"Crime generally punishes itself." ~Oliver Goldsmith


The Consultant

Pay your debt

"I thought I'd find you here."

"They wouldn't even let me attend his funeral."

He crouched down in front of the grave, the tombstone in front of him carved with the name of the man he spend the last three years with. That man lay there because of him, because of a bullet that had been pointed at him. He made a friend out of the man that used to be his worst enemy, the one he ran away from but eventually ran to.

"Grayson was always the most human of them all."

His blue eyes snapped to the man beside him, his gray eyes filled with wisdom, his sandy-brown hair ruffled and the sun making it shiny. He ran his fingers through his messy black raven hair and took a deep breath, the sound ripping through the quiet morning.

"I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye, Ric." his voice broke, his breathing shaky. "One minute he was dying in my arms and the next I was back in prison."

"It wasn't your fault Damon." Alaric shrugged, his lips forming a pout. "You couldn't have done anything to help him, the bullet went straight through his heart."

"That bullet was meant for me." his blue eyes locked on Alaric's gray ones. "I would have been six feet under by now if he hadn't jumped in front of me."

"It was his choice." Alaric came closer and put his hand on Damon's shoulder. "You'd have done the same for him."

"But his life had still meaning." Damon shook his head, looking down at the green grass on top of his friend's body. "He had a wife and daughter to live for, I have nothing."

"You were his friend." Alaric squeezed his shoulder, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt. "You were part of his family, he loved you like he would have loved his own son."

"And in the end he died for me like he would have died for his son." Damon stood up straight again, turning his head over his shoulder. "But I refuse to believe he died for nothing."

"She's back."

"I know." he looked up at his old friend, nodding. "I knew she'd come back."

It had been seven years since he last saw her, the daughter of the man that had made it his life purpose to catch him. Her brown doe eyes printed into his memory, her long chocolate brown hair swaying in the wind, her wide smile dominating every male's life.

"You think she still blames you?"

"I'm sure she still blames me." he gave Alaric a crooked smile. "And she'll probably still blame me when I find her father's killer."

"We're going to need some help, buddy." Alaric put his hands in his pockets, shaking his head. "It's not going to be easy and especially not when every cop in New York is looking for you."

"We're going to need help from someone on the inside." he pouted his lips together, staring at his friend's grave. "That's why I had to escape, to get her back here."

"You couldn't have send her a letter, maybe?" Alaric held his arms up, questioning. "Hey your father was murdered and you have to help me catch his killer?"

"Elena and her father had a few things in common but the biggest thing of them all was their obsession with me." he pointed to himself, his blue eyes boring into Alaric's. "If I had send her a letter she probably wouldn't even have read it because she wants nothing to do with me. The only thing she wants is for me to rot in prison for the rest of my life. So the easiest way to lure her out is by me being exactly where she doesn't want me, on the outside."

"So you had to escape to get her back to New York?"

"When are you going to get it?"

He threw his arms in the air, chuckling, enjoying the fresh air that filled his lungs. His blue eyes watched Alaric's mouth fall slightly open, his gray eyes looking for answers in his blue ones.

"She didn't come back to look for her father's killer." he stepped backwards, away from his friend. "She came back to find me."

"And what will she do when she finds you?"

"She'll catch me."


7 years earlier

"Excuse me." she dropped her bag on the floor, stirring her steaming cup of coffee. "Do you mind if I sit down? I'm waiting for my friend but all the other seats are taken."

"It's a free country."

She glanced briefly at him as he turned another page of the paper he was reading, not even glancing in her direction. She put her coffee down next to his and sat down on the chair in front of him, tapping her fingers impatiently, biting her lip. Her eyes darted through the packed coffee shop before they landed on the man in front of her, noticing the messy black hair, the hard jaw, the gray shirt that hugged all of his muscles, the small tattoo on the inside of his left arm.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Huh?"

Her breathing stopped for a second as he looked up at her, releasing the power of his ocean blue eyes on her face, his eyebrow arched, his perfect mouth slightly parted in confusion. She felt her heart drumming in her chest, her lungs squeaking as she tried to breathe again.

"You know..." she stuttered, wetting her lips. "This is New York, are you here for your work or to have fun?"

"Does it look like I'm having fun?"

"No. You look like you're bored." she crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair. "But maybe if you tried to have a proper conversation with me I could change that."

"I doubt that."

"Oh yeah?" she cocked her head to the side. "Why is that?"

"Weren't you meeting a friend?"

He gave her the most annoyed look anyone had ever given her, a small V forming between his eyebrows, his red lips slightly pouting. He wanted her gone but she was glued to her chair, and although her whole body was frozen, the cup in her hands was trembling. She didn't know where she found her sudden bravery but keeping him talking seemed like a necessity now, because as much as he intimidated her, he intrigued her just as much. He did weird things to her belly, his voice made it quiver, his face made it knot, and his eyes – his eyes made it flutter.

"I am. But there's been an accident and she's running late." she watched his eyes return to the paper, not even acknowledging her friend's problem. "She's picking me up for class. I got into Georgetown too."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you." she answered dryly, irritated by his disinterest. "It's art history. Which isn't even useful to me since I'm going to be an FBI agent."

"You think you don't have to take art history because you're going to join the FBI?" A devilish grin crossed his face as the blue orbs held her gaze. "What if you're chasing some art thief that only steals paintings from the Renaissance period and you have no idea how they look like? How will you anticipate his next move? How will you know it's his work if you can't even identify the era of the stolen painting?"

Baffled she stared at him, her lips lightly parting as she felt her breathing falter, drowning in the stare of that ocean in front of her. The flame in them faded and they became lighter again, resembling the New York sky on a sunny day. He dared her with those eyes, radiating a passion she'd never known. And now she had his interest, his focus point her sole being, the busy coffee shop fell to the background as they proceeded their staring competition. She wondered who was going to break first, and she didn't want it to be her. But at the same time it had to be her because she wouldn't be able to thread water forever, the strength would leave her legs, her determination would waver, and she'd drown in that ocean.

"That's why you have specialists and researchers." she mumbled, clearing her dry throat. "They would be out of a job if the agents knew everything themselves."

"Okay." he nodded with a small smile. "Look at it this way. The Guggenheim has a collection of over 7000 artworks. There are four million men living in New York. How will you ever find the right partner if you can't even choose your favorite artwork?"

"That's a totally different thing."

"It's not." he cut her off before she could say more. "Art teaches you what you like and dislike, it teaches you the difference between good craftsmanship and excellent one. You can't choose a partner if you don't even know what you're looking for. So my advice to you, go to the art history class and figure out what you like. Then the day you decide to tell a guy you love him, you'll know what your favorite artwork is and why it is, and you'll know why you love him."

"How did we go from me detesting art history class to art deciding who's going to be my future husband?" she arched her eyebrow with a crooked smirk. "Seems a tad exaggerated, don't you think?"

"Well, I had to make a point." he let himself fall against the back of the chair, rolling his eyes. "Isn't that what teenage girls are all about? Finding the perfect boyfriend?"

"Not me." she clacked her tongue, shaking her head. "I'm going to Georgetown, I'm going to build out a career without some boyfriend holding me back. I have a plan you know, and a husband isn't in those plans for at least another ten years."

"Why Georgetown?"

No one had ever asked her, and she'd never thought about it. Georgetown, it had been on her mind since she was a little girl but she had no clue how it had become her focus point. Maybe because she'd visited Washington when she was little and she'd been impressed with the buildings, the White House, the Capitol, they were so different from the ones she saw in New York. There had been more space there, people didn't rush through the streets, they walked and enjoyed the day. But those were all things she could find somewhere else too. Georgetown had a beautiful campus, a great faculty, like other universities and she couldn't phantom what made it special to her. Except that her father had attended Georgetown, and he was an FBI agent now – he was everything she wanted to become.

"My dad went there and he's the best agent I know." she lifted her shoulders, as if it was obvious. "I want to be like him or even better. He's been chasing the same guy for four years now and he still hasn't caught him. So maybe he is not the best agent around."

"Or maybe that criminal is just the best one around." he shrugged indifferently, taking his cup from the table. "Who's he chasing?"

"Damon Salvatore."

Something flashed in those blue eyes as he paused a second from sipping on his coffee. She didn't miss how his jaw tightened and the muscles in his free arm flexed as he balled his hand into a fist. Before she could analyze the situation, he brought the coffee to his lips and put it back down again, smiling tightly as she watched him closely.

"Never heard of him." he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is he some kind of serial killer?"

"No." she rolled her eyes at the question. "He steals art, paintings, sculptures, old manuscripts, you name it and he steals it."

"Let's hope he doesn't start stealing young girls then." his white teeth pulled her attention. "Or you might be in trouble."

"That would make him a kidnapper and not a thief." she gave him a look as he smirked. "Besides, if he was a kidnapper then maybe somebody would know what he looks like. But they don't know, that's why they can't find him. It's like you said, there are four million men in this city and he could be any one of them."

"And your dad is looking for him."

"So am I." she put her best serious face on. "If my dad doesn't catch him, then I will. And he's going to be sorry when I do."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her with arms crossed in front of his chest, a smile playing on his lips as she took her coffee and started drinking from it again, watching him over the rim of her cup. The smile didn't fade, instead it got wider and it made a grin appear on her face too - absolutely content under his gaze, the butterflies in her stomach welcomed the attention.

"Elena?"

"Oh." Her head snapped around to see Bonnie practically running her way. "I guess that's my cue to go."

"Good luck catching that thief." he followed her frame as she got up from the chair. "I'll hear it on the news when you do."

"Thanks! You will."

She grabbed her bag from the floor and started towards her friend, crossing paths with a thirty-something with sandy-brown hair and gray eyes. He didn't take his eyes off of her until she walked out the door and the man was already sitting in the chair she'd just occupied. He leaned back in his chair for the upteenth time that day and smiled at the memory of the rambling teenage girl.

"Oh no. Not that look." Alaric put a finger in his face, shaking his head. "We have a job tonight, there's no time for you to get laid."

"It's not about that." he focused on his best friend and right hand. "But still, I need you to find out everything there is to know about her."

"And why are we suddenly interested in teenagers?"

"Because this one wants to catch me."


I picked this story up again and will definitely be updating sooner in the future. So if you're interested in reading more, let me know in a review?