A/N 1: Thank you so very much for the beta Krazyhippo66- this would have been a train wreck without your guidance and goodhearted patience.
A/N 2: I'm very aware that this might be a bit long for a chapter, but its just to get a feel for the characters before I start making them wish someone else was responsible for the things they're about to encounter. Oh, and this is reduntant: Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro, TNT etc. you know the drill. They own, live and breathe these characters and get money for it. Not me.
"Keep the streets empty for me"
Jane Rizzoli had reached a point where she didn't even bother checking if her legs were still attached to the rest of her body. She was too tired to be her usual paranoid self and sweep her apartment for intruders, and she was most certainly too tired to think of anything else but what her wonderful bed would feel like underneath her.
This had definitely been one of those days. You know, the ones people think back on when they're having a competition about who had the worst day of their existence and they're competing about the last brownie on the tray. Well, one thing was for sure, Jane definitely had that brownie in the bag. Either way though, Jane just wanted desperately to lose herself in the mattress that was no more than 34 centimeters away. She would even hand out brownies to people if it meant someone responsible for her catholic upbringing would remind her body how the usage of feet was supposed to work.
Officer Jane Rizzoli was pretty sure the whole neighborhood could hear the sigh of relief that washed over her when her now completely unruly hair hit the soft comfort of her pillow. A pillowcase that probably should have gone a cycle in the washer (maybe two), but she would do that tomorrow. Or the day after, if she could just sleep she would…- Six seconds between trying to finish the sentence in her head and she was asleep. If she was still awake she'd congratulate herself with what had to be a new personal best.
Jane was pulled into consciousness as sunlight warmed her face. She failed, however, to open her eyes, praying it was just a part of her dream. When it was apparent that this was not the case, she swore internally, cursing herself for failing to remember that simplest of tasks. Closing the frigging curtains. She could just hear her mother now. 'Jane Clementine Rizzoli! How hard is it to think about your health every once in a while? You hardly eat, you hardly sleep. I mean, for Christ sake, you're aging fast than I am! Dark circles, worry lines…I'd peg you for thirty-five and you're barely past drinking age!'
Jane groaned, a dry sob racking through her body. Why did her life suck so damn much? Even something as beautiful as sunlight was pissing her off. Almost as much as the blinking light on her cell telling her she had a missed call.
The officer stretched for the phone, craning her neck to get a better angle. Bad idea. It cracked loudly in protest, telling her she probably shouldn't have fallen asleep with her face stuck beneath her arm and stay in the same position for...what was it? She glanced to the clock on her nightstand. An eternal groan came with the answer. Great. Six hours of sleep. That sounds totally reasonable. It's not like she needed to regain some sort of pattern or anything.
She tried again to grab the phone, successful this time. She hit the voicemail button, turning on the speakerphone and tossing the phone onto the bed beside her.
"Rizzoli? It's Cavanaugh. I know you're probably catching up on your sleep, but I need you back down at the station, Officer Hastings called off our case for a personal emergency and I need you to replace her. It's your chance kid. You get to leave that desk of yours for some field work. If you can help us wrap up this case, you're one step closer to Detective, Rizzoli. Get down here when you get this message."
Her heart fluttered slightly at the word 'detective.' She knew it was a long way away, but still. She couldn't help the butterflies that roared to life in her when she heard the title. The little buggars had a life of their own when it came to her dream job.
Jane took a moment, waiting for her nerves to settle, and then she stood labouredly, scanning the room. She made quick work of finding her uniform scattered around the floor, yanking on her shoes and running for the door.
It didn't matter that the message had been from three hours earlier. She knew she was still needed…mostly because she was the only other woman in vice.
The briefing in itself wasn't too bad, she knew the case inside out already, having been working overtime on it for the past two weeks, only she was slightly uncomfortable with her sergeant blushing when handing the appropriate attire she'd be sporting. Officer Hastings who had been working the case from within the system had to drop out as she was the sole caregiver of her grandmother who had fallen ill the night before and her presence was understandably needed elsewhere. Jane knew quite well that any male officer would've killed to be a part of a big operation like this one, and she also knew that had the job not been relevant to her sex, she'd have been pretty low on the list of officers to be selected. Which was only fair, judging as she was the newbie, but still. She'd proven herself plenty before, so she didn't feel too bad getting the chance.
Either way, attention was not high on her list of needs, so she just slipped quietly out of the conference room and back to the bullpen, flopping her exhausted body into Korsak's desk chair.
"Hey, Rizzoli! Heard you're moving up in the world."
Jane grimaced at the sound of Crowe's voice from across the room. She kept her eyes averted, knowing full well he'd have a smug smirk plastered on his face. And she knew seeing that would send her right over the edge. Oh yes, the briefing she could handle, the job in itself she would handle just like she did everything else. But that fucking case of hormones packed up in a greasy douche bag with Crowe for a nametag was seriously getting on her last nerve. Like it hadn't been enough to grow up on the same street as him, now she had the fortune of being graced with his presence every day he bothered showing his face at the precinct. Even thinking about him made her face flush with anger, but she took in a deep breath, gathered herself, before turning her head to look at him.
"It's about time you used that body of yours for something other than giving Sgt. Taylor high blood pressure every time you drop a file on the floor," he quipped, eyeing the scandalous outfit she'd discarded on Korsak's desk.
"Fuck you. I swear Crowe, the next time that sensitivity freak appears in the elevator, I'll hand her your ass on a silver platter. How the hell did you even pass your test the first time around?" she snapped, her glare boring deep into him.
He just gave her a cocky grin, sauntering closer to her.
"You better get that mouth fixed before we let you out there. No one wants a foul mouthed hooker on the other end of their junk."
He gave a smug pause, taking a few more steps until their legs were touching and he was towering over her.
"But I guess you already knew that as your bed has been awfully empty ever since you reached puberty and realized that people were supposed to reproduce."
Jane placed her hand over her mouth, feigning shock.
"Oh no! You caught me. I had no idea you knew me that well!" she gasped, an over-exaggerated airiness in her tone.
If there was one thing Jane Rizzoli had perfected over the years since puberty it was faking affection towards the male race.
"Yes, I do indeed cry myself to sleep every night holding a pillow to my rapidly beating heart asking God why", Jane continued breathily, letting her pitch waver as if she were in tears. She couldn't help but think her high school drama teacher Mr. Harris must have wiped away a tear if he could see the heartbreaking confession she was performing. She stood up, their faces inches apart. "oh why do I not have someone to cuddle with and stroke my hair until I fall asleep? Oh pretty please, dear God", she breathed, her hands clutching against her heart like a prayer. "Have pity on me and please let Crowe come and sneak into my bedroom when I'm on the brink of losing hope and show me how a real man feels," she finished, dramatically grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling them infinitely closer together. And there she lingered, until she was sure he was thoroughly tempted and aroused. Then, with a sly grin, she shoved him backward, into the nearest chair. Her colleagues laughed at the disheveled man, sitting frozen in the chair, his mouth gaping open, his chest heaving to try and slow his pounding heart. Jane was amazed she had managed to finish the sentence without getting sick, and she once again let herself fall back into Korsak's chair.
"You done there Rizzoli?" Cavanaugh asked, the sound of his voice nearly knocking Jane out of the chair in embarrassment. "I need your attention on some last details before we get you out there so you know who you'll be looking for. I'm sure Crowe would wish nothing else than to make sweet, sweet love to you, but time is ticking and if we want our guy before he sells the rest of Eastern Europe's young women to our lowlife men of Boston there's a lot to get done. And you—" he made a big thing about pointing his finger at Crowe, "If you don't get your shit together and start treating your fellow Officers with some more respect I'll have you transferred to Evidence."
Sergeant Cavanaugh looked between Rizzoli's death glare and the easy smirk planted on Crowe's face and shook his head. This was the reason he never let his kids discuss football or other things they were passionate about during dinner, on the rare occasion he made it home in time. Too much testosterone, too many suppressed emotions, not enough outlets. And damn it if he was about to have two teenagers at his hands while at work too.
"Now get back to work," he grumbled.
Cavanaugh was just about to head into his office to get a file when he caught the mimic of Crowe imitating giving himself a hand job.
"Come to think of it, you really could learn something from Rizzoli here, as she clearly outclassed you on every physical test you had to complete before getting accepted. If you used what little you have of brain activity to realize she also is way out of your league you'd probably sleep better at night." They could hear him muttering the word "teenagers" as he closed the door to his office.
"Wow, it sure must be nice to be a dyke and looking like you do in this profession. That way you can be like every other woman out there, play the guys like you want and then if you don't get your way you'll get sympathy if someone tries to call you on your shit. You've got all your bases covered! You can play the sexual harassment card or the discrimination against free love card."
If Jane had a couple more minutes of sleep the night before she would've probably thought twice about how painful it would've been for her knuckles to clash against Crowe's jaw, but alas, none such extra sleep was had. In one fluid motion, she stood, crossed the room in two strides, and gave him a nasty left hook. All things considered, the satisfaction of hearing his surprise and complementary moan of pain that followed made it more than worth it. What neither of them realized, though, was that Cavanaugh had in fact, not shut his door.
"You pull that shit again and you'll not see the inside of a bullpen in this city or any other what use you'll be supervising traffic for the rest of your days. You got that?" he bellowed, rushing over to the two.
Jane's face was red yet again, from both anger and embarrassment, until of course, she realized she was not the one being yelled at.
"You ok Rizzoli?" he asked, his eyes peering into hers in genuine concern.
It made her want to laugh and yell at the same time. Laugh because it always felt good to win out over Crowe. Yell, because she hated being caught losing control like that, especially by her commanding officer, but if Cavanaugh hadn't entered when he heard the commotion she was one more punch from losing her job.
"See, right there, way to make a point, huh?" Crowe glowered, nursing his quickly bruising jaw. "You're the one throwing the punches and I'm the one getting in trouble. Comes in hand to be the sergeant's favorite. "
Jane felt a bitter laugh spill from her lips. All she had wanted was a reason. Just one reason to give him a matching bruise on the other side of his face, and he had given it to her. The problem, though, was she felt Cavanaugh's warning grip on her arm. The punch would have to wait for another day.
"You walked right into that one, Crowe. Lucky for you I'm about to play a hooker so you can dream about my fish stockings. And you know, I could write you up for sexual harassment, but that's just an excuse, and excuses are for the weak. Somehow outing you as the fuckup you are is more satisfactory."
"One day Rizzoli you can't hide who you truly are to everyone else in this precinct, and when that day comes I'll be there to remind you just how wrong your choice is. You'll see how it is when no one has your back, and I'll be sure to take great advantage of that fact."
If Jane had been more herself she would have picked her brain trying to figure out what the hell Crowe had meant with his threat, but unfortunately, all her energy was being used to keep herself standing upright. So, instead of settling the argument once and for all, she gave him a glare, collecting her cell and her prostitute getup and walking swiftly out the door.
She walked home. It helped, surprisingly. The cool air whipping against her cheeks as she walked was grounding. It helped her keep her level head as she trudged up her apartment stairs. When she was no longer outside, though, she felt her rage boil up once again, and in the comfort of her own home, she let it.
Jane Rizzoli was a lot of things. Stubborn, of course. Proud, definitely. Bitchy, on occasion. What bothered her most about Crowe's words was that she knew he had just said them to upset her, and yet she still gave the words weight. No matter how many laps she paced in her living room, she could not shake his point away. What if she only had this job because she was a woman…It scared her to no end that she might not be enough, and yet, she knew she was good enough. First of all, she had moves.. How to move around a perp and get the best of him while always landing on her own feet. Fine, so perhaps not always, but she did a damn fine job most of the time, which is why she knew how to move around with a vacuum cleaner without tripping on its cord. Second, she had passion. She fought harder than any other man on the force, and it showed. She had climbed in rank faster than anyone else around her, and she wasn't ashamed to admit the pride she felt in that.
What she could not stand, though, was when they let her get away with emotional slip ups. She could almost hear them thinking 'oh, she's just a girl. she doesn't need control over herself; it's natural that way.' or 'men compartmentalize better than women; it's understandable her work is taking a toll on her emotions.' It made her want to shove pointy things down peoples throats.
She slammed her palm against the wall, the release calming her slightly. Not, you know, a lot, but still.
Friggin' compartmentalize this: when you entered the academy you fell asleep exhausted every night with a dream of once making a change for the better, such as holding people in custody while interrogating the living crap out of them, telling them how they would suffer for their crimes and you would leave at the end of a day with a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you had just actively participated in making the world a better place to enjoy life. What you didn't expect was to be up at four in the morning vacuuming, simply because you needed a sense of- well, something, because in approximately three hours you would have to get in your fish stockings and spend your night trolling for old greasy men that wanted a quick lay in the back of their trucks.
After her angry internal monologue ended, she took a cold shower, letting the icy water wash away as much of the anger as she would allow. She then yanked on her fishnets, shimmied into the leather miniskirt, and pulled the god-awful pink blouse over her head.
Jane was standing on the corner of 5th and North Street. If it hadn't been for the McDonalds across from her she wouldn't even be able to tell what time it was. It was a sincerely weird feeling standing there in her outfit praying that someone would find her appealing enough to want to get with her. For some strange reason it took her back to high school, standing awkwardly in a corner looking at all the couples who were slow dancing in the centre of the floor snuggled up to each other and enjoying the aftermath of what came with being popular. After what apparently had been five hours in heels, the only thing that kept her still on her feet were Cavanaugh's parting words:
"Alright, so here's the deal. You go out there, walk the streets, soak up every word that can be useful in this case, find out who deals directly with Mason, you try to befriend his clientele, then you make it known that you're on the lookout for a new supplier. If that turns out to be Jason Degressi, you get the hell out of there. We know he's behind the streak of hookers being slaughtered like pigs down by the east harbor. You find out it's him, and you're out of there. You go to the closest gas station, don't make yourself known as an officer, borrow the phone and await further orders, is that clear?"
"Yes Sir." Jane was already on the last page in the folder.
"I know we haven't given you much time to get familiar with this case from the undercover angle, so just remember, ask no questions that will jeopardize your sense of evolvement in the business, got that? Any questions?"
"No, Sir." The manila folder held pictures of both Degressi and Mason, they looked just like your everyday lawyer or postman, one would have never known what they were capable of just by looking at their appearance.
"Alright, go home and get some sleep. Oh, and Rizzoli," Jane looked up from the snapshots taken from afar, "be careful out there. I'll see you here tomorrow at 10PM for your briefing if nothing goes down tonight."
Well, the night had been sincerely uneventful so far. If you didn't count the six busts she'd made possible the two first hours on the street. After that, things had slowed down, and judging by the hostility from Missy two blocks further up the street, her busts had gone entirely unnoticed as she was still getting remarks and threats to get off her corner as she was stealing all her clients from her. No sign of the two faces she was on the lookout for so far. Which, now that she thought about it was probably for the better, accepting this assignment without taking into consideration how desperately she was in need of some proper sleep probably wasn't the best idea she'd had lately. Then again, throwing away an opportunity like this would have been more of a foolish move.
Jane dared a glance over at McDonalds gruesome orange interior again, squinting to make out what time the clock showed, because god forbid night workers actually had the need to wear a watch. She made a mental note to take that up with Cavanaugh the moment she had the chance. Actually, that time was almost within her reach, if someone had remembered to check if the clock was actually the precise time, she had time to get a cup of much needed coffee before having to report back.
"You ungodly…stupid son of a—Oh come on!" Jane glowered.
The officers standing around the entrance to the Boston Police Department's café welcomed the ridiculous sight of their awkward colleague masquerading around like a prostitute. The woman had no talent in heels, and had managed to get one of them wedged into the fraying carpet. They grinned at each other as she yanked her foot free, happy for the entertainment at such an ungodly hour. Those few who were not cops just stared at her, confusion in their eyes as they studied her. The lanky brunette was not particularly elegant in her movements and there was an off-putting attitude radiating off her, so how on earth she was still afloat after the weekend they didn't know. Really, wasn't a woman of the night supposed to be welcoming and bend to a man's every little wish and quick impulse? Clearly, this was a lost case. Perhaps that was the very reason the woman was standing in line harassing Stanly and trying to make a simple dollar cover her doughnut and coffee.
Dr. Maura Isles, the chief Medical Examiner at Boston PD, had worked in the department for a little over six months when she found herself standing in line watching the unappealingly dressed woman try to get her money's worth. Being the only woman on a daily basis in the morgue, she couldn't help but notice the attention the woman was oblivious to.
All around her, female and male officers were eying Jane up from the sleek leather stilettos to her fishnet stockings and the little number she was sporting as a dress to cover the very least her bottom. Maura took notice too, but only that it was possibly the worst attire she has seen out in daylight and hoped the woman just had a bad day when she was getting dressed, or all her light bulbs were out so she didn't see how she had managed to miss-match every single fabric she had layered on her lean body.
"I'm starving. Come on Stanly, you know I'm good for it," she said roughly.
Oh, this was so not Jane's day. Actually, it was quite possibly the worst day she'd ever had. Worse than her high school graduation when she managed to trip onstage and single-handedly rip down the curtains as she went. Worse than the day she had been caught sneaking out the back of the church by Father Williams when she didn't particularly wish to be one on one with him in the confession booth. It was even worse thanthe day she had caught her Ma and Pop "taking a nap" when she was 14. In fact, she would gladly relive each of those days all over again, if only this day would just end...
"I don't know anything about you, Tiffany," he teased, a mischievous grin slipping onto his face.
Seriously, this is not happening. Breathe Rizzoli. Give yourself a couple of seconds to keep your cool. You're an officer. Do not hurt this man. Officer. Not murderer. Alright, so that didn't work.
I swear to God if my throat doesn't feel the burning liquid of some black coffee the next three seconds I'm… that's right. Clench your fist; make sure the man knows you mean business.
"Really? What- two dollars for a day old doughnut, and bad coffee? Please, come on, I'll pay you back after my shift."
There, I said please. WHY is there a stupid rule where you're not allowed to have cash when you're undercover? Five dollars, big whoop! Oh no, "that would blow your cover, cause hookers don't have cash". Really! What imaginary income do they get then? Polka dot sporting marzipan pigs?
"Ha, you think you'll make that much?" For once in his life Stanly could gloat of having the power of the young Officer. Oh how he loved it and darn it if he wasn't going to milk it for as long as it took to get her out of there.
Oh he did seriously not just… If I wanted to make money I wouldn't have chosen this as the lovely thing to wear. Wait, why am I having this conversation in my head and why is it getting to me? Oh wait, it's not, cause I'm a friggin' OFFICER!
"You know what…" The woman at the front of the line was about to make a scene, hands clenching and noses trails flaring. As they were in the middle of a police station, Maura realized she could stop all of this if she reached out to the woman in need. Little did she know that she would be at the receiving end of the classic Rizzoli dagger-eyed stare, telling her to mind her own business.
"Do you mind?! You can get your non fat latte in a minute, alright!"
Who is this woman, and why can't she just… not be here right now? Ouch, eye rolling huuurts. Focus.
Jane glared down at her, masking the fact that she was quite honestly checking the woman shoes, lovely hair, flawless makeup… All things that would take a long time in the morning, Jane noted. She probably didn't have kids, though she was old enough to, as that would have robbed her of her bright eyes and would definitely be time consuming in the morning rendering the woman to not be so culminated in her application of eyeliner.
Jeez Jane, get a grip, you're scrutinizing a woman for wearing makeup. Time to get some sleep. Wait, one more thing, why on earth is she wearing rubber gloves? Seriously? You have got to be kidding me… Do I look that bad?
Jane couldn't believe someone would be so… heartless and cold? Was that the right words? No, more that someone could think so highly of themselves that they wouldn't touch a hookers hand without protection. That really made the shit hit the fan in her brain.
Being a doctor first, Maura realized that if she didn't want her money the very least she could do was tell her what her body would need after some heavy… night work.
She was fairly certain she had handled herself well given the circumstances and couldn't believe it when the woman refused her money and instead put up a sour face and looked down at her.
"Not every hooker has a heart of cold, sister." There, go apply some makeup and try and smear some goodness into your own heart. I'm not going to be on the receiving end of a dollar just so you can sleep better at night patting yourself on the back cause "oh, you're such a nice person."
Oh, a light bulb flicked on in Maura's head, she had heard this sentence being uttered before! She remembered it was supposed to be said with a layer of sarcasm, as you really didn't mean well to the person you were saying it to, so she concluded a sly; "- Apparently not, sistah-" in return, silently cheering on the inside because she remembered this part of pop culture.
All Jane could do was shake her head and take the lukewarm coffee she barely afforded on her dollar and try and get the hell out of there before she ever had to see that woman again. If she was lucky, she didn't actually work in the department but was some kind of high end lawyer that just had to make a pit stop.
Pretty please, let her be one of those.
Jane roughly pushed the door open with her shoulder, rushing out into the crisp morning air. She made her way clumsily down the stairs, heading back toward the air conditioning truck that concealed her partners from the Johns they had spent all night catching.
"How much do you take for an hour?"
Jane's head snapped around from where she was standing on the pavement, quickly taking in the appearance of same woman she had just been toe to toe with in the café not minutes ago.
"Excuse me?!" she asked incredulously, her eyes narrowing.
"I'm sorry, perhaps I didn't articulate myself right, what I meant to ask, is how much "dough" do you charge for an hour of your services?" Maura knew that marathon of Sopranos would come in handy one day. Only too bad she had been battling pneumonia in order to get herself to that stage.
"Look woman, I'm not sure if you want to do this." God, if you're listening, please answer me this; is this because I stopped going to church on Sundays? You do realize I should get deduction points for getting drug dealers off the streets, right?
"Even if I'm particularly far away from my normal comfort zone I think it would be quite informative to understand more about what you do for a living…so thank you for your concern, but I'm fairly certain I know what I'm doing."
I can't believe it, this… woman, is trying to buy me? And exactly what does she think I'll be educating her on? How to blow a guy? No. Just no. This does not fall under my job description.
"Fine, hit me up with five Benjamin's and I'll get talking, if you throw in a coffee I'll even tell you the juicy stuff." Jane wiggled her eyebrows ready for the shorter woman's downfall, grinning widely at the prospect of winning.
Maura searched her brain while trying to remember what she was agreeing to. Benjamin's… Benjamin's… Benjamin Franklin! Slang term for the $100 dollar bill, named such because of the man portrayed on them.
Jane's smug grin quickly faded, though, when the impeccable dressed woman in front of her opened her purse and proceeded to pull out the desired amount with a brilliant smile. While she was waiting for the woman do decline her offer she figured now was as good of a time as any to stomp her foot to see if the chewing gum she had stepped in earlier had found somewhere else to hang around.
"Here you go, but please, I don't need to learn the basics of pleasuring a man, I'm quite adept at figuring out that on my own thank you. I just want to know how you ended up on the streets." Jane's jaw dropped just a little before she reeled herself in again.
Unbelivable! Who walks around with that much cash on them? Worst. Day. EVER.
The cop in her wanted to shake the woman for being senseless enough to splay the cash right out in the open. Yeah, being outside the police station made sure most people weren't stupid enough to try to rob her, but people had eyes and it wasn't exactly rocket science to simply follow a person a block or two away. She also realized she must have said some of her inner monologue out loud.
"Why are you doing this?" Jane practically whined. She didn't have time for this. Her feet were killing her, she'd just pulled an all-nighter trying to impress Cavanaugh….She just wanted to go back to the van, give back the wire she still had taped on her, and then go home.
Maura eyed the woman for a second longer then what appropriate behavior would allow. There was just something about her that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Not literally of course, it would be quite simple to just poke her finger in the air and hit that horrible fluffy down jacket with her fingertip. Really, if nothing came out of this, at least she knew what to look for if her mother ever decided to throw a "Bad Taste" party. Which was highly unlikely, seeing as the last time she had spoken to her mother had been…quite a while ago.
"Hello? Anyone in there?" Jane snapped her fingers in front of the petite woman, trying to gauge her attention. She looked like she was deep in thought about something that didn't leave a pleasant feeling. Any other time and Jane would have asked her what was bothering her, but as this was not a woman she knew, nor had the desire to actually get to know, and added the fact that she was a hooker for the day and on work, she was hungry like a… wow, there really was a lot of things that told her she shouldn't be wasting her time with this. However, there was coffee in her near future. Damn those addicting beans…
"I'm sorry, I should have explained myself better, how rude of me, I sincerely apologize if you think this is out of charity. I simply am curious, I like to do some anthropology on the side and you just seemed like the perfect specimen."
"Really." Specimen, I am being referred to as a specimen. Coffee, wherever you're being brewed, you better be worth this. "You know what, fine. I'll tell you whatever you want, but I don't want your money," Jane muttered, crumpling the bills back into the woman's hand.
Wait a second, did I just agree to a coffee with this woman? Dear mind, what are you doing to me? What am I supposed to say to her? Hmm… maybe I can feign nausea or something the second I get my coffee and run out of there. Really Rizzoli? This is what you've become? Take a mental health day when this sting operation is over, you just whored yourself out for a cup of coffee.
"Oh really, I insist. Please, it's the least I can do for your trouble."
You're damn right. Unfortunately I'm a cop and I can't accept your offer. Even if it would be enough to buy me a portable coffee machine.
Jane turned and gave a last, longing look at the undercover van, then gave a defeated sigh, turning back to the honey blonde.
"Just get me a coffee and we'll call it even," she said, giving the woman an unenthusiastic smile.
Alright Rizzoli, time to wing it.
A/N 3: Wanna know what happens next?