Final Suspect
Written by TM Franklin and Sunny Ann.
Case #1
Behind the Cold
Thank you for beginning to read Final Suspect! Inspired by the crime drama NCIS that was created by Donald P. Bellisario and Don McGill, Final Suspect is a fictional story centered around Special Agent Grace T. Collie and her team members. Follow as you witness the drama, suspense, mystery, and tinge of romance that haunts this fictional story.
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(Note: No characters from NCIS (DiNozzo, Gibbs, Palmer, etc. etc.) will be used in this story whatsoever, neither will they have ever existed. All characters, plots, stories, and happenings in this story belong to Sunny Ann P. and I.)
Chapter One
The clouds were less than shy. Gray and black churned in the endless expanse of their cauldron; the sky. No spirit cursed the glowers they set upon the city below - no joy, grief, or fear, just a melting, curling fury that only strengthened as they lowered their own ranks to create an expanse of solid fog. This mist forced a curse to escape through a pair of thin lips residing in a grimace on a heart-shaped face.
"Shit." It was nearly an inaudible whisper, though even if it was more noticeable, it wouldn't have made any difference considering the factor of her being isolated in her vehicle at a standstill; movement hindered from the fenderbender just ahead of her. Pumping her fist coarsely into the steering wheel, her voice was fueled by the emotion whittling within her, an irritation so to speak, that her steering wheel's voice seemed to reflect. Even so, she remained mute, her canine gnawing at her chapped bottom lip. It was somewhat of a convenience when her phone went off with the sterile ring that it did when one was trying to get ahold ofher to speak.
The driver of the stalled vehicle fluently recieving the incoming call. Her mouth quirking in light amusement as she beared with the strained soprano voice on the other end. Catching the soft chuckle that purred in her slender throat, she replied gently, "I know, Rich, I know... Yes. I'll be there soon. Just a little traffic is all...Okay. There's an opening, I am moving again...Okay. Yes. I know...I'll apologize...See you in about ten minutes, Rich...M'kay, bye." The phone was soon tossed into the passenger's seat, screen blurred from being pressed against the moist face of the driver whom was now quite skillfully urging her quaint machine from it's tight pocket in the line before finally swerving to slide into a widened alley. Once through that she was met by the welcomed sight of an empty street.
Having finally bypassed the mild accident, the woman had been capable of metting the expectations of arriving in ten minutes time with some seconds to spare. Despite the look of triumph, one that one would be stunned to see fade, worry, anxiety, and frustration were a myriad within her stressed interior. It was not until she entered the bullpen and eyed her new team that she officially felt all joy plummet to the pit in her stomach when she saw the leer of the team leader.
Rushing forward, she stumbled to a stop in front of him, her dark blue eyes mustering up all the apology she could summon. "Agent Chance, I'm so-"
"Save it, Probie." Ice. While it was a heated structure, it felt as though all of NCIS headquarters ravaged into an embodiment of the shifting winter in Alaska. Reeling around, Agent Chance face the woman, his dark brown eyes narrowed in smoldering lividity. "Do you understand that to be a Special Agent of NCIS means that you have to be punctual? Do you comprehend that your...laxity took away a single force of our manpower? That means you held us back!" The man towered over the smaller woman, his stature a luminous dark force compared to her slim, femimine frame. "Is that understood, Probationary Agent Collie?"
She had shifted back, her eyes widening as the lead agent scorned her beneath his dark gaze, venting off on how she screwed up. But even with his sneer, Collie understood this technique of psyching out the newcomer. While the new agent has taken two steps back, she still squared her shoulders, the blood of military peering through her shock. In a bold move, she caught him in the eyes and murmured, "I understand perfectly, Special Agent Chance. I will be sure not to make the same mistake." For a few moments, she did hold that stare for a few moments - blue against brown. But in the end she ultimately had to stand down from the challenge, and turned heel to face the desk that was once behind her.
The woman could practically see the light smirk playing the man's lips and causing like wrinkles to escape from the corners of his eyes. Chance's husky voice had now lowered to a more amused state, and steadily he proceeded to explain. "You are now working as a try-out for Team Chance. Here you will be working with Special Agent Theresa Bass and Special Agent Logan Caine; Both of which are absent gathering evidence from our FS and ME. You, Grace, will be working under my command. Therefore, you follow my orders and my rules. Is that understood?"
"Crystal."
Chance dismissed the blunt tone with a single roll of his strong eyes before regaining his usual aloof composure. "Yesterday we were bestowed with two dead bodies. One an enlisted and one officer. Both were resided in the Navy. Meet Petty Officer David Jones and Captain Maureen Kostova." His fingers played expertly with a remote, revealing two pictures (obviously for records) on the electronic screen placed between Grace's desk and Chance's. "While Maureen died of a quick little nick to the throat, David had inevitably taken the tougher way out and suffered multiple broken ribs, a bleeding spleen, and stab wound to his femoral artery."
As he drilled on about the details of the case, Grace observed as the pictures of smiling Navy personnel altered to be corpses sprawled on an obviously algid asphault alley and enveloped in rancid trash. Maureen had been placed in an almost tender fashion against a building's exterior wall, her hands clasped naturally on her lap and face tilted forward in a slight way to make it appear like she was slumbering if an uneducated eye was examining it.
David was a different story. He lay twisted in a horrific fashion. Legs spread apart as though he had fallen in death, his left arm wrenched behind his head while his right was curled behind his back; torso sprawled over it. Dark patches of blue and yellow scored his face, contorting the lifeless expression into one of swollen terror and urging Grace to tap a slender hand to her throat gently.
Chance was regarding her coolly as she lost herself in going over the photos of the scene. It was apparent she was inexperienced with seeing dead figures due to the empathetic gesture she made to her throat and the subtle trembling her eyes. There was a term that fishermen, like his father, would use when in the presence of a someone new to the profession: 'Greenhorn'. Yes, she was definitely a greenhorn, yet unlike many, she showed promise with the way she held herself; straight, determined, and confident, even if she was a bit on the timid, shy side. But so were all good agents when they first start out.
The graying man blinked when he heard her speak again, a bit taken abacked to find that she had very swiftly shifted to her computer and was allowed her fingertips to skim the keys elegantly, "Based on the marks of his face, he was beaten. But there is a pattern to how he was pummeled." Gesturing to the remote still plaintively in Chance's hand, Grace continued as the information she gathered was tugged onto the screen. "While anyone could easily just punch someone, the bruises on his face seem direct - targeted. Knowing that, we could easil discern that the attacker knew how to punch specifically, meaning that they are proba-"
"Probably in on some fighting training."
Despite being interrupted, Grace relieved a smile from her slim features before continuing on in her quiet pitch, "And it would most likely be a boxer. But not just any boxer - an outside-fighter." Flicking towards him, she almost released a chuckle at the perplexed expression in her boss's face. "Well. You see, boss, when I took some boxing classes in highschool, I learned about the different kinds of fighters in the ring. The Outside-fighter was one of them. When in a match the outside fighter will try to keep a good amount of distance between himself and the opponent. That means they have to rely on weaker blows, not the hooks and uppercuts. Judged by these bruises, none of these look like it could've been a knockout blow - they are too...Well...Soft."
"Maybe that's why he stabbed the guy." A new voice made an incursion onto the deductions, evenly and smoothly, yet enough to cause the green Grace to start. "Captain having some fun behind the bar, Petty Officer comes out, sees the advances, misinterprets them, and bam, guy starts punching him. David fights back, gets stabbed. The dude falls, and is then kicked repeatedly before being stabbed in the leg."
Grace's blue eyes began to wander, skimming over her surroundings before finally falling onto a tall, but not lanky, form. The new man was clothed in a dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows to let pale, naked arms touch the light. The hem on the bottom tucked in neatly to the black slacks be adorned on his long, slender legs. Upon inspection, Grace considered that he was attractive, but a sort of detachment that radiated from the stranger lured her eyes away, leaving her tense and leering at the screen. Once he continued she felt a bit more awkward and isolated, her mouth clammed shut from the intrusion and leaving her unsure as to how to continue.
"Maybe Captain was killed because the man didn't want her callin' the cops and bam. Both dead."
With a bemused grin touching his weather-worn features, Chance hitched his shoulders in a shrug, arms crossing over themselves as his hand waved lazily at the nearby, yet somehow distant, figure pressed against the farthest off desk in a casual lean.
"Special Agent Collie, I welcome you to meet Special Agent Caine."