It went down as one of those moments that you remember for the rest of your life. I'd heard of people weeping after making love, but never before done it until that first time Frank and I consummated our relationship.
He just held me, running those beautiful fingers of his through my hair as I bathed his shoulder and his chest with my tears, holding me as close as he could. When I started to calm a little he moved enough so that he could kiss me – it must have been a very salty kiss, and smiling gently he said softly,
"Was I really that bad?"
It took me a second to realise that he was kidding… making light of a situation that was as serious for him as it was for me and it allowed us to share laughter for a while. Laughter after tears of passion…
Even though he'd made no move to let me go as he started to move a little more I whispered, "Stay…"
"For as long as you want me, baby," he said, capturing the side of my chin to bring my lips upward to meet his waiting kiss, and that was how we began really. We slept wrapped up in each others arms, and in the morning he drove me to the doctor's office to get my head checked out and made me promise to call him to let him know that everything was okay.
Was everything okay?
Well the head was all right, he even complimented Frank in absentia for the job he'd done on the cut. He'd been my doctor for years, since before I married Alan and he'd seen me through… all sorts of things… and while he was happy that I had someone in my life again, he asked the inevitable question, and I left his office with a prescription for birth control pills.
I still laugh now when I think about it, because when I called Frank to tell him that my head was fine and I wasn't going to drop dead from concussion or anything, he told me he had to go out of state on a case… and he would see me when he got back.
It was the way the first six months of our relationship went.
We spent as much time apart and on the phone as we did together.
NORTHWEST MEMORIAL HOSPITAL: 11.45pm Tuesday
The emergency medical team was waiting outside to receive the ambulance as it arrived. She jumped out of the way as they pulled the stretcher out of the back of the van, the wheels concertinaing out to support the trolley and locked into place to allow the ER technician to take over the chest compressions that the paramedic had started as they were two minutes outside of the hospital.
"What have we got?" The doctor snapped off the question at the paramedic who squeezed the bag to force another breath of air into Frank's ruined chest.
"Federal agent took two in the chest point blank. Frank Donovan," Alex phased out the voice as he continued with particulars of Frank's age and what personal details she'd been able to give him. She was still staring horrified at her boss and running along beside the trolley as though her presence could give him even the slightest anchor to life that seemed to be slipping away from him. "We've been pushing fluids through him like there's no tomorrow, but…"
"Okay, got it. We'll take it from here," the doctor dismissed the paramedic as the hospital team took over completely.
As they reached a set of double doors someone caught her around the waist. She struggled – didn't want to leave his side.
"You can't go through there…"
"No, let me go," she struggled. "I have to be there. He…"
"The best thing you can do for him is to keep out of their way." The admitting nurse pulled her back from the door. "He's in good hands."
Alex finally stopped struggling and leaned against the glass. It was cool against her forehead as she looked in on the frantic activity within, the sound carrying to her already tortured ears… the long, steady, single high pitched tone and the low urgent voice.
"Try again at three sixty."
"Charging."
"Stand clear… oxygen away."
She jumped as Frank's body jolted on the table, and turning her back on the apparent hopelessness, slid down the wall, sobbing – her head finding her hands – her heart in an altogether different place and time that hadn't even got as far as the Emergency Room.
**
UC CRIB: 12.05am Wednesday
"Cody will you stop pacing and sit down," Monica looked up from the print out of the mails that had been sent and that Frank had slapped against her chest before he stormed out. "If he finds them, he finds them."
"So why aren't any of them answering their phones? Not even Donovan?" he answered.
"How in the hell would I know," she snapped, irritated and in truth as worried as she knew Cody was. "Maybe he's so pissed he doesn't want to talk to us right now."
"It's more than that it…"
"You know I've been thinking…" she said. She got up and walked over to the bank of computers.
"What?"
"Where's that file on Farlain," she asked.
"Still encrypted," he folded his arms. "Unless you've suddenly developed psychic powers and can tell me the password then…
"Seven three nine T.A." she said softly.
"What?" he said for the second time.
"When he realigned the satellite on our first case together the authorisation code he gave then was seven three nine, tango alpha," she explained. "If it was him that encrypted this file then… worth a try don't you think?"
She shrugged and pulled out his chair for him to sit down. He paused and then as she raised her eyebrows at him, he slowly took the seat and when prompted for the password he typed in the alphanumeric combination.
The computer bleeped once in acknowledgement and then seconds later the screen cleared to show a picture of Saran Ceria Wilts née Farlain and a page of text that he and Monica – leaning over his shoulder – read with increasing concern.
"Jesus, when Jake said it was personal, he wasn't kidding was he?" she said, leaning back in the chair she'd pulled up as they read the file.
"Nor about the danger," Cody swallowed hard. "What the hell do we do? You gotta go find Jake and Alex, or stop Frank or…"
She thought for a moment. "Cody, pull up a search on every case Frank worked that's not classified… everything. And see if you can find anything on Max Donovan… and," she sighed.
"What the hell are you doing?" Cody looked round at her as she got up and started to pace the floor with the printout of the email in her hands.
"Don't…," he raised his hand and pointed at her. "Don't try and psychoanalyse me."
"I'm doing exactly what he told me to do," she answered. "I think it's going to be the only way to crack this case."
"Eh?"
"I'm going to profile Donovan, give him a taste of his own medicine." She turned round to face him. "And then give him the means to crack this."
"He told you not to do that," Cody answered, but none the less started to type frantically at the keyboard, and the printer sprang to life.
"Yeah well…" she said dropping a hand onto his shoulder. "Be right back. In the meantime, see if you can raise either Jake or Alex."
"What about Donovan?"
"Forget Donovan," she called back from the doorway.
Several hours, and far too much caffeine later, the ringing of the telephone interrupted her frantic scribbling.
"Monica," she answered. Then, "Jake… where the hell are you?"
**
NORTHWEST MEMORIAL HOSPITAL: 4.30am Wednesday
"Northwest Memorial… no, no… Monica, listen. She shot Frank," Jake said, his voice falling. Then he paused as he listened to Monica's response, shocked as he would have expected. "He's still in the Operating Theatre. It's not good."
"Is he going to make it?" her voice in his ear was little comfort, and he couldn't answer. "Jake?"
"I think I need you down here, Monica. Alex is coming apart," he answered. He knew she'd understand that without him having the need to actually voice the very real fear that Frank had finally ran out of luck.
"Go hold her together Jake," she answered and he could tell by her voice
that she had understood. "I'm on my way – and we need to talk.
Until then, nobody talks to anyone, nobody – you understand?"
I felt young all over again… there was no other way to describe the way Frank made me feel. It was silly really – and I didn't realise just how much in love with him I was until about a year after that first night together.
I woke up and thought at first that it was morning and my alarm was ringing, but then I opened my eyes and it was still dark – then looked at the clock and saw it was three twenty in the morning – I realised it was the doorbell.
I threw on a robe and made my way down the stairs, squinting at the bright lights that I turned on as I went to the door.
He was leaning on the arm that pressed the bell push, head down and everything about his body language screamed of the pain he was in… I don't mean physical pain.
"Frank…" I took his hand off the bell push.
"Saran, I'm sorry it's late… early…"
"It's all right," I started to draw him inside and then noticed the blood on his shirt. Don't know how I missed it actually; given there was so much of it. "God, baby… you're hurt you…"
"Not mine," he let out a shuddering sigh, and then winced as I put my arm around him and ran my hand over his shoulder. "Maybe a little."
Everything knotted inside as if someone had just told me that I would never see him again when I had it brought home in that way that my protector, my lover and my friend was not the invincible man I believed him to be. I pushed him down onto the couch and started quickly unbuttoning his shirt. My hands shook.
He sat mute… almost – I don't know… I began to think that maybe he was in shock or something as I peeled the shirt off the gash, graze… whatever it was that ran across the top of his shoulder and he didn't even move.
He was sitting almost exactly the same way when I got back with the antiseptic and gauze and tape, except that he'd let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. It worried me. I'd never seen him like this before. I'd seen him angry – though never at me. I'd seen him firm, business like, happy, passionate… but never this… never despondent and lost as he appeared to be then.
I needed to know that he was still there with me, so sat astride his lap with the supplies on the couch beside us. His left arm came around my waist to hold me to him and a small bundle of relief followed in the wake of the touch. It seemed as if I were somehow bringing him back from the brink of some personal abyss.
He moaned slightly as I pressed the antiseptic soaked cotton against his injury to clean it up. It was not as deep as I thought at first, but still nasty enough. It didn't take long to get it covered, and to clean up the front of his chest.
"Too damned slow," he murmured just as I was going to get up to toss the used cotton into the trash. Instead I just put it down on the couch and tenderly cupped both sides of his face.
I guessed he was talking about whatever case he'd just come from. It was the first time he'd ever done that… even to the point of changing the subject wherever I'd ask him about his work.
"Team argued and I ended up without backup," he whispered as my fingers stroked through his hair. He fell silent for a while, his eyes closed, breathing slowly, but the most unsteadily I'd ever seen. His brow creased in a deep frown as he squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. There was a breathy whine in his voice when he next spoke. "Seventeen… I could have got her out… if they'd just…"
"It was NOT your fault," I leaned forward and kissed the frown.
"She had her whole life to live, Saran, she…" he broke off with what could have been a sob then whispered, "Too… damned… slow."
There was nothing I could do, just wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly, whispering soothing nonsense. I couldn't pretend to understand it all, not then, but I wanted to support him, to be there for him when he needed me.
"You need to let me in Frank," I breathed against his lips as I kissed him. "I understand you want to protect me from the reality of what you do, but you need someone too… and if this is going to work you have to let me in."
"I know… and I'm sorry," he opened his eyes and I was shocked to find them full of unshed tears. "Sorry to have kept you so far away…"
"I understand, baby," I kissed him and he moaned softly. "But enough is enough. It's time now…"
"Help me Saran," he leaned his forehead against mine. "I can't…"
"When did you last sleep?" I asked astutely.
"Monday," he said, starting to shake slightly. I shook my head. It was now Thursday morning.
I took his hand and without a further word led him upstairs to bed. Like a trusting child he let me undress him, tuck him under the covers, and joining him, wrap myself around him like the comforting blanket he always was for me…
**
NORTHWEST MEMORIAL HOSPITAL: 6.45am Wednesday
Alex paced across the floor of the waiting room glancing at Monica and Jake as the three of them – together now that Jake and Monica had come back from checking on the woman – waited for the doctor to come out of theatre and tell them how Frank was doing.
As soon as they had got him stabilised in the ER they'd taken him into theatre. The doctor said it was the only chance he'd got. He'd been there ever since, and even when Monica had arrived and pestered them until they let her in to see what was going on, there had been no clear news as to how it was going. They'd said it was a miracle he'd made it as far as the ER.
"Alex, come and sit down," Monica's hand descended on her shoulder and made her jump.
"Where's Jake?" Alex looked up from the floor and noticed that she'd lost track of time and that he'd gone.
"He went to the bathroom." Monica answered. "He'll be back, but you know… you should probably get some rest. You've been here all night."
"So have you," she snapped. She knew what Monica was up to. Trying to shield her from any more stress – thought she was identifying too much with what was going on; with that had happened to Keller – well so what if she was? When had she had the chance to grieve for him?
"Yes, but I wasn't there when it happened," Monica agreed, putting an arm around her shoulders. "And I didn't watch them pull him out of an ambulance doing CPR."
Alex shuddered, and suddenly sat down as Jake came back. He sat down beside her and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
"What?" she asked. He shook his head.
"Nothing," he said and then looked past her to Monica. "I called Cody. He's still working on the files. The code you figured out didn't work on Frank's file."
"Code?" Alex queried.
"We managed to figure out the password to the file on the woman." Monica answered. "She was Frank's girl for about two and a half years before they split up."
"What, so she shot him for walking out on her?" she asked sarcastically. "Is that it?"
"She left him." Monica answered softly. "And I really think you need to go and get that rest, Alex. You're not thinking straight."
"Damn it, I'm not a child!" she shouted, watching the way that Jake and Monica exchanged glances. "And I know there's more to it that that! Someone used her to get to Frank"
"And we need to find out who that someone was." Monica confirmed as the door opened.
Alex came to her feet in an instant and turned to face the green clad surgeon that walked into the room and closed the door softly behind him. He took in a long slow breath as he turned to face the three of them, and his face was set into exactly the expression she didn't want to see. His eyes moved first over Monica's face, then Jake's, before passing over hers to settle on the tiled floor.
"No," she said firmly, her word, her tone telling the doctor that he was not to tell her what she knew he'd come to say.
"I'm sorry, agents," he said it anyway and shook his head. "It really would have been nothing short of a miracle if we'd been able to save him."
"When?" Jake staggered slight and his voice was husky.
"We called it twenty minutes ago. The ME just released the body." He paused, "Under the circumstances, there was no question about the cause of death. There was simply too much damage to his chest and he'd lost too much blood."
"Thank you, doctor," Monica said quietly.
Alex stood shaking… as though she'd tensed every muscle in her body against what the doctor was saying. As he left she found it in her somewhere to turn, and then saw nothing but a flash of rage as she flew at Jake – hitting him full force in the centre of his body even as he tried to catch her.
"You!" she yelled at him. "You said he'd be okay. You said he was too bloody minded to die… you….!"
"Alex!" he shook her but she pulled away from him. "We'll work this out."
"Yeah?" she walked away, still shaking, still using her anger to mask the hopeless loss she felt. "How? You going to bring him back?"
"We'll solve this," he said.
"Oh grow up, Jake," she started for the door. She had to get out of there. She couldn't let them see her like this. "There's too much we don't know here to get anywhere and no one with any answers… and we go around playing kids games in a world full of big guns and more people get hurt. People get killed."
"Don't you think Frank would want…?"
"Frank's dead." She turned on him. "He got killed because we didn't tell him what we were up to… because we didn't behave like a team. You know… he was right about you!"
She snatched open the door and started out before she could say anything
else, and vaguely registered Monica placing a restraining hand on Jake's
arm.
I gave him a key… he brought around a few of his things. It wasn't exactly moving in together, and it wasn't exactly living apart. Like everything else in our relationship it was somewhere in between.
But somewhere in between also involved him being a lot more open with me about his work – about the stresses he faced – and about me helping him deal with those stresses. It brought us a whole lot closer together and that was fine with me.
There would be times I would go to bed alone and wake up in his arms… and times when he woke me coming in. Coming home… as he would always insist. It was a big step for him to let me in like that… I understood that.
Fingers sliding deliciously slowly along my arm woke me before I felt the kiss that settled in the crook of my neck.
"Sorry," he whispered. "You were dreaming. I just wanted to hold you."
"What's wrong?" I asked, turning to slide my hands under his arms and wrap him in my arms and legs.
"I've been neglecting you," he said, pressing his lips against my forehead. "Taking you for granted."
"No," I assured him. "You've never been anything other than wonderful for me. Frank, what brought this on?"
He sighed and tightened his arms around me. My head was pressed against his neck and I couldn't resist opening my lips to kiss the warmth of the life blood flowing through him. He moaned slightly and I felt him begin to stir to life where he was pressed against my stomach.
But then, "Please, wait…" he murmured. "I went to see my brother's wife today."
I looked up at him, surprised. We'd been together almost two years and he'd never mentioned that he had a brother – let alone that his brother was married. Then my mind came back to the way he'd said it… not that he went to see his brother AND his wife, just his brother's wife. I shivered.
"She okay?" I asked.
I felt him nod. "She and Mark are doing fine… considering."
Another intuitive leap – I somehow knew that Mark was not his brother's name, but the name of Frank's nephew.
"That's good," I said, and ran my fingers tenderly across his shoulders.
"She made me realise," he said. "Just how important this time together really is… and how fragile…"
"Frank, don't!" I felt tears prickling in my eyes. He was talking about him not being around any more… about something happening to him… I didn't want to hear that.
"I'm sorry, baby," he cupped my face in his hand and brought my eyes up to meet with his in the dim light coming through the blinds. "But you have to realise that too. Max – my brother – he was killed in the line of duty. It…"
"No," I pulled away from him and sat up, I refused to hear this. I reached out to turn on the light in the bedroom as the tears I'd been fighting to hold inside spilled over my cheeks. "You're careful… you…"
"Yes," he sat up too, and from behind wrapped me in his arms. "I'm careful. So was Max… but the job I do, Saran, it's always a matter of life and death. I'm not saying this to hurt you…"
"Then why?" I turned and pressed myself against him again, trembling.
"Because there's something I want to ask you, and I need you to be able to answer understanding everything that might happen." He ran his fingers down my cheek. "Because I love you Saran."
I breathed his name, and moved to straddle him. He held lightly to the sides of my hips as I wound my arms around his shoulders, leaning against him as he moved his fingers up the length of my spine until he could ease my head away from his shoulders to catch the falling tears with the tip of his tongue.
My own fingers traced the shape of his neck and shoulders as though it were the first time we were seeing each other… our first time together. He supported me as his kisses descended from my face, over my neck and onto the front of my body, over the curves of my breasts.
Slow, soft and sensual kisses, open mouthed, his tongue brushing against my flesh with each press of his lips. My head fell back and I gasped as he found my nipple with his mouth and loved it with his tongue. He moaned against the tenderness there as I pressed up against him where I straddled him, where he was already hard and moments later leaned back against the headboard, drawing me with him.
I lifted myself on trembling thighs as we moved and slowly lowered myself onto his hot, hard flesh, meeting his eyes, which he then lowered to watch as I took him inside me. He growled my name softly, and gathered me against him, holding us together, joined as one, then curled his hands around my straddling thighs, to help me as I moved against him.
"I love you too," I confessed as I started trembling with the gathering sensations. It somehow made our passions all the more intense and important.
He circled his arms around me and turned so that I was beneath him, taking control, oh so gently, turning the tide of our love so that it would return to wash over us – empowering us and wiping away any lingering doubts we might have had. There wasn't a millimetre of space between us, not even as we moved; not even as he glided in and out of the warmth of my body, creating that delicious friction to wind the coming dawn around us both.
"Marry me," he whispered, slowing his movements until he was barely moving inside me at all.
"Frank," I sobbed under him, the movement pressing us together and drawing a light moan from both of us as it stirred those gathered feeling within us.
"Is that yes or no?" he breathed against my shoulder, and started to slide slowly from my tightened, trembling hollow.
"Yes."
We moved together again, slowly – I was the rise to his fall, my hips lifting to meet his descent – a perfect harmony. Our voices mingled, our bodies joined and pressed close together the sun rose with us, shattering the dark that had been between us. Everything was suddenly so bright and clear as we shared another harmony together.
And when we woke, mid morning, amid tears he told me everything that
had happened with Max, and the facts surrounding the death of his brother,
including the details of the digging he'd been doing – unauthorised.
Then he asked me again. My answer was still the same.
MONICA DAVIS' CAR: 7.15am Wednesday
"It's a good cover, Jake," she argued with him as she drove. "Frank and I worked on it for a long time."
"Yeah, but do we really want to follow up on this," he said. "Why not just let it drop? This case has taken out more people that I want to count – including Donovan."
"And that's why we have to do this," she said. "We owe him that much."
They both fell silent for a long time. He ran the details of everything she'd told him through his mind. It wasn't the danger that bothered him – he'd been in equally dangerous situations before – even put himself in more danger when refusing to follow orders, but…
"What about Alex?" he asked softly, still feeling the bruises where she'd launched at him in the hospital and seeing the way her face had crumpled when the doctor confirmed what he knew in his heart he'd expected from the moment the woman had pulled the trigger in the bar.
"She's lost it Jake," Monica answered. "And not before time. She's been walking the wire since Keller died."
"So what, you want to push her that one step further?" he snapped, angry even though he understood Monica's reasoning for the way she said the case had to be played.
"If she was on an emotionally even keel I'd have no problem letting her in on this, you know that," she answered. "But if knew and she blew it, Jake, she'd blow your cover, and if your cover is blown, you're dead… no ifs, buts and maybes – just dead."
He shuddered as she continued speaking and pulled the car into the precinct parking lot.
"Donovan was right when he said this probably goes higher than is comfortable. We don't know who we can trust on this… except the three of us."
He heard her sigh, and frowned.
"Four," he corrected. "Alex…"
"Is out of this, as of now," Monica interrupted. "When we're done here, I'm going to Bloom and have her placed on administrative leave."
"You'd do that?" he demanded, shocked.
"To keep her safe," Monica answered. "Yeah. No question. She might hate me for it now, but when she's got her head straight and all this is over, she'll understand."
She stopped the car and sat holding the steering wheel for a long time with knuckles that, he noticed, were a paler shade of brown.
"You hope," he said softly.
"Jake, if you can't do this, then we might as well go home now," she said with a sigh. "Let the Chicago PD process Farlain; get the hell out and go back to some nice safe little case, like taking down Sonny… knowing that there's some guy out there with the power to bury people as well as cases with absolute impunity."
He took a deep breath… he'd be dead: literally. Out on a limb – alone in a way he'd not been for a long time, watched, but not in contact. It was the kind of danger that cracked even the best of agents… a deep cover case and no telling how long it would last. He turned to find Monica looking at him, studying him carefully.
"Let's do this," he said firmly.
Ever experience the moment when your worst fears are realised?
I was just walking from where I parked my car toward the pharmacy to get my prescription filled when my cell phone went off. I smiled when I saw Frank's number on the display.
"Hey Frank, what's up?"
A pause, and then an unfamiliar voice asked, "Saran Farlain?"
"Yes?" My entire stomach had knotted and I stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot. I could feel more than a few eyes looking my way but it didn't matter – I just knew one thing… someone else was using Frank's cell phone to call me, and that had to be bad news… really bad news.
"My name's Thomas Callaghan," he said. "I work for Frank."
"Where is he?" I snapped in panic. "What's happened?"
"Please don't panic, Ms Farlain. We know where you are, and we've sent a dispatch out to bring you here…" as he said the words I heard the siren coming closer and the dark blue car with the magnetically mounted light on the roof.
"They're here," I breathed, as two suited men got out of the car, flashing FBI identification in my direction and ushering me toward the vehicle. One of them even took the phone from my unresisting hand.
The drive to the hospital was quick and made for the most part in frustrated and terrified silence. The agents didn't know or wouldn't say what was going on… just that Agent Callaghan would answer all of my questions once we got there. I felt sick. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come.
They took me up in a lift to the Critical Care Unit, where a man peeled himself off the wall.
"Ms Farlain?" I nodded; feeling very small, sandwiched between the two agents as I was, and faced with a third. He smiled softly – in sympathy. "Hi, I'm sorry we're not meeting under better circumstances."
"Please, just tell me what happened. Is he…?"
"He was shot, Saran," Thomas put a hand onto my shoulder and dismissed the other agents with a nod. The words went echoing around my head until just the one word 'shot' was all I could hear.
The strength drained from my legs and I found myself making a grab for the man in front of me, who supported me to a nearby seat, calling for a nurse that was just coming along the corridor. The sounds and smells of the hospital faded out briefly, before coming back in full force… the scent of the disinfectant grabbing the ends of the knot in my belly and pulling until it had tightened so much there was no way I was going to avoid giving in to the nausea that was biting at my ears.
Somehow, there was already a bowl in front of my head, and the soft voice of a nurse at my side, whispering comfort, and handing me first a tissue, and then a beaker of water to swill my mouth. Thomas was on the other side from me, holding my trembling hand. I guess he was used to seeing this kind of reaction.
"How?" I breathed, thanking the CCU nurse with a feeble smile. "Wasn't he wearing a vest or something?"
"He had a vest on," he answered, "But he gave it to the hostage to get him out. The boy's fine, thanks to Frank."
I sighed… just like Frank. Thinking of others before himself and taking stupid risks to get a result.
"How… how is he?" I was terrified of the answer.
"He came through surgery pretty well." Thomas stood up. "Let me show you through to him."
He led me down the corridor to a side room outside of which a uniformed officer sat in a plastic chair looking bored. He nodded and I opened the door, taking a deep breath before I went inside.
His eyes were closed and he looked pale, almost shrouded under the blue sheet that covered the lower half of his body, from beneath which, I could see the top half of a dressing on his side, to match one on the front of his shoulder. An IV line disappeared into the back of his left hand and another tube, feeding oxygen to him was taped against his cheek and ran beneath his nose. Beside the bed a heart monitor kept a reassuringly regular rhythm.
"Oh God," I whispered, shaking more with each step that took me closer to him.
"Don't let all this lot bother you," A nurse I hadn't noticed before came from the side of the darkened room toward the bed by all the medical equipment. "It's all perfectly normal after an operation like he just had. Let me get you a chair so that you can sit down."
"Thank you," I murmured, not daring to take my eyes off Frank.
"You must be Saran," she said as she brought the chair across the room to me and as I looked at her confused she explained, "He's been drifting in and out of consciousness."
"Oh," I sat down and reached almost nervously for Frank's hand, and to run my fingers through his hair. I could feel the tears that flowed again to wet my face but there was nothing I could do to stop them. I leaned down to plant the most careful of kisses on his arm; it was the only place I could easily reach without fear of hurting him, and leaned my head against the bed beside him.
"S-ar-an," The hoarse whisper startled me. My head jerked up to find him looking at me. He was clearly very heavily sedated – I could tell from his eyes.
"I'm here, my love," I reached up to caress his cheek and his fingers curled around mine a little more firmly.
"Did we get him out?" he whispered, equally hoarsely. I couldn't help but smile.
"The boy's fine," I leaned over him, to look down into his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asked then. I leaned down to give him the lightest of kisses.
"I am now," I answered.
CHICAGO PD: 8.05am Wednesday
"You have another signal in there with you Mon," Cody's voice came from inside her ear. "Either you're psychic or…"
She nodded, letting him know she'd heard him and phased out the rest of his making light of the situation that was making them all feel nervous. She turned her attention to the woman whom she'd only seen previously in photographs.
Slight, small very pale, but that could be the aftermath of her having been shot by Jake, except for the dark circles under her eyes and her already tearstained face. She felt a pang of sympathy go through her at what she knew had to come and watched as Jake crossed the room to her side; to her right wrist that was cuffed to the side of the bench. The other arm was strapped across her body by a sling.
"I don't think we need these do we?" Jake asked. He nodded toward the handcuffs and setting the file he was carrying on the table began to unfasten them.
"No," she said softly. Her voice barely disturbed the silence of the room. She sat very still while he removed the cuff from her wrist.
Jake sat back looking down at the woman who had fixed her gaze firmly against the far wall… trying to hold herself together, Monica surmised.
"Please may I have a glass of water?" the woman asked. She sounded terrified.
"Sure," Jake answered, and went to the side of the room to pour a beaker of water which he set in front of her.
"Thank you," she said, and reached out to take hold of the beaker and take a few sips of the water.
"I'm Agent Jake Shaw, this is Agent Monica Davis," he continued softly. "And you are?"
"Saran Ceria Farlain," she answered, pushing her hand through her hair and licking her lips. She looked up at Monica then. Monica crossed from where she was standing, and took a seat at the opposite side of the table.
"Really?" she said.
Jake drew the woman's attention away from her again. Monica was glad of that, she was starting to find if difficult to harden her heart against the delicate looking woman before her. Jake pulled up another chair, sitting on it backwards close by to Saran… really hamming up the role she'd asked him to play. He reached for the file and opening it, took out a piece of paper. Calmly he placed it onto the table in front of her.
Monica sighed and looked down at the centre of the piece of paper as Saran's eyes filled with tears. After a few moments the paper moved as the woman pushed it away. Monica looked up to see the tear that rolled down Saran's cheek.
"We never got the chance…" she whispered.
"Would it have made a difference if you had?" Monica said harshly and from a bag she carried she pulled out the gun, plastic wrapped in an evidence bag which she placed on top of the long expired marriage licence. Saran squeezed her eyes closed tightly and turned her head away.
"Saran," Jake called to her gentle. Monica held her breath. This was the moment that would make or break the case… the reaction of an outside party to a terrible piece of news. "He died at six twenty this morning."
It was like watching something decay in stop motion photography. Saran blinked up at Jake, straight into his eyes and frowned as if she didn't understand what he was saying, then understanding dawned, slowly and those sky blue eyes filled with more tears. She folded her uninjured arm across her belly as if she felt pain there, and suddenly the breath she was taking inward became a moan, then a whine as she voiced her disbelief.
"No," the word was long and drawn out, voiced in her throat as a gravely elongated sob. Monica pressed her leg against the corner of the chair, not at all comforted by the fact that she had been right.
Saran folded over, and would have pressed her head against the table except that Jake, playing into his roll caught her and guided her head down onto his waiting shoulder as she lost her fight with the terrible emotions that appeared to be destroying her from the inside out.
"We know," Jake said softly into Saran's hair as Monica started to get
up… leaving the bag that had held the gun, and also held the listening
device on the table. She crossed the room and opened the door to
leave, hearing Jake continue. "We know that there's someone that
forced you to do this… give us the person truly responsible for Frank's
death and we'll do everything we can for you."
"You're sure about this?" he asked quietly as he pulled the car into a parking space out front of the building.
"Frank," I laughed and put my hand over the top of his on the steering wheel. "I'm sure. You're the one that seems nervous."
He shook his head and smiled. "I just don't want you to feel like I'm putting pressure on you."
"You're not," I said. "If I didn't want to be your wife I would have told you when you first asked me."
"Really?" he raised a cheeky eyebrow in my direction, but turned in his seat to take my hand in his. "When I FIRST asked?"
I blushed and quietly said, "Yes, even then."
He chuckled, and kissed my fingers. "Okay then my love. Come on."
He was adorable, even if he wouldn't admit that he was nervous. He held my hand the whole time we were in there, filling out the papers, answering questions, all the silly, official things you have to do, but eventually we emerged with the licence. It was a good job really, because the judge was booked for the Friday, so that we had the long weekend to take away as our honeymoon. All we had to do was get through the rest of the day, Wednesday and Thursday and we'd be starting our lives as Mr and Mrs Frank Donovan. That thought found expression in the first thing I said to him as we got back into the car.
"Don't you dare get called away to a case in the next couple of days."
He turned a frown my way, then leaned over and gave me a light kiss when he saw from the smile on my face that I was teasing him.
"One of these days I'm going to learn to tell when you're serious," he said.
"Then you'll be dangerous," I teased, running my fingers through the hair behind his ear, knowing what it would do to him. He moaned softly.
"I have to go back to work," he breathed against the side of my face.
"I know," I grinned as he adjusted himself to sit more comfortably and put in the key to start the car. "And I have to go and see my agent – and then out with my girlfriends."
I smiled sweetly into the face of his pouting frown.
"Filthy tease," he growled.
"You'll live." I told him, reaching over to run my hand over his thigh. "And I'll probably be late, so don't wait up."
If only I'd known how late… I would have made the moment we kissed our temporary and happy farewell last that much longer; would have savoured the feel of his lips on mine; would have lingered, tasting the softness of his mouth as he did mine… Probably wouldn't have let him go at all.
And I would have told him what I had found out just a few short hours
before we met to go and pick up the marriage license. In truth, I
still don't know why I didn't.
UC CRIB: 8.45pm Wednesday
"What am I missing," Monica paced back and forth across the floor of the crib, making his head ache. He watched the screen, showing Jake sitting nearby the woman they had taken from the precinct that afternoon.
She was still refusing to talk… still insisting that she'd been the one. It just didn't fit with everything that Alex and Jake had told her about what happened at the club. They said Frank had almost taken the gun… that she'd said she was scared… and that it had been the barman that had made her panic and fire the gun.
"You know," he piped up. "You wear a hole in that floor and someone's going to be making suspenders from your guts."
"Shut up, Cody," she snapped, and turned back to a board on which she had stuck all the information she had. 'Back to basics' she'd called it when he had suggested earlier that he could provide her with a perfectly good database to play with. "I'm missing something. Something big."
Slowly she started shuffling those pieces of paper around, back and forth, rubbing out arrows, then drawing them back, re-reading things she'd found and making new notes to go with the ones she already had.
"You're a complicated bastard, Frank Donovan, I'll give you that," she hissed.
"Was," Cody corrected grimly. Monica sighed so he asked, "What are you missing?"
"Only the big one… why she left?"
**
FBI SAFE HOUSE: 10.30pm Wednesday
"Feeling better?" Jake asked as she came back into the room from the bathroom.
"Not really," she answered. "I don't understand why you're keeping me here."
"I told you," he said. "You'd be unsafe in the precinct lockup… and since we don't believe that you suddenly took it on yourself to shoot the man you were going to marry a year and a half before hand – especially not after what he did for you, we're keeping you safe until you decide to change your mind and tell us."
"I'm not going to change my mind," she said tearfully. "And you have to let me go som…"
"Ssshhh," he held up his hand, listening.
"What?" he saw her wrap her arm around her stomach again, the same way she had in the police station. "What is it?"
"I'm not sure," he said. He reached out toward her. "Come here."
Reaching down into a bag beside the couch he took out a vest and put it on the chair while he unfastened the sling from around her shoulder.
"This is going to hurt, but better hurt than dead, okay?"
She nodded and let him move her arm enough to get it into the sleeve of the bullet proof vest and then fasten it. Not a moment too soon as the side of the house exploded into a spray of gunfire.
"Cody, what's going on!" he yelled, throwing Saran to the ground and in spite of the vest, covering her with his own body. She screamed, whether in panic or in pain from her injured shoulder he wasn't sure.
"Out Jake," Cody's calm but urgent voice sounded in his ear. "Get out now!"
There was no time. A second later the entire room was engulfed
in a mass of flame and noise… heat and light.