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chapter two
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i learned the hard way
that they all say things you want to hear
and my heavy heart sinks deep down under you
and your twisted words, your help just hurts
you are not what i thought you were
hello to high and dry
convinced me to please you
made me think that i need this too
i'm trying to let you hear me as i am
-Sara Bareilles, "Love Song"
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Martin stretched out his arms and brought the mouse to click the 'print' button on his computer screen, shifting in his chair while he waited for his report to print out. Waiting until the final page had printed, he reached for the case report and flipped through it once more, checking for typos. With an audible sigh, he signed and dated the last page and took a bite out of the sandwich that rested on his desk. As he chewed carefully, his head tilted to one side and he caught sight of Elena reading over a few files at the conference table and Sam walking up to sit down beside her.
"Hey, chica!" Elena cocked her head to one side and smiled brightly in greeting. "Where have you been?"
Martin turned around and focused his attention back on his computer screen just in time to hear Sam reply, "I was just upstairs for a little while."
The sun coming in from the windows glared brightly as it caught the side of his monitor, and he tried not to eavesdrop as Sam and Elena chatted amongst themselves. He would have to be a blind man to not notice how close the two women seemed to become over the course of the past few months and how odd that might seem given the way they had seemed to repeatedly butt heads in the first few weeks and then months of Elena's tenure in Missing Persons. Samantha in particular seemed far more open and receptive to Elena's overtures of friendship.
The fact did not escape him that Elena's improved outlook and disposition directly correlated to her relationship with Danny, while Sam's remained more or less unexplained as far as he knew. She no longer came into work each morning with her eyes dull and stagnant; her appearance crisp and professional but for a few moments when she would slip and he would see some deeper hurt hidden in her posture. Instead, she appeared calmer and more at ease; still the tough as nails special agent, but more comfortable in her own skin.
As the rest of the team began to gather at the conference table, he pressed the palms of his hands to his desk and pushed his chair backwards. He took a seat at the table just as Danny unceremoniously placed a folded-over copy of Mike Lupica's latest column down in front of Viv, who wasted no time in swatting Danny in the back of the head with the newspaper.
"I'm not really interested in reading about why the Mets have had more to overcome this season than the Yankees have," Vivian began matter-of-factly with a nod of her head. "Lupica," she continued as she gestured with her hands "is even more bitter than you are, Danny."
Across from him, Martin watched as Sam and Elena looked up from their conversation at the light argument between Danny and Viv. While Elena only rolled her eyes in jest, Sam tilted her head to one side and worked her tongue in her cheek as she remarked, "More bitter than Danny? I didn't know that was possible."
Danny turned to glare at her and replied, "Just wait and see what team has the best record in the NL at the end of the season, Miss Brew Crew."
"Hey! You leave my Brewers out of this," Sam scoffed, feigning indignation. "I can't even remember the last time they led the division; I am going to enjoy this."
Martin looked bemusedly between them until Sam's eyes met his. She smiled and laughed as he put on his best SportsCenter impression and deadpanned, "Hooray for beer."
Elena scanned between the four of them with her eyebrows arched. She finally turned to Danny and, still perplexed, raised her voice and said, "I don't get it."
Before Danny had a chance to explain however, Jack emerged from his office with a file in his hand and a solemn expression on his face. While the rest of the team had been far more relaxed and comfortable with each other in the last few months, Jack still remained withdrawn and had not made any overt efforts to extend the others' renewed inter-office friendships.
Elena turned her body as Jack approached and asked, "Did a new case come in?"
Jack took his customary seat at the head of the table and folded his hands diplomatically as he said, "I just got a call from Arlene Drysdale, a friend of mine over at Child Protective Services. One of her caseworkers got a call from a summer camp at Crestwood Country Day School on Long Island that one of their campers had gone missing at around 10:30 this morning."
"That's only two hours ago," Danny said, checking his watch. "What does CPS have to do with this, anyway?"
"The girl who went missing is in the custody of the state, after being taken from her mother's care about four months ago."
"Foster kid getting placed with a family on Long Island," Vivian remarked dryly. "Pretty good deal if you ask me." She paused for a few moments, glancing around the table quickly, and said, "What else is there, Jack?"
Jack sighed audibly, and his gaze lingered on Martin and Samantha as he said, "We're going to check a few things out as a favor for Arlene. She asked for us specifically because it seems that two of you are familiar with this girl's case already."
Martin's gaze immediately snapped up as he heard Sam draw in a breath across from him. Their eyes locked for a few tense, silent seconds before they both turned to face Jack.
"Melanie Watkins?" Sam asked breathlessly.
Jack nodded and immediately began to rattle off case details. Martin, however, was unable to focus as Jack spoke as he mentally called up the image of the young girl with wispy blonde hair and sad green eyes that he and Sam met while running down a lead during the Natalie Burris case. One quick glance at Sam told him that she was thinking the same thing: her eyes were cast downward at her notepad, but she held her pen still and he could not tell whether or not she was even listening at all.
"Elena and Viv, if you two could start cross-referencing this list of camp employees for anyone with a record," Jack walked over to the white board and tacked up a small three by five photograph as he began to hand out assignments. "Danny, you and I are going to go over to the school to see what we can find. And Martin and Samantha," Jack paused and focused his gaze at the far end of the table, "You two are already connected to this case. I want you to go interview foster mom at home; play your connection up and see what you can find."
The team rose and began to bustle about in preparation. After gathering his things, he walked up to Samantha's desk and gave her a bemused look as he watched her grab hold of her sweater. Only she would need a sweater in the middle of July.
"You are aware that it is over 95 degrees outside, right?"
"I am," she replied. She leaned over her desk to pick up the to-go cup that held her coffee and scrunched her nose in distaste, "That means that every building in the city - this one included - cranks their air conditioning up to full blast."
He fell into step beside her as they headed to the elevator and, as they waited for the car to arrive, she turned to him and said, "My car is getting serviced right now. I'm assuming that you won't mind driving?"
The elevator doors slid open as the familiar bell announced the arrival of the car, and Martin automatically slipped his hand to Sam's lower back as they entered. He dropped his hand almost as soon as he felt the electricity at the contact, and immediately turned to the side panel and depressed the proper button for the parking garage. The button lit up, and he leaned back against the wall of the car as it jerked into motion. Sam smiled weakly at him, and he knew that they were both recalling the same memory.
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"I'm driving," Sam announced, spinning around to walk down the remainder of the courthouse steps backwards. She pulled her keys out of her pocket, holding up her copy of the car key that they had gotten from the rental agency.
He quickened his pace so that he caught up to her just as they reached the bottom of the steps. He tugged on her hand, forcing her to face forward again as he pulled her against his side, relishing the close contact. They had only been seeing each other for a few weeks now and the rest of the team did not know, but Jack had sent them to run down a few leads in Savannah and they did not have to be as careful here, away from New York City. They had been good about being careful in the office, even when it was difficult to work so close together and not touch each other. They must have been, or else there was no way Jack would have sent them to Georgia together.
As they approached the navy blue sedan that they had rented on the Bureau's dime, he saw his opportunity and seized her keys from her hand. She called out, and he backed up underneath the shade of a large tree covered in Spanish moss.
She put her hands on her hips and her bottom lip jutted out, pouting. "Why won't you let me drive?"
"Because," he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and ticked off, finger by finger, as he explained, "We still have two more of his office buildings to check out, plus the old historic courthouse and the city council offices."
"And?"
"And as much as I know we want to get these done as soon as possible," he reached out and tugged gently at her elbows, and her hands fell to her sides. "We are also in a historic district with a lot of tourists. And it would behoove us, as federal employees, not to willingly endanger any of the aforementioned tourists. That would not be professional behavior."
She remained silent for a beat before walking directly up to him, pressing her body lightly against his, just enough to tease him as she gently grabbed hold of both of his hands. She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "Give me back my keys," she said throatily, "And tonight I might let you into my room and I can show you just how unprofessional I can be."
She laughed against him and it reverberated deep within him. He handed her the keys and climbed into the passenger seat of the car. She smiled at him as she turned the keys in the ignition and he knew, without a doubt, that she had won.
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The elevator doors opened onto the third level of the parking garage, jolting Martin from the memory.
It was funny how that one short conversation was so representative of their entire relationship: Sam was always the one in the driver's seat and he had readily complied. By the time he realized what was happening, though, it was too late; he was already too far gone.
He frowned as they approached his car, suddenly becoming nervous as he tried to remember if Christine had left anything in his car from when they had gone out over the weekend. He froze for a second with his hand on the door handle before he pulled it open and slid inside.
He told himself that he should not worry about what Sam knew or did not know about Christine; it was no longer any of her business. But he could not fight the feeling that, for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not want her to know.
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