heart locked up almost instantaneously. There was no mistaking the dark hair, so like his lover's. However, this once vibrant young woman was nothing more than a pitiful caricature of her former self. The killer had shaven off half her hair, taken her left hand ring finger, as well as an ear and an eye. This was pure TSK. Ashcroft had no clue as to why anyone would want to purposely hurt another human being. But this was so much more cruel.

His watch chirped at him noisily, distracting and annoying him at the same time. He was expected at a meeting in fifteen minutes with another FBI office, one associated with his good friend and colleague, Frank Donovan.

It had been a number of months since he had even seen Donovan. He was a member of an organized group of undercover agents or UCs that took the hardest of the hard cases. However, he was no longer based in Chicago and his elite UC squad had begun to dwindle. One of the UCs, Jake Shaw, had left to become a priest after the loss of his lover, another UC named Alex Cross. Her life had come to an unexpectedly tragic end. After discovering her pregnancy, she was diagnosed with cancer within days. She lost the pregnancy one week. Six weeks later, she succumbed to the disease eating away at her. Donovan was left with Cody Forrester and Monica Davis, but they departed soon after to pursue careers in different parts of the country. Donovan worked solely in conjunction with the Serial Killer Task Force. His brilliant mind was suited for the work. Their base of operations was in Miami, Florida. Ashcroft was sure it had been a rough transition, but at least Donovan seemed happier. Before the big move, Donovan's seventeen year marriage ended in divorce. Donovan had twin teenage sons who were studying abroad. Ashcroft would be happy to see his old friend again, but he wished it was under different circumstances.

It was another day, another task force morning meeting. Donovan and the junior members of the TSK task force gathered in the conference room. He looked around at those part of his 'new' team. It almost seemed wrong not to see Jake, Alex, Cody, and Monica. He heard from Cody and Monica frequently, but since Jake had given his life to God, he felt awkward and uneasy speaking to Donovan.

In Miami, Donovan had decided to work undercover himself, something he had done very rarely in Chicago. Before that could happen, however, lots of things had to change regarding his appearance. His hair had grown long, almost past his shoulders. The goatee he kept, but the gray had to go. His salt and pepper hair had given way to jet black. While at the office, he was required to wear his long locks tied back. It had been hard getting accustomed to it again. It had been several years since it had been like this.

He looked up as one last member of the squad entered. Lily Wells had only recently completed her doctorate in foreign languages and another in criminal justice. She came to the FBI from a local university where she had just begun teaching. Donovan hadn't known much about her when she was hired, just that she was clumsy, disorganized, but also sharp. He also found out that she was socially acquainted with his best friend, Jack Ashcroft, whom they were expecting at any time.

Although the newest face, Lily Wells was completely focused on her work. She could have had her choice of assignments, but the moment she was offered the chance to work with Frank Donovan, she couldn't say no. He was complicated, stiff, and demanding, but it was what he needed to be.

Lily thumped her heavy notebook onto the conference table. Her cheeks turned pink when several pieces of paper slid out, littering the pristine surface. She saw that Donovan had barely noticed her rather noisy entrance. He was focused on another plane of thought. She had been told that Donovan went into a zone before a serious case briefing. Today was no exception. He had two sides to his personality. Away from the office, he was an average every day type of man. He enjoyed social gatherings, often smiling. At work, he was all business. Despite his demeanor here, everyone could see he missed his sons terribly.

Donovan glanced at his watch. He was within minutes of grabbing his cell to find out what was holding up Ashcroft. Before he had the chance to do it, the double doors to the conference room swung open. Ashcroft sauntered into the room. At work, he was a staunch professional. So instead of bear hugging Donovan, he simply shook his hand. Also, Ashcroft figured it might appear rather strange to see two men hugging each other.

Ashcroft took a seat without being invited. He immediately reached for the water pitcher and poured himself a big glass. He knew he would need it. All of them had a lot of talking to do.

Rachel Sloane, an up and coming entertainment attorney, was irritated to her core. Her client and friend, Aspen Greene, was due in court today to testify on her own behalf. She was being sued for breach of contract with a company that hired her to be their new spokes model. Two days into the contract, Aspen walked. Rachel discovered that there was a huge loophole which would save Aspen's skinny ass. Rachel had told her repeatedly that it was imperative for her to be on time. Her testimony was needed so that Rachel could lasso in that loophole. She had tried Aspen's number dozens of times. Each number she dialed led to a voice mail or messaging service. If she wasn't strapped for time, she would have gone over to her apartment. As it was, she would barely have enough time to dig out her paperwork to present to court. She stood and tried to make up a creative excuse as to why Aspen wasn't on time.

Next time I see you, I'm going to kick your ass, Rachel thought. Later, she would eat those words. But for now, she had to go into a crowded court room and tell a cranky judge that her client could not be reached. What she wouldn't give for one of Jack's wisecracks right now. It would certainly ease her mind.

Donovan turned in his swivel chair to give Ashcroft room to brief them. He again couldn't help but think of his Chicago days, when it would be Monica or Cody giving them information. He told himself a thousand times to push that out of his mind. It was the past. This was his future, whether he liked it or not. He listened raptly as Ashcroft gave a synopsis of each murder. The longer he spoke, the more disturbing the details. It was something Donovan thought he might read in a book or see at a movie. It was odd how the killer chose almost high profile victims. Most serial murderers took the low road. Their victims were often faceless, nameless people. There were often patterns, of course, but it was why serial murderers were described as 'perfect strangers.' It made little sense the longer he listened to Ashcroft speak. It wasn't one of the most difficult cases they had ever faced, but it was close.

He watched as Lily took notes like a woman possessed. She had brought along a small laptop. She was one of those people who could type without disturbing the rest of the crew. Most people pounded on the keys of their machines as if they wanted to kill them. He gazed at her for a moment, realizing that she was odd man out. She might present a UC victim, if they found a solid pattern or developed a lead as to who was committing these murders.

While thinking that, he carefully examined the photos of the victims and noticed that they had a couple of similarities: long hair and perfectly manicured nails. Two of the victims were hopeful actresses. Another was on her way to becoming a supermodel. After that, though, the pattern broke off. One victim had just begun medical school. She was beautiful, long haired, and had perfect nails like the others, but she seemed to have no desire to join the world of fashion or any other type of wild life. Yet another was an English major with hopes of teaching high school some day. What was it that connected them to the others? There had to be something else, and he knew it was their job to figure it out.

Photo after photo was passed amongst them, along with a prospectus Ashcroft had prepared. He had invented thorough. Donovan skimmed the pages, taking mental notes here and there. Another feature stood out. They were all under the age of twenty-five, with the latest victim having just turned that age. He glanced at Lily again. She was Ashcroft's age, but could pass for ten years younger. Her hair was cropped short, but a wig could cure that.

"Next," Ashcroft said, "is our plan of action. Any suggestions?"

Donovan didn't wait for someone else to speak before he opened his mouth. "What do we do know about most of the victims?" When no one provided an answer, he continued, "Other than two students, most of them had an active night life. We can start by canvassing the area clubs the victims were known to visit."

Although he didn't say so immediately, Donovan had another 'eye in the sky,' so to speak. He was relatively friendly with a drug task force agent. They each shared information supplied by informants on various cases. If their perp was involved with any type of drug, he could provide a list of names to start with. It was the most logical way to go at this time. Serial murderers had been known to be involved with drugs or they used them to subdue their victims. Someone would have seen something somewhere. Miami was a large city, but it was also filled with snitches willing to do anything for less jail time. All they had left to do was decide who would be going where and as whom. Ah the beautiful life of an undercover agent.

Frank Donovan came prepared for his kick boxing lesson. He had seen his wife give birth, and he often wondered if this actually equated it. His trainer, Dylan Kramer, was no more than five feet five inches tall, but his body was corded with muscle. He was stout, fast, and had beaten Donovan's ass numerous times. In his mid-thirties, he had been a drug task force agent for ten years. He was slightly unorthodox in his appearance. His hair was shaven into a strange Mohawk, but it was long, well past his shoulders. He normally kept it braided into a pony tail, or at times in two pig tails. Other than his face or neck, he was covered in tattoos.

Here, Donovan was known only as Dominick. Almost constantly undercover, Dylan used his side business as a front to extract information. He was seen on the streets often enough not to raise suspicion. Every week, he actually held kick boxing events where many cops and criminals attended, often sitting side by side. With his knowledge of the street, the number of people he saw per day, Donovan would have easily trusted Dylan with his life.

After their sparring match, Donovan felt every year of his age. He could see that Dylan was bouncing and ready to go again. For a moment, he truly begrudged his friend. The two men showered and met at a bar next door. They ordered beers they knew they wouldn't touch. For a long time, they didn't speak about much that didn't have to do with Dylan's business or Dominick's side job of scoring dope. The banter went on for several moments before the two men felt comfortable enough to exchange the information they came for.

"Down here, Dom," Dylan began, "We don't see many supermodels."

Donovan met that comment with a sardonic smile. "No, I don't imagine you do. I figure you see some college kids, right? Making bets, maybe?"

Dylan fiddled with his beer and stared down at the pretzels set between them. He thought about eating a few, but then remembered how few people wash their hands after trips to the bathroom. Nine kinds of diseases awaited him in that bowl. "Sure, there's plenty of that going on. There are some chicks who come with their boyfriends. Most of them are frat guys."

"Do they ever scam you for dope," Donovan finally asked. It was the question burning to get out of him.

"Of course. They see the arena, the people, the guys who want to fight. One of your girls was a med student, wasn't she?"

Donovan's heart raced. As far as he knew, that specific piece of information hadn't been released yet. She was murdered before Aspen Greene. Her death overshadowed them all. "What if I said you were right?"

Dylan laughed. "Hard core all the way, huh? I'm not saying it was your girl, but there was one here a couple of weeks ago. She had a frat boy date, but I don't remember seeing her leave with him. She mainly hung out with another girl, who was tall, thin, and had long red hair. Honestly, it looked like she had on a wig."

Donovan's brow creased. The med student hung out with another girl wearing a wig. He rolled the information over and over in his brain. It disturbed him, but he couldn't put his finger on why. She wore a wig. Big deal. Many women wore them. "Do you think she knew the other girl?"

Dylan laughed before shaking his head. "I know what was churning inside your head, man." He shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not sure about that one. They appeared familiar with each other, if that helps. What doesn't help is the fact that I can't tell you with certainty that she left with her, either. It was crazy here."

Donovan was disappointed, but wouldn't say so. Dylan's information led to what he needed at least nine out of ten times. The strange thing about these cases was that if females were involved with the crimes, they had ways of fitting in with other women without raising eyebrows. Dylan was sharp, but even he could miss something as subtle as that. He spent several moments going through different scenarios before deciding that further work needed to be done. He was almost ready to make a call to Lily.

"Yeah, I know how crazy it can get," Donovan said with a sardonic smile. "You know the drill, though. If you think you see her, put your speed dial to good use."

Dylan graced him with a brilliant smile. A cocky one. "You know it, dog."

Later, Donovan went back to the office, quickly shedding his "Dominick" persona, tying back his hair, and jumping into acceptable office attire. Bypassing the receptionist with her fistful of messages, he sauntered toward the group of offices that served the task force. Ashcroft was missing, likely following up on any leads he found, but Lily was in. She sat behind her desk, crazily typing away at her laptop. He often wondered how much work she was actually doing on that thing. From the way she stayed on it, it seemed as if she might be writing a novel.

At first, she didn't acknowledge Donovan's presence. She kept tapping away at her keyboard, stopping only long enough to correct any typing errors, or to scrutinize what she had written. It was amusing watching her, her brow creased studiously. He could probably watch this all day long. Alas, there was really no time for this. They had a case to work, but each of them took breaks any time they had the chance, even if it was to watch a junior agent at her laptop.

"Sorry to ignore you, Frank," she said, not taking her eyes from the screen once. "I'm typing up the case briefing from earlier. Jack asked for it. How did you do today?"

She spoke her words while studiously typing her project. For Ashcroft? Why would he ask another agent to type up their notes? Didn't they have a secretary for that? Donovan thought her talents would be wasted away like that. A juvenile thought crept into his mind. Perhaps our little Lily has a crush on Ashcroft? He opened his mouth to respond, but snapped it shut when he saw her looking at him over the top of her screen.

"I know what you're thinking," she said simply.

Oh, shit. "You do," he asked smiling, gulping only a little.

"Yes. Jack not only asked about the case briefing notes, but also wanted me to put my own spin on it. In other words, Agent Donovan, I'm including a profile of the perp," she said smartly, without malice. "I know what you're thinking," she repeated. "If we were still in high school, it might be cute."

Donovan held up his hands. "Please, accept my apologies, Lily." Without waiting for an invitation to do so, he sat in one of the chairs parked closest to her desk. They were the most uncomfortable chairs ever created. What office chairs weren't that way? He sometimes wondered if they were made to be that way, to keep everyone up and out of their offices. "I wanted to discuss something with you before Ashcroft gets back."

Primly, she shut her laptop and focused her eyes on him. They were a deep blue, the color of sapphires. Soulfully, she studied his face. "It must be something important if you don't want Jack in on it."

He smiled at her, matching her smirk. He wanted to remind her that she was the one who had brought up high school behavior. "I didn't say I didn't want him in on it, Lily. I simply wanted to ensure you were willing to do what I'm about to ask."

She slid her laptop aside and folded her arms, almost draping them across the surface of her small desk. "Oh, now I'm intrigued. Do tell."

"I have an informant who mentioned that one of our victims frequented a bar with a friend near his business. He said they hung out there for a while and laid down some bets on a couple of boxing matches," he began.

He tried to read Lily, but she wasn't exactly receptive. Any time a person crossed their arms before them, it meant they weren't going to be cooperative or open to any new suggestions or ideas. Lily wasn't one he usually interrogated, but it would involve some danger. It meant the possibility of injury or death.

"I'm listening, Frank. Go on."

Donovan nodded and cleared his throat. Lily had caught him off guard. "I want you to decoy for us."

She nodded. "Okay." Without warning, she slid back from her desk and stood up. "Am I to be myself or are we going to create a nice character for me to play? I did some theatre in college."

She ended her last statement with a flirty bat of her eyelashes. It took Donovan aback. Perhaps he was hasty in making the decision to approach Lily. Did she think this was something to mock? He stood up as well. Facing her, he said, "Lily, I think you're taking this opportunity lightly. There is nothing light about this case. I hope you understand that."

She didn't appear to feel admonished. She walked around her desk, drawing herself closer to Donovan. "I understand, Frank. I'm not trying to make light of it. I expected that you would ask this of me. I'm in if Jack is."

"As soon as Ashcroft comes back, we'll meet with him and see where to go from here. We need to draw out the perp, and it seems he will only respond to female decoys."

"I know, but we need Jack's approval. We are, after all, a team."

We are, after all, a team. Those words haunted him, drove into his brain like a pneumatic drill. True, they were a team, but not like the one he had in the past. When he left Chicago, he didn't want to go back to that mold. It still hurt, even after all this time. Without another word to Lily, Donovan turned away to the comfort and solace of his own office.

While Donovan and Lily were discussing her role in the new investigation, Ashcroft was in the midst of his own mission. He knew Aspen Greene was one of his lover's best friends. At this time, he didn't think she knew about her death yet. He wanted to be the one to tell her. He didn't want her to see it on the TV or hear about it on the radio. She had had court earlier this morning and he was not able to reach her up until a few minutes ago. He asked her to meet him at home and instructed her not to turn on the TV or radio until he spoke to her. The tone of his voice gave her enough cause to follow his instructions to the letter. Ashcroft was a good man to her, he loved her, and was a caring partner. Any time he asked her to do something of this caliber, she always followed through. Rachel Sloane was a good woman, and she deserved to be treated as such.

When Ashcroft eased his car into the driveway, he saw that Rachel's sensible hybrid was already parked neatly in her own slot. He put his vehicle in park and killed the engine. He waited for a minute before going inside. He dreaded this conversation, and yes, he was being a coward. He had faced all types of killers since joining the Bureau, had even had more than one life threatening injury. However, the task of telling Rachel that her friend had been brutally murdered scared him more than anything he had ever faced as an agent.

After waiting another minute or two, Ashcroft dragged his sorry ass out of his car and walked slowly to the front door. When he turned the knob, he was pleased that she had left it unlocked. Rachel might be a good woman, but she was a paranoid one as well. She never left a door unlocked, even if she was expecting him home at any minute. Today, though, she did. It made him wonder if she had a premonition of things to come. In a way, he hoped she had. He was scared. This was something he didn't want to tell her, even if he became angry if someone else did. He would gladly hand this duty over to the first person who wanted it.

As he entered the foyer, he could see a partial view of the living room. On one side of the hallway leading into the living room was a wall of portraits. Since Rachel was an entertainment lawyer, she kept a pictorial tribute to those who became her friends. There were several portraits gracing that wall. Of course, one of them depicted Aspen and Rachel together. Rachel had a good eye, and these were arranged almost ornately, if that was possible. He slid past the smiling faces of Aspen and Rachel to move further into the room. That was when he saw her.

Rachel sat in her favorite chair, one a man might salivate over. It was a huge overstuffed recliner made of leather that she refused to allow anyone to sit in, even guests. It was odd how attached she was to this item, but perhaps she liked it because it offered her comfort after a long day of defending spoiled celebrities. His heart lurched when he realized she was on her phone. Rachel was a true Blackberry [tm] nut. He completely forgot to tell her to stay off the phone as well. It wouldn't take long for her to find out that Aspen was no longer alive. After an intense moment of gazing at her, he realized she still didn't know about Aspen. Whatever she was reading or looking at, she was smiling. Rachel had two sisters. One lived in Salt Lake City who was a bit of a drama queen. Her other was in Omaha. The sister in Omaha had just had a baby. Perhaps she was looking at pictures of her new niece. If she was speaking to the other sibling, she surely wouldn't be smiling.

She finally noticed Ashcroft was in the room with her. With a smile, she set her phone aside and stood to greet him. Holding her, kissing her, felt like a lie. This wasn't another ordinary day or a mid-morning session of lovemaking. One more kiss to her forehead and he had to tell her. After another long embrace, he moved away from her to begin the process of telling her that Aspen was dead.

Before he had the chance to open his mouth, she groaned irritably and said, "The next time I see Aspen, I'm going to kill her. You won't believe what she did to me today."

Ashcroft swallowed a lump in his throat. "Baby, I know why Aspen ditched you today," he began.

She studied him for a moment. "Is that right? Did you see her today? She didn't have the common decency to even call…"

He didn't allow her to finish her thought. "Rachel, Aspen is dead."

It sounded harsh and cruel, but it was the only way to get it through to her as angry as she was. Her irritation crumbled from her face. Almost instantly, tears welled up in her eyes. Rachel did the expected. She balled up her fist, and punched his chest. The blow wasn't meant to be hurtful, only punishing. Beating the bearer of bad news, perhaps.

"You bastard," she cried. "You tell me like that?" She remembered uttering those same words to another man years ago.

She went to her chair and collapsed into it. He knew she wasn't truly angry at him, but at herself for stating that she was going to kill her friend. Slowly, he approached where she sat to kneel before her. Gently, he touched her leg. "I'm sorry, baby. But I had to get it through to you. I know how close you were to her, and I had no idea how to tell you."

She took her hands away from her face. Her dark blue eyes shone with tears that were yet not shed. At that moment, he thought that her eyes were like Lily's. It was an odd thought, but one that he couldn't chase out of his mind.

Rachel's make up was slightly mussed, but she didn't appear to care. She wiped beneath her eyes, smearing it more. Her already full lips were even puffier. When she cried or was stressed, she tended to bite them. She looked down into his handsome, earnest face. His dark brown eyes were focused on her face, nothing else. She loved that about him. He could calm her with one look. "How long have you known?"

"For a while," he said, answering simply.

She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her left hand. "How did it happen, Jack? If you're involved, I know it's bad," she whispered. Her voice had a husky tint to it normally, but when she cried, it was more pronounced.

Should I tell her? Does she truly want to know? Rachel wasn't a stupid woman. She knew what he did. He told her about many things. She was one of his closest confidantes. But this time, the crime in question had to do with one of her friends. "It's bad," he finally admitted.

A grim, horrid smile crossed her face and then she shook her head. "Jack, don't tell me it was that…guy…that souvenir fuck?"

He placed his hand on her knee and began to caress it, moving up toward her thigh before going back down again. "I wish I didn't have to, but it was. Aspen was…"

Rachel grasped his hand, held it tightly. "I don't want to hear the details."

When she began to move, he moved back slightly. He thought she wanted to stand, but soon he realized she only wanted to crumble against him. He held her shaking body for hours, trying to calm her fears, trying to calm his own.