AN: Hello! Thank you for all the reviews for chapter one. Love how most of you pointed out that I threw shade at Murphy. Honestly, I didn't mean to! But in this chapter, I have to admit, the shade is deliberate. I also got a couple people asking about Nick and Amanda them playing husband and wife. The time jump (2 months later) was really just a teaser to show you what's going to happen toward the end. Majority of this fic will be set during the two months prior, while they are undercover (and playing house - bickering like an old, married couple included). So, in this chapter, we jump back to the start of summer.
This is a fairly long chapter and it's pretty much just here to introduce their cover stories and set the scene. I hope you like it. Please read, enjoy, and review!
Hush
2. Cabin
June 18
The first thing they told new operatives was that deep undercover operations were extremely dangerous. In spite of the rigorous training and preparation required for these assignments, there was no telling how it could unravel and threaten one's moral compass. Undercover cops have lost careers and families because they failed to transition back into a world where they were the crime fighters and not the criminals.
Amanda knew what she was getting herself into. She knew that she was going against the orders of the Atlanta Police Department by coming to New York and working this case. She knew that, even if she were to return to her old squad with a closed case and her sister in tow, her fellow officers would view her with suspicion and distrust. After tomorrow, things would never be the same.
She sunk deeper into the tub and closed her eyes until her head was fully submerged underwater.
The last four days had been non-stop preparation and training for the assignment. Amanda already knew the case inside and out, but her partner needed to be briefed before they could send him to the Hamptons with her. As much as she hated to admit it, Nick picked up on everything quickly; he read hundreds of pages of research and reports spanning back to the early 2000s, when a similar prostitution ring was operating out of Atlanta. What she didn't appreciate was Nick's overkill attention to detail – a perfectionist tendency that gave him the impression that it was valuable to the job to insert his own theories and question the work she had already done.
She emerged from the water and breathed deep, blinking her eyes and adjusting to the bright light of the hotel bathroom. She looked through the water to observe her skin, almost as white as the porcelain of the bathtub. Drawing her knees to her chest, she sat in the water and thought back to the Tuesday they received their backstories.
"Being a deep cover operative means complete immersion in the life one is infiltrating." That was the introductory statement of the former federal agent, who gave Nick and Amanda the rundown of their characters' stories. Not only would Amanda need to pretend to have a few extra zeroes at the end of her savings account, she would also have to dress and act the part of spoiled ex-debutante.
Luckily for her, the NYPD had been extremely thorough. They found a way to explain her Southern accent by allowing her to assume the identity of a certain Amanda "Mandy" Marsden from South Carolina. The real Mandy moved to New York in 2002, and less than a year later, went into witness protection after she was involved with a convicted felon.
The higher-ups in charge of overseeing the operation advised that cover stories should be sufficiently consistent with their own history, so they could fly in the face of intense scrutiny. But apart from the fact that Marsden and Rollins were both from the South and they both won the genetic lottery of blonde hair and blue eyes, Amanda didn't share much life experience with her counterpart. Mandy grew up in a restored plantation home just outside of Beaufort, South Carolina. She was homeschooled for much of her life until she went to college and joined the same sorority her mother was a part of back in the early seventies. Amanda's mother, on the other hand, wasn't even born until 1961; and the only time in her life Beth Anne Rollins ever stepped foot in an institution of higher education was to pose as a student so she could sneak into campus parties.
The sorority became the link between Amanda's well-timed visit to Southampton and the reunion with a Marsden family friend. Twenty-four years ago, Bella Marsden – the matriarch of the family – died from pneumonia, which she acquired while battling a chronic illness. Her only child, Amanda, was only six-years-old at the time. One of the people who attended the funeral was a woman named Grace Costello, a sorority sister who took Bella under her wing when she was just a freshman. Grace remembered her friend's little girl. And she was delighted when, about a week ago, she received a letter from Mandy, informing her that she and her husband were moving to New York City, but their brownstone in the Upper West Side wouldn't be ready until September. Despite not seeing her friend's daughter for over twenty years, Grace wrote back and invited the young couple to spend the summer at her guesthouse in Southampton.
Nicolas Santiago would play the role of her husband. The story was they met while Amanda was vacationing down in Miami Beach with her girl friends. He was a charming, successful sports agent who could trace his ancestry from an aristocratic Cuban family. Being born with a silver spoon was something their roles had in common; and it was something that would allow them to fit seamlessly into the world they were about to immerse themselves in.
Amanda rose from the tub, the water sluicing down her body. She reached for a towel and stepped out to dry herself off. Tying a loose knot above her chest, she stood in front of the mirror and grimaced at the sight of dark rings under her eyes. It had been weeks since she's had a good night's sleep. And the longer she scrutinized her appearance, the more she doubted that she coul pull off being Amanda Marsden. No way would the Southern belle be caught dead looking like a zombie.
She opened the black cosmetic case issued by the department and sifted through the makeup – a Chanel compact and a Dior palette of eye shadow. Even with her job that now paid her fairly decently, she still couldn't justify spending more than Maybelline prices on a tube of mascara. She left the case by the sink so she could remember to pack on the concealer under her eyes, before her 'husband' picked her up in the morning.
With a sigh, Amanda switched off the bathroom light and headed to bed, praying tonight's sleep would come easy.
Nick sat at the bar next to Olivia, sticking out amongst the brash and unruly crowd with her glass of pinot noir. For the last hour, he had been talking her ear off about his anxious anticipation for the undercover operation. It was always like this before he jumped into a long-term assignment – he was just as much nervous as he was excited. Meanwhile, Olivia tried to calm him and keep him from keeling over with all his energy. It didn't help that her partner had twice as many cans of Explosivo earlier today than he had on most days.
"You remember what Captain said," she reminded him. "If you need anything, you can always contact me. That's what the burner phone's for."
He waved his hand dismissively and scrunched up his face, the alcohol already making his head feel lighter. "Yeah, yeah, I know… But does it have to be case-related? I mean, what if Rollins is driving me up the wall and I need to vent?"
Olivia laughed and shook her head. "I thought you were done venting about your ex-wife; now, you're going to start venting about your fake wife, too?"
Nick muttered a few curse words under his breath before he lifted the beer bottle to his lips. "It's not just me, right?" he asked, setting the bottle back down on the counter. "You guys have seen her around the squad room the last few days. She's kind of a bitch."
"Language," she reprimanded with mock indignation. "Nick, I really don't think she's as bad as you think. You know, Rollins put a lot of time into this case and I think she deserves some respect for bringing it to light in spite of the resistance she received from her superiors… And maybe you just need to give her some time to warm up to you; after all, she was expecting to be partnered up with someone else."
"Yeah, what's up with that?" he asked, scratching the back of his head. "I looked into this Declan Murphy and, uh, that guy is old."
She raised a brow and narrowed her eyes at her partner. Nick held his palms up in surrender and leaned back to dodge any impending attacks she might have planned. "I don't mean it like that. You – you're not old. Y-you're Liv!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged his shoulders and threw her one of his boyish grins, which earned him a light punch on the arm. "I'm just sayin' that for your age – which isn't all that old, just so we're clear – you look a lot better than Murphy. And I mean, a lot better." Olivia's harsh look didn't relent, so he chose to move on instead of saying another inappropriate comment about her age or the length of her hair (apparently, both of which were strictly off-limits when it came to Olivia). "Man, I can't believe she would go for that guy and expect people to believe she'd hook up with him."
"Does it hurt your ego because she's obviously not attracted to you?"
"No!" Nick cried out a little too loud, gaining the attention of the bar's other patrons. The volume of his voice mellowed out as he leaned in closer to her. "She's not my type anyway."
"Really?" Olivia asked; her brow arched in disbelief. "Pretty girls aren't your type, Amaro?"
"Don't." He held a finger up to stop her, before he took a swig of his beer. "You think I'm drunk so you can take advantage and interrogate me about past girlfriends and my sex life. Not falling for it this time, Liv."
She lowered her head to suppress the laughter as she remembered the last time Nick decided it was a good idea to drown his sorrows in alcohol. It actually wasn't too long ago; the day Maria called to tell him she signed up their daughter to attend a Princess Training camp in Los Angeles. When Nick described it to her, she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The camp was geared for young, impressionable girls who wanted to learn about modeling, acting, and singing; and when they weren't doing that, they were learning how to braid each other's hair and how to properly set up a tea party. Nick already had justified reservations about the nature of the camp; but the fact that it was going to keep Zara in the West Coast all summer made him all the more enraged with his ex. Tired of hearing him whine about it in the office, she took him to the bar later that evening and promised the first round would be on her. But one round wasn't enough for the newly divorced and abandoned detective, who spilled his frustrations between shot after shot of hard liquor. As the night wore on, the mood shifted from despair to amusement as Olivia started teasing him and asking him questions he would normally never answer if he were sober. It was an awful day for Nick (and an even worse hangover the following morning), but Olivia had to admit, the night at the bar brought them a lot closer.
"It's going to be so different working at the 1-6 without you."
"You say it like I'm not coming back," Nick said, nudging her shoulder. "I'll be back by the end of the summer, provided Amanda Rollins doesn't shoot me – or worse, castrate me."
Olivia rolled her eyes before she took a long sip of her wine. "I'm so relieved I wasn't paired with you for this assignment. I don't think I'd survive being married to you."
"But you'll still miss me, right?"
Her mouth curled up into a smirk as she raised her glass to his bottle. "Always."
Day one of operation Bust-A-Prostitution-Ring and it was already a lot better than any of his previous work under Narcotics. He rolled up the department-issued Range Rover in front of the hotel and pulled out a brand new iPhone from his pocket to text his 'wife', I'm downstairs . She replies a few seconds later, I'll see you in 5 .
While the car is idling, Nick pushed a series of buttons on the dashboard to figure out what exactly they did. Apart from the satellite navigation and Sirius radio that seemed fairly straightforward, he had yet to discover the other added features of the car. He picked the 90s alternative rock station, which brought back memories of college. He was too busy drumming his fingers at the wheel and bobbing his head to the beat that he failed to notice Amanda tapping on the window. He caught her from the corner of his eye and smiled sheepishly as he unlocked the car. Hopping out of the driver's side, he walked around to help her load her stuff in the back. The size of her suitcase doubling since she arrived in New York, all thanks to the borrowed designer clothing from the department's repository.
"Morning," he greeted her, noticing her skin looking a lot more radiant than it did yesterday. She also had light pink polish on her nails and her hair was curled and pinned away from her face. His mind flashed back to the previous night, when Olivia pointed out Amanda was a pretty girl.
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We better get going." She headed to the passenger side and strapped her seatbelt before he even made it back into the car. By the time he closed the door, she already switched the station to Bluegrass.
The drive to Long Island was quiet apart from the twang of banjos and the screech of violins. Nick let her have free rein over the music, remembering another thing Olivia told him the previous night about giving Amanda time to warm up to him.
But by the time they were outside city limits and on the highway, Nick was sick and tired of receiving the cold shoulder. She didn't look like the kind of person who entertained small talk. And, in that moment, he wasn't really in the mood for it either. "So, uh, what made you decide to request for Murphy?"
Amanda tore her eyes away from the road and turned to him. "I read up on some of his cases and heard he's one of the best."
Nick chuckled. "A little too experienced to be playing your husband though, don't you think?"
"No," she answered simply, before she faced the window. After a short moment, she looked back and narrowed her eyes at him. "You know, it's not that strange for a woman to be with an older man, especially in WASP-y towns like Southampton."
"Yeah, I mean, if you want to play the role of a gold digger. Sure, why not?" He glanced her way and caught the daggers she threw with her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back against the seat. "You said it yourself in your research… In order to get into close proximity with our targets and infiltrate their group, the operatives have a better chance if they're young and attractive."
"You're so full of yourself."
"Hey," Nick said, stepping on the brakes abruptly behind another stalled car. "I didn't volunteer for this assignment. The brass chose me, so if you have a problem with it, then take up with them."
"I don't have a problem," she hissed, her mouth twisting into a frown.
He scoffed and shook his head, letting the car crawl forward only to stop again. "Really? Because ever since we met, you've been nothing but judgmental. And I've tried to be nice to you, but you're really testing my patience here."
"Great," Amanda replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm like slow molasses. "Then maybe we can be the newlywed couple who skips over the honeymoon period and fights all the time."
"Sounds perfect."
With more miles between them and the city, the tension didn't thaw in the slightest. Nick selected a new station from a button conveniently situated on the steering wheel. Amanda stared icily at him, but restrained herself from participating in his game and reaching over to switch it back to The Avett Brothers. She looked back outside at the trees that lined the highway; then her eyes drifted to Nick's hazy reflection on the passenger side window. He was wearing the kind of outfit she'd expect someone to wear for a weekend trip to the beach. Gone were the crisp button-down shirts and poly-blend ties, which he's traded in for a light cotton polo shirt and khaki shorts. On his wrist was a silver Rolex, which she remembered came with an attached note that he would be liable if this item were to go missing, unless in the event that his life would be in jeopardy. The same went for all the fancy dresses, high-heels, and jewelry stashed away in her trunk.
Staring at his reflection, Amanda quietly sighed. She would never admit it to him, but part of the reason why she thought Murphy would make a great choice for a pretend-husband was because she thought people would assume she just married him for the money. That way, she wouldn't have to worry about convincing people she was actually in love with him.
"Where are you going?" Amanda was drawn out of her thoughts when she realized Nick was changing lanes prematurely. "Southampton isn't for another five exits."
"Traffic's bad. I know another way." He picked up on the subtle shake of her head and the pout of her lips. "What, you don't think I can get us there in time? So this is how the next couple months are going to be? You constantly doubting me?" As soon as Nick reached a red light, he hit the brakes and angled his body toward her. "Look, I don't know if you were hot shit back in Atlanta, but you're working for the NYPD now and I don't have to sit here and take this crap from you. So if you want to act like some petulant child just because you didn't get your way, then fine… But I'm not going to tolerate you underestimating my abilities and experience just because I'm not the partner you wanted. You do know this isn't my first time working UC."
"No offense, Amaro, but going UC as a Narc isn't the same thing."
"Because you would know with all your undercover experience," he retaliated sarcastically, effectively shutting her up.
The scenic route was a worthwhile distraction from the bitter chill inside the Range Rover. In the distance, they saw the beach, dotted by tourists and city folk getting an early start to the weekend. The further in town Nick drove, the trees on the side of the road became lusher, leaves hanging over the streets to provide shade from the sun. They passed through old buildings on Main Street – an Anglican church, a mechanic's shop that was converted into a diner, a gift shop that sold stained glass coasters and hand carved wind chimes. The side roads led to quaint Cape Cod style homes with tire swings and Adirondack chairs on the front lawn. As Nick drove further south, the road merged into two narrow lanes that stretched far beyond the horizon. On one side, acres of tall grass, and on the other, sand dunes sloping down toward the low tides of the Atlantic.
The car slowed down as the GPS announced a right turn. There was a stone archway with the name 'Huxley' fashioned out of wrought iron. Following the paved road that twisted past Willow Trees reminiscent of Amanda's Georgia, they finally arrived at the palatial home. The driveway circled in front of the house, a bed of flowers and a small fountain in the center.
Nick casted a glance at Amanda, who took a deep breath before she met his eyes – the earlier intensity melting away into kindness. He turned off the engine. "Ready to do this?"
Amanda nodded before she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. Just as her brown leather sandals hit the ground, the double doors opened and out stepped a woman she recognized from their files. Her name was Grace Huxley (née Costello) – a socialite in her sixties and a member of the Kappa Alpha Gamma sorority. She was married to Phillip Huxley, a retired neurosurgeon, who now taught part-time at Columbia University's school of medicine.
With the kind of poise and elegance that suited her name, Grace traipsed down the marble steps. She greeted Amanda with a dazzling smile – the whites of her teeth as brilliant as the pearls on her ears. "My, if it isn't little Miss Mandy Marsden all grown up." She reached her arms out for an embrace, which caught Amanda off guard. She awkwardly patted the woman's back as she took a whiff of the woman's powdery perfume. Grace pulled away slightly and inspected her from arms-length. The scrutiny was a bit much for her and Amanda wanted to turn away; fearing that Grace would figure out she was not the same little girl from Bella's funeral twenty-four years ago. "You're stunning, darling. Just like your mother."
A blush fanned across her cheeks. "Really? Wow… Uh, thank you, Mrs. Huxley."
"Oh, Mandy darling, please call me Grace. Mrs. Huxley is my mother-in-law," she said with a devious little smile. Looking over the blonde's shoulder, her eyes sparkled at the man pulling out two large suitcases from the back of the SUV. "And this must be your husband, Nicolas," she said, lowering her head to whisper to Amanda. "You forgot to mention in your letters that he was so handsome."
"I – uh…"
Amanda was saved when Grace walked toward the man posing as her husband. Nick extended his arm out for a handshake but she ignored the gesture by pressing her cheeks on his, like some kind of classy European lady. Nick felt a little embarrassed, but he instantly collected himself. If he pretended Grace was just one of his mom's friends or one of his aunts from Miami, then the social kiss wouldn't have been so weird.
"How was your drive? I hope it wasn't too bad. Did you pass by the town on your way here? Isn't it lovely? It's especially charming this time of the year," she said, not giving him much of a chance to respond.
"It was nice – the drive and the town," Nick replied with a smile. His hand released the handle of the suitcase as he pointed to the large house. "You have a very beautiful home."
"Well, aren't you just the sweetest thing," she gushed, looking over her shoulder at Amanda and pressing her hands over her heart. Grace craned her neck to see the bags behind him and the rest of their things in the back of the car. "Don't worry about those. Paloma will take them to the guesthouse."
Nick looked up at the open foyer to see a short Latina woman in a navy and white maid's uniform. "Amanda and I have a lot of stuff… I really don't mind bringing it down myself."
Grace stroked her chin with a delicate and manicured finger, her blue eyes surveying the taut muscles of his arms. "Well, if you insist." She returned to Amanda and they linked arms as they headed inside the house. Paloma hopped down the steps to help Nick, who found it really hard to let go of the innate chivalry and refuse her assistance, especially when the woman reminded him of his own mother. In the end, he let her carry the lighter items because, like his own mother, she was just as stubborn.
As Grace led her into the house, Amanda silently marveled at the interiors. Everything was so pristine and well decorated, down to the knick-knacks and mementos that lined the shelves and the contemporary art that hung on the walls. Grace explained that she has always been a fan of the traditional aesthetic, but she needed to find a compromise because her husband refused to let go of his Marcel Dzama paintings.
In the living room, the furniture was arranged around a two-story stone fireplace. Grace unlinked her arm and sat down on an armchair with a back that towered over her head. Amanda took a seat adjacent on the brown leather Chesterfield sofa. Smoothing her white skirt over her legs, she took in the sheer grandeur of the room without appearing too overcome by it. After all, she was supposed to have grown up in similar living conditions.
"I am so pleased you got in touch with me, Mandy," she said with a genuine smile. "I know you were still young when your mother passed away so, perhaps, you don't remember; but we truly were the best of friends."
Amanda nodded. "I do remember. She wrote about it in her journals. She wrote a lot of good things about you, Mrs. Hux – I mean, Grace."
"Seeing you now… Goodness, you look so much like Bella." She dabbed the corner of her eye as tears threatened to spill over. Reaching for a picture frame on the side table, Grace pointed to a blonde woman standing center among five other women. "This was taken outside the sorority house. Your mother – bless her heart – she always had the brightest smile."
It was a picture Amanda had never seen from the collection of files the department had on Amanda Marsden. She almost felt guilty sharing that moment with a woman who was under the impression that she was someone else. Internally, she reminded herself that this was a job and she couldn't let personal feelings get in the way of completing her mission. As she studied the picture, she couldn't help but be in awe at the resemblance she shared with Bella. Besides the blonde hair, they shared the same feline shape of their eyes and the same bow of their upper lip. She traced her finger over the picture and considered the woman's smile, which was more far-reaching and brighter than her own.
"You could take that with you to the guesthouse," Grace suggested. "I haven't decorated it with any personal mementos to allow my visitors to make it feel like home."
Amanda smiled softly and held the picture close to her chest. "Thank you."
The conversation took on a lighter mood as Grace asked her about her life post-college and the story of how she met Nicolas. Before Grace could pry some more and ask about the possibility of having children, Phillip joined them in the living room. A tall, lanky man with salt and pepper hair, the retired doctor turned out to be more reserved than his wife. Nonetheless, Amanda discovered that he was just as warm and welcoming as his wife of forty-two years.
From the foyer, they heard two voices speaking fluent Spanish. Amanda should have known that her partner could speak the language just by looking at him. What she didn't expect was the way his voice affected her – how it made her face feel hot and her legs feel like Jell-O. Paloma said something in rapid-fire Spanish and Nick's ensuing laugh echoed against the walls. They emerged into the living room and Amanda picked up on the instantly planted stoic look on Paloma's face. She excused herself and scurried off toward the kitchen.
"Isn't that great, Gracie? Someone around the house who can finally converse in Spanish; he's probably Paloma's favorite guest already." Phillip said, rising from his chair. He reached out to shake Nick's hand. "Phillip Huxley. Pleasure to meet you."
Nick gripped the man's hand and bowed his head. He was secretly grateful that Phillip hadn't chosen to kiss him on the cheek just as his wife had done. "Nicolas Santiago… Thank you so much for letting me and my wife stay in your home for the summer."
Phillip glanced over at his wife and smiled adoringly. "Gracie loves having company, especially when it's old friends."
"Well, Nicolas, you've seen the guesthouse. What do you think?" Grace asked expectantly.
"It's amazing," he answered, a little lost for words. Truth be told, Nick was already stunned when he was driving up and he saw the main house. But when he saw the cabin by the water, he was simply rendered speechless.
Quaint and peaceful – it was a good distance away from the Huxley's home to afford guests their privacy. To get to it, one needed to go down a set of stairs to a deck decorated with a hammock and outdoor dining furniture. Around the corner, there was an outdoor shower. And extending from the deck was a dock that led further out to the water – a perfect spot to dive from for an early morning swim.
Inside the cabin, billowy curtains encased large windows that faced the water. A small living room set, with mismatched throw pillows and cozy fleece blankets, were pushed against the wall. A vintage desk stood opposite, overlooking the view. A galley kitchen was nestled on one side and across, a bathroom with a deep claw foot tub. A narrow staircase led up to a loft that looked out on the living area of the first floor. A queen-sized bed bordered the banister and sat in between two side tables with mismatched lamps. While small, the bedroom opened up to French doors that led out to a balcony.
"To be honest," Nick started, "I don't think I'd want to leave that guesthouse at the end of the summer." He caught the flash of horror in Amanda's eyes and he reveled in the effect it had on her. Grace beamed with pride, knowing that her hospitality was, once again, unparalleled.
After chatting about Nick's job as a sports agent, the off-season, and sports in general, Phillip and Grace toured the younger couple around the property. The rest of the house was even more breathtaking and the garden out back was more idyllic than most things Amanda has seen in magazines. A back patio pointed the way to a swimming pool bordered by lounge chairs. At the far end, there was an escarpment with a small vegetable garden on the west side and the guesthouse on the east. Nick was right when Grace asked him what he thought of their living arrangements; the place was amazing. While the main house was lavish and beautiful, there was an understated whimsy about the small cabin by the water.
Amanda walked beside Grace as they headed back toward the house for lunch. Paloma had prepared a light meal, which promised to be just enough anticipating tonight's celebratory feast. Nick and Phillip trailed behind, talking about football and car restoration, which the older man enthused Nick about. Once he learned that Nick had an interest in cars (like most men, really), Phillip offered to let him help restore a midnight blue Ferrari Daytona he won at a car auction in the early nineties.
"This is the first time in a while that we've had a visitor capture my husband's attention," Grace began as they followed the pathway through the garden. "Normally, Phillip holes himself up in his office or tinkers away in the garage. It's nice to see him look so happy and so excited to share his hobbies." She looked behind her at the two men and smiled to herself. "You chose a good one, Mandy."
