Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: NY. This is unrelated to my other story 'Kindred Spirits' or my oneshot series.
Chapter One
"All officers be advised; shots fired at Tillery's Diner, officer down."
"Shots fired" and "Officer down" were two phrases that everyone at NYPD never wanted to hear in the same broadcast.
For the CSIs, it was worse than usual, because the only officer in the vicinity of the diner was Jessica Angell, who had been accompanying Connor Dunbrook to his father's trial and who had become an important part of their family.
While her husband tried to get hold of Don Flack – Jess's partner and boyfriend had the day off and had possibly not heard the 10-13 – Lindsay Messer pulled up outside the diner, barely waiting for the engine to shut off before jumping from the car and grabbing her case. Her heart pounded with fear as she ran towards the gaping hole in the wall, still filled with an unmoving 18-wheeler, trying not to move the broken glass littering the ground. "What happened?"
"Details are still sketchy, Detective." The uniform nearest her answered. "In the middle of a barrage of 911 calls, Detective Angell radioed in to report that shots had been fired and an officer was down. The waitress," he nodded towards a blonde woman talking to another officer, "says that a man in handcuffs we believe to be Connor Dunbrook was kidnapped by whoever attacked and his attorneys rushed the casualty to the hospital when EMTs didn't look like they were going to arrive in time."
"So Detective Angell's at the hospital?" Lindsay checked, pulling her phone out to tell the lab.
"That's the weird thing, Detective." The uniform shook his head. "Detective Angell is still in there. Ambulance still hasn't arrived and I can't get her to move or respond."
Lindsay ducked under the crime scene tape, blinking in the dim light; the semi must have caused the electricity to short-circuit.
The diner was a mess; tables were overturned, food was scattered around her feet. She picked up the smell of gunpowder in the air and knew that 'shots fired' had to be the biggest understatement of the century. She paused for a second, pulling out her crime scene camera to take a photo.
In the cab of the semi, the body of a man still sat, a single gunshot wound in his chest, blood staining his white shirt. His face was hidden by a mask, but she could see that his eyes were open, staring unseeing at the opposite wall. The windscreen bore a small hole and Lindsay knew that he had been shot from outside the vehicle.
Detective Jessica Angell sat in front of the counter, leaning against it, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her. As Lindsay approached her, she realised the location of Jess's gaze; a pool of blood staining the ground.
"You okay, Jess?" Lindsay wasn't really expecting a response – and she didn't get one – as she pulled out a crime scene marker and placing it next to the blood, taking a photograph before she moved forwards. "Jess?"
Jess's right hand was clutching her shoulder, her left arm cradled against her body. Both her hands were covered in blood and her face was white as paper.
Praying for her hands to stop shaking, Lindsay reached out and gently moved her hand, seeing an ugly – but clean – wound, before taking a quick photograph. "Through-and-through. You're gonna be alright, Jess."
Still, she got no response.
Lindsay scanned her friend for any other signs of injury, but there were none, which didn't explain how Jess's left hand was covered in blood, since there was no way she could reach the wound. Her eyes took in the isolated blood stain on Jess's left sleeve and came to one conclusion: there was another casualty other than Detective Angell.
And yet 'officer down' had been the only report Jess had given; there was nothing to indicate a civilian had been injured.
"Jess," Lindsay called gently. "Jessica, I need you to look at me."
Slowly, Jess's eyes left the blood and met hers, her gaze still a little vacant.
"Jessica, I know you're in shock." Lindsay said gently. "And I know you're hurt." She could hear the wailing siren of an ambulance outside. "But there was someone else hurt as well; I need to know who it was. It can't have been a civilian, Jess; you'd have said that over the radio. And you were the only officer scheduled to be here. Who was it?"
"He always eats here on his days off." Jess murmured.
"Who?" Lindsay could see that Jess's consciousness was fading. "Jess, who does?"
"'S my fault." Jess murmured; her eyes fluttered closed and her hand fell from the wound.
Lindsay placed her own hand over the wound as EMTs flooded in, hurrying over with a stretcher. "Leave the body where it is for the time being! Thank you. Victim is Detective Jessica Angell, 27 years old. Suffering from gunshot wound to the left shoulder; through-and-through. I'm going to need her clothes and someone will need to document the wound before you bandage it."
One of the responders smiled at her. "We know, Detective."
"I know you do." Lindsay straightened up as they lifted the stretcher onto a trolley. "But I have to say it." She took Jess's hand. "I need a name, Jess. Who was the other casualty?"
The name Jess murmured caused Lindsay's heart to fall into the pit of her stomach once again. She was forced to release her hand in shock as they loaded her into the ambulance, watching helplessly as the homicide detective finally succumbed to unconsciousness in front of her eyes.
"You riding with us, Detective?"
"No, I'll drive." Lindsay told them. "I'll meet you there." Hardly noticing the sirens starting up again, she pulled out her phone and dialled a familiar number.
"Messer."
"Danny, you have to get to Angel of Mercy." Lindsay stated, her voice shaking. "Now."
Earlier that morning …
Leaning against the counter of Tillery's Diner, Jessica watched her charge warily; she was sure he wouldn't try anything, but she had come to learn that anything was possible in New York City. At the nearest table, Connor Dunbrook was eating as well as he could in handcuffs, flanked by his two attorneys, looking very out of place in their suits.
Absently, she pulled out her phone, glancing quickly at the message from her mother, thinking about phoning Don.
"Hey, Detective."
A fruitless exercise, given that he was behind her.
Jess glanced over her shoulder with a smile. "Hey, Detective. What are you doing here?"
"My day off." Don answered. "The question should be, what are you doing here?"
"Babysitting." Jess jerked her head towards Dunbrook. "With a murder rap hanging over his head, he's finally decided to spill the beans about dear old dad. The good son's treating us to breakfast."
"Let me guess." Don smirked. "Two eggs over easy, turkey bacon on the crispy side and a glass of orange juice."
"Am I that predictable?" Jess asked, as the waitress placed that exact order down on the table.
"Nah, I just know you too well." Don told her, slipping an arm around her waist.
"Don, I'm working." Jess reminded him, moving away.
They had been dating for just over seven months and had, so far, managed to keep their relationship out of the precinct and quiet – aside from a few rumours around the water cooler. Jess wanted to keep it that way, but she knew that Don wouldn't be upset if it all came out. Of course, it was alright for him; he was the senior detective. He didn't have to deal with the spiteful rumours that she was 'sleeping her way to the top'; she knew they would only get worse if their relationship became public.
"But I'm not." Don pointed out. "You were just about to phone me, weren't you?"
"You do know me too well." Jess muttered. "Yes, but that's completely different." She held up a hand. "I'm not doing this here."
"Fine." Don sighed. "Dinner tonight?"
Jess smiled at him. "Sure. I'll see you …"
Then, suddenly, without warning, their world exploded.
An 18-wheeler came hurtling through the window at the front of the diner, evoking screams of terror as people hurled themselves out of the way to avoid being crushed by the huge semi.
It came skidding to a halt as Jess and Don drew their weapons and four masked men jumped out of the back, heading over to where Dunbrook sat, still handcuffed.
Before either Detective could act, another man leapt from the cabin, brandishing a Desert Eagle and began firing in their direction.
The whole thing must have lasted less then a minute, but it seemed to drag on even longer than that for Jess. She emptied her clip rapidly, pausing only to adjust for the recoil and to move out of the way, but this was the sort of situation they warned you about in Tactical Training – a 50 calibre weapon and nothing to use as cover – and their luck soon ran out; there was no time to reload and one of his bullets tore through her left shoulder. A second later, she found herself knocked sideways by Don's weight falling into her and landed heavily on the ground.
Dimly, she heard running footsteps, followed by the screeching of tires outside. There was a moment of stunned silence before people started screaming, panic spreading fast. But Jess couldn't think, couldn't formulate an idea of what to do.
All she was aware of was the Don's weight above her, pinning her to the floor.
And he wasn't moving.
AN: Review please!