Misconceptions pt.2

"Congratulations."

John stared hard at the man across from him. He felt a lot of things toward him - anger, sadness, regret - and he felt a lot of things from him too, but not sincerity. He came to give the obligatory good luck speech, the one that all fathers were supposed to give their sons on days like this one. Only he didn't want to be here, and he wasn't even trying to hide that fact. "Thanks," he answered, shaking his hand.

"So? When do you leave?"

"In the morning."

John snapped out of his thoughts when a hooker wearing fuzzy cowboy chaps over her spandex leggings, shouted obscenities across the room. He watched two officers drag her toward lock up, and then he turned back to the sealed door. He took a breath before knocking.

"Yeah?" a voice boomed through the wood. "Come in, or get lost."

John shook his head. That's my dad! he thought, before stepping into the office.

Thomas McBain was ticked off! He was getting the usual runaround from the Feds, who were once again sticking their noses into his business - Llanview business. "Well, do you know anything at all?" he snapped into the phone. "I didn't think so. Thanks for wasting my time." He hung up and turned to see who was in his office, and froze. The last person in the world he expected to see was his son. He swallowed. "Johnny?"

"Yeah, dad." He cleared his throat and took a further step into the room. "How are you?"

Tom didn't answer right away. He moved back to his desk and began to shuffle papers. "Busy." He looked at his son with a steady gaze. "You here about the Buchanan mess?"

John nodded. "I talked to her for a minute, but she's tough."

"Why you? This isn't your usual thing is it?" He was very aware of the swift change in the air. It was hostile. "I'm just surprised to see you in Llanview."

He stared at the commissioner, and felt all the usual things. He remembered exactly why he hardly came to town, and why he hated working any case that was anywhere near his dad. "This is a federal case and they wanted me here, so I'm here."

The tension and resentment in the room was becoming stifling. Tom stood. "Well, let me know if there's anything the LPD can do for you? You know how much I like helping Federal law enforcement."

John was pissed off. "I'll do that." He turned for the door.

"Johnny?" Tom watched his son stop and spin, waiting for him to speak. "Call your mother." Then he sat and began to type on his computer. When he was alone again, he stared at the closed door. His son was home. He ran a hand through his thick, grey hair and picked up the photo that was on his desk - the one of his family. His wife and two sons were shooting him with water guns. John was eleven in this picture. He glanced back at the door again, before resuming his work. He concentrated on the sound of the keys as he typed. He concentrated on the work.


John stopped in the basement hallway, leaning against the cold, blue cement wall. He needed a moment to collect himself and push down the anger that always flew to the surface when he was around his father. The man would never change. He hated the FBI, and a part of him hated his own son for joining them. He closed his eyes and decided to focus on the work. That's what he would do to get through this, and then he would leave. Until then, there was the work. He stood straight, and made his way back to Michael.

He stepped inside the tiny observation room, and found his brother in with the redhead, so he stood beside Jason and shook his hand. He watched through the glass with interest. "Get anything from her?" he asked, still staring at the woman.

"No. Just a whole lot of grief. She's a bitch."

John frowned, ignoring the tension that gripped him out of nowhere.

Inside the interogation room, Michael McBain sat on the edge of the table and stared hard at the suspect across from him. "I'm tired, Natalie. Why don't you just save us all a lot of time and hassle and tell me what's going on? You know, I can help you?"

She laughed and crossed her arms over her ample chest with ease. "Please? You couldn't help me do anything on your best day. You're the one wasting MY time, and you're going to regret it."

He cocked his eyebrows, clearly amused. "That sounded like a threat, but it couldn't have been because you don't strike me as being stupid."

"Really?" She stood. "I'd have to be pretty stupid to embezzle 30 million dollars and then leave a trail pointing to my guilt. Don't you think?"

"I think that is exactly why you did it." He leaned on the table. "You're counting on grandpa bailing you out, and then you're going to walk away with the money free and clear." He stared into her eyes and saw her anger. "That's what I think."

Natalie sat back down. "We're done here. You can go."

"I say when we're done."

"Mike." John stood in the doorway, interupting his brother's interogation. "Outside." he instructed, firmly. It was not lost on any of them that he had just given an order. He met the cold glare from his baby brother, and watched as he moved to the door and stepped into the hall. John quickly glanced at Natalie, who was watching him closely. He shut the door behind him.

"What's your problem, man?" Michael McBain stared hard at the man across from him, and he began to understand his father a little better. John was acting cold and aloof, like they weren't even family. He was acting like a damn Fed! "My time's not up with her, John. I can still get something out of her." He didn't recognize his own brother, as he crossed his arms over his chest, keeping infuriatingly silent. "What, John?"

"You're not going to get anything out of her, Mike. Especially if you tick her off! She's..."

"...a bitch," Jason offered, joining the heated conversation.

John was beginning to really, really dislike Detective Cameron. He refocussed on the matter at hand. "I want to talk to her alone."

Michael was furious. "You know what, go ahead. You can show me how much better the FBI is at interogation." He spun around and went into the observation room, slamming the door behind him.

John sighed. He looked at Cameron, and then returned to the tiny room that held the redhead.

She was waiting for him, and he surpressed the fleeting thrill that that thought envoked. Her blue eyes shone expectantly, like she already knew everything that he would say to her. He stared a moment, not really sure where to begin or how to handle her? He decided on the forthright approach, because bullying her wasn't going to work. Moving closer, he took a seat in the metal chair at her side. Their eyes locked. "Do you understand that you could go to jail? This isn't a game, Natalie."

"Well who's playing?"

"I'm talking about real prison time. This is a federal crime. A high profile federal crime, so the FBI is very interested in it." Despite her efforts to hide it, he could see that he was scaring her. That was good. "You need to let me help you."

She pulled her chair closer and leaned on the table, staring directly at him. "You're the third person in the last hour who has offered to help me, but I don't need your help. I've been taking care of myself for a long time." She continued to stare, ignoring the urge to slap him, though she really, really wanted too. She was tired of this place and these men, and of this man in particular. The way he looked so deeply, it had to stop now. "I already told you, I don't talk to cops." She sat back and crossed her legs, pulling her skirt down over her knee. Her heart skipped a beat when his eyes roamed over her slowly, but she willed her breath to even out. "I'm not the one playing the game here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, that if you had hard evidence on me I would have been booked by now instead of just thrown into this pathetic room. It means," she paused and leaned forward again, "that I'm tired too. So why don't you just let me go? I know that you believe me. I can see it."

He sat there and listened to the words coming out of her mouth, and he felt angry all over again. He was angry because he did believe her, and because she could see that. Damn her! He looked at his watch, opening her criminal jacket, wide onto the table. He flipped through the pages. "Let's see what we have in here, shall we?"

She sat back, confused.

"Blackmail, extortion, hustling, grifting." He looked hard, pinning her with his stoney gaze. "My, my, you have been busy?" He saw her eyes flash with the rage that she's been trying so hard to control. "I guess embezzlement isn't that much of a stretch for you?"

Natalie laughed. "You think you know me, John? That you can read about my life like a cheap novel, and understand where I'm coming from?" Her voice lost some of its edge. "You can't." They continued to stare at one another, and there was a decidedly different feel to the tension in the room. Natalie felt flushed. "I tell you what agent? You get one question. Ask me and I'll answer. Anything, truthfully." She felt her heart pumping in her chest, making the air in the room just a little bit thicker. She waited for him to take the bait. "What do you want to know?"

John swallowed. He wanted to know a lot of things right now, like why she smelled like cinnamon, or what she tasted like? He wanted to know a lot of things. "Did you do it?" he asked, simply.

"No," she replied, softly. Her voice was betraying her. It was slipping away, just like her common sense. She wanted to kiss this man.

"Then who did?"

Natalie smiled. "That's two questions." She stood from her chair and walked over to the two-way glass, staring blankly at her reflection. Her hand wiped over her hair gently, securing it behind her ears. Then it lowered, resting easily on her exposed neckline.

"You must have some idea?"

She met the blue eyes in the mirror, and her hand dropped further, loosening the top button to her black, short-sleeved silk blouse. "It's hot in here, isn't it?" It was hot in here, and she knew it was deliberate. The thermostat was no-doubt turned up, trying to make her feel uncomfortable. The hopes would be to make her squirm and confess her sins, but she smiled softly, and undid the second button to her shirt. This wasn't her first arrest, and she wasn't some guilt-ridden criminal.

Natalie turned so that she was facing the agent who was watching her closely. She leaned casually against the wall and rubbed her neck, making a point of exposing more skin. She ignored the thrill she got from his unwavering stare, and finally reclaimed her seat. "So, where are bad cop, worse cop?" He smirked, but waited for her to explain herself. "Your brother and his partner. Isn't it their turn to try and work me over?"

"Work you over?"

"Yeah, you know? Get me to crack, or whatever?" She licked her lips, and her pulse spiked because he was watching her mouth.

"We're not taking turns," John answered, beginning to lose focus. She was becoming a temptation, and he needed to keep his wits about him. "But you'll talk to me."

She sat straight. "Really?" Her eyes locked with his, and her stomach twisted with some sort of anticipation. "You sound sure of that."

His expression grew deadly serious. "I'm sure of you."

Natalie held her breath. Dear God! He was so intense. The door opened and a grey-haired gentleman stepped into the room, interupting their conversation. She glanced at John and saw how rigid he was sitting, obviously unhappy with the intrusion.

"Miss. Buchanan, I'm Commissioner McBain." He held out his hand, and watched her cautiously shake it. "You're free to go."

"What?" she said, at the same time as John. She stood from her chair, and watched the father turn a hard eye to his son. "Did the LPD finally grow a brain?" She didn't know why, but it bothered her that this man bothered John. She saw him look at her, refraining from speaking his mind, but his ire was clear as a bell.

"It seems your grandfather has loftier connections than we realized, so you're free to go." Thomas glanced quickly at his son again, and then exited the room, anxious to get back to his office. His main suspect was about to walk out the front door, so he definitely had a lot of work to do.

Natalie swallowed and hesitated, staring at the young, dark agent. She felt his gaze shoot straight through her. She walked out of the room, and followed a uniformed officer upstairs.

John ran a hand over his face. He heard his brother's voice over a speaker, echoing between the solid walls. ...so that's how the pro's do it, brother?... John was pissed. He stepped from the room and slammed the door behind him. He headed for the elevator. His dad and him were going to have a little chat.