A/N - thanks so much for the reviews and follows! Here's the next chapter, a little earlier in the day than yesterday. Enjoy!

Same trigger warnings apply from chapter 1, rating is staying at M for content.

( late afternoon. Monday, June 3)

The haggard and overused leather of her swiveling chair crinkles as Olivia falls into it. She settles in and leans forward, shaking her mouse once to wake up the embarrassingly outdated desktop and sits back again as the screen lights up. It takes a while, as usual, and she takes a sip of coffee while she waits. The coffee is mediocre, but it's caffeine and that's good enough. Her lips smack together silently and finally the computer is ready for her to sign in and get started.

Fingers fly over the keys, her brain barely registering the letters that bleep across the screen. It's mundane work, tedious and one of her least favorite parts of the job, besides notifying families that their loved ones have passed away. But at one particular ticket, she pauses. Quite frankly, this particular ticket has been lingering at the back of her brain since earlier that day. And for good reason. Several good reasons, actually. The chiefest reason being that Alexandra Cabot was in big trouble this morning and Olivia had been unable to help her. It's disconcerting, now, thinking about her bruised and bloody face and empty blue eyes and imagining what the rest of her must look like beneath that over large jacket. And truth be told, she probably did more harm than good by stopping her.

And that's not all. The whole situation is fucked up and Olivia wishes with all she has that none of it had ever happened. That she hadn't been tied up in this in the first place. Without a doubt, the brothers caught up to Alexandra and who knows what kinds of unspeakable things they're doing to her now. Pondering what might happen if she were to look up that address in the nice neighborhood and pay the woman a visit, she shakes her head, knowing full well that it's a terrible idea.

She stares at the computer for a moment and then decides to refresh herself on the details of the whole situation. The tickets flutter gently to the table when she drops them, resting her left hand on the keyboard while her right guides the mouse to the browser and a search engine. The letters appear quickly in the blank white box and she presses enter.

The first few results her eyes scan over are advertisements and are irrelevant, but farther down, she finds what she's looking for. It hasn't been that long ago. The headline screams at her from the screen.

Prominent oil businessman and wife slain at home. No suspects named so far.

She clicks the link and it directs her to a local newspaper's website; the article is dated six months before. Late December of this past year. Her eyes scan on.

Early this morning, authorities report having found prominent oil businessman Stanley Cabot and his wife, Vivian, dead in their home. It is not clear yet, what the official cause of death is. An anonymous tip to this newspaper revealed that the couple were indeed murdered, but declined to say in what manner it occurred. The late Stanley Cabot owned Cabot Oil Technologies, and the future of that company is now uncertain. The couple's three daughters, Kathryn, Melanie, and Alexandra, a prosecutor for the city, all reside in San Antonio and none were available for comment. With police swarming the block at the secluded hillside Cabot land, it is certain the authorities are working towards a lead. When asked for a specific comment on the shocking and seemingly random murder of these prominent San Antonio residents, Texas Ranger Elliot Stabler declined and assured the media that the department would be issuing a formal statement by the end of today.

Alexandra Cabot, prosecutor for the city and daughter of two recently murdered parents. She scrolls down again and searches for more articles. But nothing ever developed from the Ranger's investigation, she guesses he never found any more leads and now the case is probably filed cold.

...

Time ticks steadily towards four p.m., towards the end of her shift, and Olivia's paperwork is almost, blessedly complete. Thoughts of the blonde woman and her recent troubled past are pushed aside, and she focuses instead on getting this all finished. Just as Olivia staples the last ticket to the last form, her desk phone rings, blaringly loud in the almost empty office.

"Trooper Benson," she says succinctly into the phone, cradling it between her shoulder and ear while reaching for a pad and pen.

"Trooper, hello, this is Elliot Stabler. I'm a . . ." But Olivia shakes her head and cuts him off.

"Texas Ranger. Yeah, I was just reading an article with your name in it."

He's quiet for a moment, and Olivia imagines he's smiling that she knows who he is. Probably a pompous-ass like a lot of Rangers she's met.

"I imagine you were. You pulled over a person-of-interest earlier today."

Olivia frowns at the phone, reaches again for the mouse and closes out her current program, uncovering again the article about the slain Cabots.

"Alexandra Cabot?"

"Mm hmm," he says. "We've got her flagged. Looking for any activity from her, suspicious or not."

Strange, Olivia thinks. She didn't see a flag on Alexandra's license. It makes sense, though. They never found anyone to blame the parent's murders on. She decides to play ignorant. "Is she a suspect?"

He's quiet on that for a moment and then eventually gives an answer. "Possibly. You mind if I ask you some questions about your traffic stop involving Ms. Cabot yesterday?"

Olivia shakes off the feeling that she's being interrogated and sits back in her chair, flipping through her notes for reference. "Sure, go right ahead."

"Okay great. The reason for stop was speed?"

"That's right. 105 in an 80. Flew right by me on a motorcycle. I was set up behind an overpass."

"Motorcycle, huh?" He sounds curious. "What kind?"

"Ducati, nice bike. But not registered to her. Insurance says Vicente Velez, who she claimed was her boyfriend."

"Interesting. And where was she headed? Coming from?"

"Wouldn't say. She was acting suspiciously, looking around everywhere. And she was all beat up, bloody lip, black eye."

"Hmm," is all he says to that. "Says here you called in K-9? Reason to suspect drugs?"

"Not really," she says. "But she refused consent to search the bike, and she wouldn't answer my questions. You never know these days who they're using as their mules."

"Dogs didn't turn up anything?"

"Nope, not a thing. So I wrote her the ticket and she took off, headed west on highway 90."

"Away from the city," he said quietly and Olivia supposes it's more to himself than anything.

"Right. It was like she was running from something. Looked shaken up. And beaten up, like I said."

"Okay," he says and Olivia can make out the sounds of a pen scratching on paper.

"So you think all this has something to do with her parents' murders?"

He sighs from across the line. It's obvious the Rangers have been frustrated with this case. "It might. Might not. We haven't heard from her since January. She's been lying low."

"Where are her sisters?"

The answer, she already knows, but she knows she shouldn't, being an outsider on the case. A clicking sound comes from the line. Fingers tapping on a desk. Nervous habit, she notes.

"No idea. We asked them not to leave the state, but it looks like they've taken a leave of absence from work, picked up families and everything and just left."

"That's bizarre."

"You're telling me," he grunts. "The other two had solid alibis. Hers was iffy."

"So what's the next move?" Olivia catches herself tapping her own fingers against her desk.

"Listen, I've got a proposition for you actually. I'll have to run this by my boss of course, but you're the closest contact anyone's had to Ms. Cabot in six months. And a female. She might open up to you."

Olivia waits, unsure what it is he's asking.

"Would you like to help me on this case? Take a break from the highways for a little while and help the Rangers solve a couple murders?"

Looking around, Olivia's heart thuds harder than usual against her chest. State trooper is on her checklist en route to eventually becoming a Texas Ranger. Damn the fact that a bunch of them are pompous-asses. And this is a step in that direction. Something she always wanted to do. Something her current two-timing act has been keeping her away from.

And besides that, this woman needs help. Alexandra Cabot is in a whole heap of trouble and is a suspect for her own parents' murders. Olivia wants to help any way she can, but she knows this is probably a bad idea. The other people she works for might not like how close she's getting to this case. On the other hand, maybe they'll be all for it. She decides to make a call later and find out.

"Are you kidding? I'd love to help."

"Great," Stabler says. "We'll have to clear it with your Captain as well, but hopefully we can get started tomorrow. We'll go over to her house and talk to her."

"She still lives in the same place? And no one's contacted her in half a year?"

"She hasn't been home every time we tried talking to her. Or hasn't opened the door. I don't know. We searched her house back in January but came up with nothing."

"Worth another shot then, I guess," Olivia says and feels some relief that she'll at least get to find out if Alexandra is still alive.

"That's what I was thinking. Well, give me your cell and I'll call you tomorrow morning when everything's settled and we'll head over there."

She rattles off her number and scribbles down his. They say goodbye and Olivia leans forward in her chair again towards the computer, scrolling down and filtering her search. It's unpleasant to think about, but she's about to play Alexandra Cabot like a fiddle tomorrow. There is always the chance, though, that the woman is smart enough to help herself without digging a deeper hole.

But first, she needs to make a couple of phone calls.

She pulls out her personal phone and dials the number.

"Cesar, hey."

"What's going on?" he says in Spanish.

"Two things," she says, getting right into it. That's one of the things he always said he liked about her. She doesn't mess around with small talk, gets down to business and cuts the bullshit.

"One, the Texas Rangers asked for my help on the Alex Cabot case, since I made the traffic stop and everything."

"Okay, good," Cesar says. "That's good. It will be another step in the door then. And you can help make sure they think she's responsible for what happened to her parents."

"Right," Olivia says, scratching at her eyebrow, and looking around to make sure no one can hear her. Captain Aarons is across the room, drinking coffee and reading a report. "And the other thing is, what the hell did you do to her? She looked awful when I pulled her over."

He hesitates over the line. "We just roughed her up a bit, that's all. We needed to make sure she knows what she's up against and doesn't try any stupid shit again."

That doesn't sound believable, but Olivia can't really do anything about it. "I think she knows by now what she's up against, Cesar."

"Obviously not if she sent her sisters away. Now we have no more leverage on her."

"She has nothing left. What else are you gonna do to her?"

"Whatever we need to do. Now mind your own fucking business," he snaps, and Olivia knows that he's done talking about it.

"Okay," she says, but can't resist one more suggestion. "Just please, Cesar. Let me get to work on the case and report back to you before you do anything else to her. Chances are, she'll get charged with the murders and you'll get out of it untouched."

"That's not all that I want, Olivia, and you know it," the malice is dripping from his voice. "I want her to transport drugs for me because she's the perfect mule."

"Okay." He hangs up without another word and Olivia shakes her head. Shit. He's a fucking lunatic.

The next number she dials is from her work phone. "Hey, Cragen. Yep. Listen there's been a development. Yeah. It's about Alexandra Cabot."


The lock slides home with an echoing click and Alex leans back against the door, feeling the smooth-patterned wood grains with her fingertips, only wanting for a moment to hold on to something solid and real and simple. Her breath is still coming unevenly and her heart is still pounding. She can still feel his hand running lightly along her face, teasing her as she sits next to him in the black truck's backseat. His sweat and day-old cologne and liquor-stench that smells like half tequila, half whiskey lingers heavily in her nostrils.

He's too close. They already drove away, three of them, Cesar in the backseat and his two brothers, Vicente and Marcus up front. And miles away by now, he's too close. Even now, even inside her own home, where she's supposed to feel safe and protected. But she does not, she hasn't felt safe in a long time. Even before what happened with her parents.

Her face aches anew with the ghost of his hand gripping it tightly and forcing her mouth to his. He tasted vile. A new bruise will probably show up there tomorrow. Add that to the too long list of bruises and cuts and scrapes from her ordeal.

And although she feels terrified and sure that they'll come back in a few minutes to finish her off, or worse, torture her some more, a feeling of relief seeps through her. They didn't hurt her again. She'd rather they just kill her than suffer through that again.

Even though she escaped their compound and stole Vicente's bike and still has his gun lodged firmly in her jeans next to her rear end, they left her alone this time. She takes in a deep breath and marvels at that. But it's short lived. Cesar's last words to her as he pushed her unceremoniously from the truck echo ominously in her mind.

"If that fucking dyke cop comes anywhere near you again, expect us to be back here to tear your ass apart."

She had nodded, understanding completely that they would keep their promise. They had peeled out of her driveway and left her standing on the hot cement in bare feet and her bloody clothes. Vicente had wanted his boots and jacket back.

And now a shiver runs over her spine as she imagines how badly it could have gone. A darting pain takes her breath away as she reaches back for the cold heaviness that is the handgun in her pants, and marvels again that they didn't notice it deforming her backside. She brings it with her to the bathroom, sets it gingerly on the sink and locks the bathroom door behind her, just in case. Although, she knows if they wanted to get back in, breaking down a door would be no problem.

The shower fills the bathroom quickly with steam and she purposely avoids her reflection in the mirror. It's not something she's ready to see. Looking down at her shirt, she goes for the first button and the rest follow with trembling fingers. The shirt falls to the floor in a clump of dingy white and stained red. But her pants are a much different story. They brush bruises and rub against chaffed skin as she pulls them down, trying not to look at the state of her thighs.

She wonders briefly where her underwear are and then shakes her head, not really wanting to know.

She can still feel his hands on her, his mouth, all of him. And both his brother's hands, what little Cesar allowed them to touch her. The memories themselves are the worst part. If only she could forget them, push them away from her mind forever and be free of them. And more than anything, she wants a way to end how guilty and disgusting she feels, allowing herself to get into a situation like this. She's the victim, she knows that, but it doesn't change the way she feels.

The shower, as she steps in, is far too hot. It burns her skin but she needs it. Needs to be cleansed. Needs to have this filth washed from her. And suddenly, not five seconds under the scalding water, she realizes what she's done.

Alexandra Cabot was a prosecutor for the city. Preserving evidence and actually having that evidence in order to convict was the most important part of a case for the prosecution. And as she watches that very evidence swirl down the drain, mixed in with her blood, finally the tears she's been holding in fall from her eyes. Great, heaving sobs wrack her body, and she has to brace herself on the wall so as not to fall down. But it's no good. Her legs give out and her hands slide down the cold tile as her knees smack against the floor, not caring that water soaked hair is in her eyes and mouth. Trembling hands cover her face and she crumbles.

There isn't anything she can do, even if she wanted to. Going to a hospital means certain death, because the hospital staff would notify the police. And calling the police would mean certain death because they would find out. She wishes at that moment that she could just call her mother. Just once more, just to hear her voice and everything would be better. Or her father. Either of them. Just once more.

The hot water runs out eventually and she manages somehow to pick herself up and finish the task of rinsing her sore body. Once she's out of the shower, Vicente's gun now resting on her bed, she changes into clean clothes and throws her jeans and white shirt in the trash can. It's only mid-afternoon now, but she climbs onto her bed and reaches for the landline. She has no idea where her cell phone is. Probably smashed in the wilderness somewhere.

Phone in hand and as comfortable as she can get, propped up on the pillows, Alex stares at the numbers, debating whether or not to do what she's planned.

Finally, she makes up her mind and punches in the numbers she's known by heart for years. There's a chance they might be listening, god only knows how far they've infiltrated her life, but right now she's willing to risk it.

After two rings, a familiar voice answers and she almost smiles at the sound of her older sister's voice. Almost.

"Alex?"

"Mel, hi," she says and her voice is more hoarse than she thought it'd be from all the crying.

"Why are you calling?" She asks quickly, her usually soothing and melodious voice panicky. "You said you wouldn't call unless it was an emergency."

Alex shakes her head. "I know I said that, but it's not an emergency. Everything's fine. I just wanted to hear your voice."

The response comes without hesitation, because this isn't something Alex normally says.

"You're lying. What happened?" It's just like her sister to recognize it. She could always tell. When Alex had her heart broken in high school and then again in college, Mel was the first to drag the story out of her. Even before her two kids, Mel had a knack for being that person people came to with their problems. And now, even better than when they were young, she can read Alex like a book, and all without seeing her face to face.

But today is not the day to spill everything to Mel. Today is the day to make sure her sisters are okay. And today is the day to keep this a secret. Mel, and Kate for that matter, don't need any more stress or things to worry about on their plate. She's caused them enough trouble for one lifetime. And she hopes at that moment that they won't hate her forever for being the reason they had to pick up their lives and flee the state.

"Nothing happened. I just want to know you're safe," she hopes her voice will stop wavering, because Mel is hanging on her every word.

"We're fine, Alex. Kate and Jaime are good. And Kris and the kids and are . . adapting." Kate, the youngest of the three Cabot sisters, and Jaime had married only a few years ago, and they were just settling down and getting ready to have children when everything went to hell in a hand basket. Kris, Mel's husband, worked in construction and their two children used to call Alex their favorite aunt. But not anymore.

"Good. I'm glad."

"Please tell me what's wrong. I won't be angry or upset, Alex. I just know something's wrong." Her voice pleads with Alex through the line and the blonde closes her eyes, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could let it all out, the whole twisted experience. But she holds her tongue. It's not fair to tell Mel about it, when all she can do is worry from several thousand miles away.

"Nothing is wrong," she says more confidently.

"But you called, and you said you wouldn't unless . . ."

Alex cuts her off. "I know, an emergency. Listen, Mel, you aren't in any danger up there, are you?"

There's a pause from the other end and Mel clears her throat. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so? Mel, this is important, has anyone been following you?"

"No. They haven't. Or not that I've noticed."

"You have to pay attention to that!" Alex says fervently and realizes as she says it that she shouldn't be lecturing her older sister. But still. "This isn't a game."

There's another pause. And this time when Mel speaks, her voice is low.

"You think I don't know that? Alex, our parents are dead because of these people, and . . ."

She trails off and Alex knows what she's thinking. That their parents are dead because of her. And it's true. She let things get out of hand. And if she hadn't been involved with these people in the first place, none of this would have happened and their family would still be together. She would still have a niece and a nephew to spoil and turn against their mother. She would still have two sisters and parents.

Her mind flashes back to what started it all one day in court. It seems like yesterday when she first saw them, two of the three brothers, Vicente and Cesar. They were in the gallery at their cousin's trial. She had been assigned the case, to prosecute their cousin Tony for felony drug charges. If only she could have known what would happen. If only she could have asked to be assigned a different case, how different her life would be right now. That was the trial that started it all. But Mel's voice drags her back to the present.

"Alex, why won't you just go to the police?"

She shakes her head even though Mel can't see the gesture. "You know that's not an option."

"It should be. They should protect you."

Alex closes her eyes. "No one can protect me."

It's the wrong thing to say and she knows it but the words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. And this isn't how she wants the conversation to end. She has to do something to make this right, to keep Mel from worrying, when she shouldn't have called in the first place.

"Look Mel, I'll contact the police. You're right, there's no reason to be living this way."

"You really will?" Her voice is hopeful and so earnest it hurts Alex's heart to lie to her.

"I really will."

"Just be careful okay?"

Alex smiles, and her voice is surprisingly steady despite the tears on her face.

"I will. You too. And tell Kate for me."

"Love you Alex."

"Love you too, Mel."

And as she replaces the phone in its cradle, her hands reach down for the sheets. Alex pulls them up to her chin and reaches up with a wince for the lamp. But in the darkness, she can see Cesar's face leering at her and his hands reaching for her. She can almost still smell and feel his body on top of hers. She ignores the pain this time when she flips the light back on. Sleeping with the light on is okay for tonight, she tells herself.

And as she falls into a fitful sleep, mid-afternoon creeps into another long summer evening.