Dinner with the Devil

It showed up at the "house", which is what Charlie called his estate - his mansion with sprawling grounds and an enviable view of the city - in a plain white envelope, looking innocuous. A dinner invitation from Mickey Rayborn in the oily man's own hand, scrawling out "and bring Jack Reese's lovely daughter too. I'm sure she'll find the evening entertaining."

It was an invitation to vacation in hell from the devil himself.

But, as Charlie pointed out, with the paucity of leads in their current inquiry it was one they could not afford to turn down and that was precisely what troubled Dani Reese. She stood flicking the envelope back and forth across her knuckles, making an annoying smacking sound and biting her bottom lip tentatively.

"Come on Reese, we gotta go. You know it. I know it. Hell, even Rayborn knows it. We gotta go. We'll just be extra careful," Charlie almost pleaded, clearly interested in what the man had to say, to share. But Dani Reese's distrust of Mickey Rayborn went back far further than Charlie could envision.

She flashed back to the halcyon days of the LAPD SWAT Team. They were heroes, then, in the wake of the Bank of LA robbery, larger than life - even to other cops.

Back in those days, Sunday afternoon barbeques at the Reese home always began benignly enough. Kids playing in the sprinkler, grilling hot dogs and loads of other cops around; but as the day wore into night most families went home leaving only the hardcore drunks. Men who'd already had far too much beer, laughing too hard, sweating and swaggering men who liked to have little girls sit on their lap or fetch them more drinks. She shuddered, remembering those hot summer nights. She remembered never liking the lecherous way Mickey Rayborn looked at her and Charlie Crews was not going to like it either.

This was beyond dangerous, it was insane, which naturally meant Charlie jumped right in with both feet. She heard him talking on the phone talking to Rayborn in guarded tones, promising they'd be there, while she chewed a hole in her bottom lip. This was not going to be pleasant, she just knew it.

After he ended the call, by snapping his cell shut with flourish, Charlie tried to allay her fears, "I know you don't like it. You don't trust him. I don't either. But we are dead in the water. We need something. Rayborn likes to talk. Maybe we'll learn something," he offered, knowing she was unhappy with his decision.

"We'll only learn what he wants us to and that will be nothing but lies and half-truths designed to lead us away from the truth," she told him glumly.

"Okay…I can go alone," he offered when it was clear the idea repulsed her.

"You think I'd let you go in there with no backup?" She wondered at his stupidity sometimes.

"I can take of myself." He jutted his chin out emphasizing something, Dani just wasn't sure what. Rayborn was dangerous to her, to him, to them; there was no way she was letting him go alone.

"Oh, there's not a chance in hell I'm letting you go in there alone," she pronounced determinedly.

"That's my girl," he winked at her and smiled.

Dani simply scowled at him. "And you'd better not let on that we are…that you and I are…" she stammered, seemingly unable to define their relationship aloud.

"We are what? In love?" he teased softly, "Honey, if you think I can hide that then I should give up police work and go into show business," he smiled at her. "That's a lost cause. There isn't a man or woman on the face of this planet I could convince that you weren't more important to me than air."

She stared at him, speechless.

"What?" he asked laughing at her expression.

"You do that on purpose," she growled and shot him a dark look.

"Yes, honey I do," he steered her by the elbow toward the door and their waiting car. "Any chance you'll let me drive since you're not yourself this morning?"

She shot him another sideways glance meant to intimidate and threaten.

"Have I told you how hot you are when you try to look mad at me?" he was in rare form and truly enjoying the morning. "Reese?"

"Just shut up and get in the car, Charlie," she replied. She was losing control of this situation. What was she thinking? Then Dani realized she never had control. Control was an illusion and no one, nothing controlled Crews – he was a force of nature, like gravity or water. He was wondrous and she loved him; for that she could eat dinner with anyone.

"Ready?" he questioned as Dani's heels clicked down the stairs behind him. He turned to face her and gaped. Dani was a pretty woman, but when she took the time to dress up, she was nothing short of stunning. She was dressed simply and in black, and Charlie wryly thought she'd chosen the color on purpose. The dress she'd chosen accentuated her small waist and the hemline was well short of her knees.

"You look like you've swallowed your cufflink. Now stop staring," she directed, all business. This was a mission, a felony arrest, a drug raid to her. "You're carrying right?" she checked him with her hands for a pistol.

She found his Beretta 92F in a shoulder holster under his left arm. "A shoulder rig?" she questioned.

"A paddle back ruins the lay of these pants," he teased with a tiny lisp like he was gay. Dani smirked, dangerously close to smile for the first time all day.

"Hey," he said softly, "can we do this - you frisk me thing - again later?" he teased, waggling his eyebrows at her. His eyes twinkled with mischief and he watched as Dani almost smiled again, she then carefully schooled her features.

He sought her eyes with his knuckle under her chin, "I won't let him hurt you, you know?" Her eyes were dark and serious for a moment, then Reese dropped those famous walls and she was again a mystery to him.

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you," Dani told him.

Her expression was unreadable and eyes distant. Charlie rocked slightly on the balls of his feet with his hands jammed in his pockets; he waited while she gathered herself to continue. "Rayborn used to come to the house when I was a kid, drank too much, creeped me out. He still creeps me out Crews."

Charlie's eyes widened and then narrowed at her implication. "He didn't? Did he? Reese, did he touch you?" his voice was deep and thick with emotion. He stepped close to her and lightly ran his fingers down her bare arms. "I'll always keep you safe, honey, but…if he hurt you….now or before…that's something I can't forgive."

"See that's what I'm afraid of, Charlie," she looked up at him, her gaze serious. "I know you'll do something dumb. We'll get there; you'll feel my reaction and things will go downhill. That's why I'm telling you now, because you'll know the instant we get there. You know me that well," she confessed.

"Did he touch you, Dani?" Charlie inquired with more force, seeking answers in her dark eyes.

"No, he… just said things, looks, glances, leers, drunken kisses goodbye that lasted too long. I knew, Crews, okay? I just knew and he gives me the creeps," she confessed again biting her bottom lip in annoyance and frustration.

Charlie let out a loud audible breath and when he did so, Dani did too. The synchronicity of their behavior brought a slight smile to both their faces. He gathered her into his arms, hugging her into his chest, where she fit so perfectly. "Any looks, leers or kisses will be met with my fist tonight," he promised.

"How are we going to learn anything if you punch his lights out before we even sit down to dinner?" she questioned.

"Doesn't matter. That man so much as looks at you funny and we are outta there," Charlie promised, kissing the top of her head lightly. "You have my word."

As luck would have it all that preparing and emotional unburdening was totally unnecessary because Rayborn delivered an even greater surprise that evening.

They were guided through the house, by Finn, a burly bodyguard with whom it appeared Charlie had history, to where Rayborn was seated in his elegantly appointed study. The reddish blond 60 year old was dressed in expensive loafers, a cream colored buttoned down shirt and navy slacks. He sat lounging in a rich chestnut leather club chair, his feet on the ottoman, swirling an amber single malt scotch around a highball glass, smoking a cigar and chatting amiably with none other than Jack Reese.