The Cop and the Criminal

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A faint command was coming from somewhere far away.

Rashel's eyes snapped open as she turned her head. Quinn stopped tracing her jaw line and looked up as well.

Nyala. Elliot must have sent her. Or maybe Vicky requested for her.

She appeared like she was ready to rip out Quinn's guts. Rashel took a deep breath and kicked Quinn in his abdomen, sending him flying towards the wall. Rashel looked back at Elliot and at Quinn again.

Nyala was running from the other side of the area, her face a bit sweaty and her eyes were wide. Rashel couldn't see her gun. Maybe Nyala was hiding it. With a last-minute decision, Rashel quickly jumped up, her eyes becoming unfocused for a moment once again before she turned to Quinn.

He was watching her. He could see that there was blood on the back of her shirt, most likely from the cut he made when he tackled her on the ground. Quinn frowned. He didn't intend to hurt her. Well, not seriously . . . but maybe the cut wasn't as serious as he imagined it to be.

"Go," she whispered harshly. Her eyes faltered again, her form slightly going out of balance.

Quinn simply stood there. Nyala was getting closer and closer. Rashel stepped closer to Quinn, giving him a shove. "Go. I'll get in their way while you make a run for it."

The other cop was close enough that they could hear her voice clearly. "Elliot, are you there?" she spoke to the handheld transceiver, panting. They heard an electric shock run through transceiver and Rashel shoved Quinn again. "G-"

"What did he do to you?" Nyala demanded. She was now a few hundred feet away from them.

Thank God it was dark. Or else Nyala would've seen Rashel and a criminal discussing in hushed voices.

Rashel didn't answer. She simply lowered her voice. "Do you realize what they're going to do to you?"

"I don't think they'll be overjoyed with you either," he muttered, preparing to be in a fighting stance.

"I can take care of myself," she retorted in a harsh whisper. "Just go. Leave." Rashel was so frustrated. Why isn't he following her? Even if it's for his own safety? She glanced at Quinn, who looked as angry as her, and realized—with a start—that he doesn't want help.

He doesn't want help at all.

Nyala's footsteps were getting louder and louder as she neared them. Rashel caught Quinn's gaze and willed him to realize the consequences if her fellow cops capture him. Please tell me you understand, please tell me you understand, she thought repeatedly in her mind.

Seeing as the other cop was getting closer to them and endangering his wellbeing, Quinn sent a cold glare towards Rashel and ran the opposite direction. She watched as he disappeared in the darkness and safety of the warehouse. Rashel suppressed a sigh of relief.

Her gaze unfocused again, her balance almost slipping. For the first time in the night, Rashel realized that she was tired. Her arms and legs wanted to go limp—hell, her whole body wants to go limp. Just having a combat with John Quinn . . . was exhausting.

"God, Rashel!" Nyala said, bending over and putting her hands on her knees. "Why'd you let him go?" she asked. Her tone almost sounded accusing.

"I don't know," Rashel said slowly. She blinked and tried to shake the dizziness off of her. Keep your wits together, Rashel chastised herself.

"Did you purposely let him go?" Nyala asked, anger evident in her eyes. Rashel could understand why Nyala would be mad at her. Nyala's sister was killed during a massacre that involved other bystanders inside the building. The purpose of the massacre was to get rid of the head's company and get the important files to open the company's bank money. Unfortunately, her sister was working under the company by that time and so she was involved in the cold-blooded massacre. It was implied that the massacre was under Hunter's influence—or Maya's. They weren't sure. But this is why Nyala joined their organization.

To get revenge.

And ever since then, Nyala had idolized Rashel. But now, Rashel ruined her image.

Rashel swallowed hard, her head having a heartbeat of its own. She noticed that something warm was sliding down her nape. "Yes, I did."

"Well," Vicky said with a deep frown. She eyed Rashel critically. Not as hostile as it used to be, but it wasn't warm either. Vicky had cuts on her face, and if she had more, then her long shirt and pants were hiding it successfully. Her ponytail was messed up, strands of her brown hair gliding down her face.

"Wait 'till I tell Elliot!" Nyala was saying, her eyes wide with frustration. Rashel felt like she'd been slapped in the face. "Hell, I'll tell everyone in our department! Bullshit! Rashel Jordan let one of the most wanted criminals go—on purpose!" Her lower lip was trembling. "That was probably the only way we can find Hunter, and you let him go. We're never going to find them now that they know we know about this area!" She took a shaky breath, tears in her eyes. "I hate you."

Nyala glared at Rashel and turned around, crossing her arms. She walked away angrily.

Rashel stared after her. She spoke to Vicky, keeping her expression emotionless. "You better go get her. It's not safe for anyone that's in a vulnerable state to be here. Alone."

"Come on," Vicky said, inclining her head towards Nyala's disappearing form. "We'll drive you home."

Rashel shook her head, lightly touching her nape. When she pulled her fingers back, she saw blood. Shit. "Nah, its fine. Elliot's going to drive me back to the building. I left my car there." She'd rather have Elliot scold her than ride home with Vicky or Nyala.

Vicky raised her eyebrows, her pale blue eyes staring questioningly at Rashel's bloody fingertips. Rashel quickly wiped the blood on her sweat, smudging blood on it. "What happened there?"

"Got slammed. No big deal," Rashel murmured. She was losing blood. Slowly, yes, but it was affecting her. She pulled out her hair-tie, keeping her hair up so that it wouldn't affect her bloody cut, and retied her hair. She held back a flinch when she gently pulled on her hair, stinging the cut.

Vicky opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. She sighed and shook her head. "Nyala's not going to do that. She's just angry."

Rashel only shrugged, dragging her feet towards her gun that Quinn dropped. John Quinn. She carefully kneeled down and took her gun, placing it in her holster. "Did you call backup or something?" she asked softly.

Vicky shook her head. "I think it was Elliot who called them. I found out that these crooks were only staying at this warehouse to be on the down-low. They wanted to establish this as their safe haven of some sort, but they couldn't do that if they keep on kidnapping girls," she paused, looking around, "Speaking of kidnapping girls, there were a few girls in that warehouse over there," she nodded towards the warehouse on the opposite side. "None were harmed."

"That's good to hear," Rashel said, her head growing lighter and lighter. "No more crooks here, right?"

"There were only a few. The two we encountered were captured. Scared the rest of them off," Vicky said. "I suppose that's why the backups are here. But they're continuing to scan the area. So far, so good."

Rashel nodded. She started to walk and Vicky strolled beside her. "Looks like a bad cut," Vicky commented. "You might want to stop the blood before you pass out."

"I'll try."

"One more thing," Vicky said. "You're most likely not going to come with us tomorrow. Not only because of the cut on your head, but also because of insubordination. Oh, and let's not forget, purposely letting John Quinn go."

Rashel faltered in her step. Fucker. The realization of how bad she screwed things up suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks. Damn shit. "I'm probably going to get fired, right?"

There was a long silence. "Hmm, no. Maybe excluded on one or two major investigations but not fired. Your potentials will surely be wasted if that ever happens."

"So . . . I'll just get suspended?" Rashel asked.

"Pretty much. Although I'm not absolutely positive about my predictions," Vicky said, looking around. "Anyways, get some rest and treat that cut of yours. See you around," she said in a business-tone.

Rashel simply nodded with a soft sigh. Man, she's screwed.

The next day—which was, sadly, a Wednesday—Rashel lay in her bed with her bandaged head. It was a big gash, although nothing too serious. Elliot had simply rushed her to the hospital, scolding her all the way, and ended up sighing, "You're suspended for about five days, I suppose."

And just like that, she was suspended.

Rashel scowled. Today was the day they go on mission too.

Damn it all to hell. She tried to sit up, but the hits that John sent her last night—besides the wound behind her head—was very, very opaque that she can still feel the aftereffects. Damn it all to-

"Shit," Rashel gritted her teeth as she slumped back in her bed. "Damn it all- stupid fucking- shit," she continued to mumble as she forced herself to sit up from her bed. Rashel was given antibiotics by the doctor last night and was advised to rest and stay home for a few days because of the cut on her head.

Because of John Quinn.

Rashel scowled. What was she thinking? Why did she let him go and let herself be suspended while he's out there doing crimes? Hurting people? Rashel growled in frustration. She needs to calm down.

Distractions, she thought as she slipped in a pair of rubber shoes. I need distractions.

She couldn't possibly go gun-shooting practice in this state. She might accidentally loose her grip around her pistol and drop it on the floor. Or she might go out of balance and just pass out. Rashel sighed through her nose.

Mom.

She could go to her mom. She could visit her mom's grave.

And now that she thought about it, Rashel hasn't visited her mother's grave for more than half a year now. Rashel apologized to her mother in her head as she switched into a much more decent outfit.

Rashel grabbed her keys, walking by her kitchen to grab a granola bar. She let her hair down, trying to cover her recent gash, and flew down the stairs and outside her flat.

The cemetery was a mile and a half from where she lives, so she took her car. On a normal basis, she would've taken her time and jogged towards the cemetery to help and extend her thinking-time. But because of her current physical state, she decided to take her car.

Seven minutes later, Rashel stepped out of her car and onto the semi-dry grass of the cemetery. There were tons of headstones with wonderful flowers but only one headstone was on her mind.

She walked down the silent pathway, the old, rusty gates behind her wide open. There were a few old trees here and there in the cemetery. Most were scattered as if they were just planted randomly. Some were acting as borders towards the woods behind it. Rashel softly sighed as the wind rustled the dried leaves on the grass. It was definitely building an eerie atmospehere.

But she only felt the same calm she felt last night with John.

That weird . . . crazy-calm.

Rashel turned and disappeared behind a arbitrary tree, finally seeing her mom's gravestone. She needed to talk to her mom. She wanted to know whether she was insane or not.

She slowly got down on her knees and folded them under her. Rashel bowed her head while reaching out to stroke her mother's name. "Hey Mom," Rashel whispered.

The wind rustled again.

"I miss you a lot, you know." Rashel didn't trust her voice. So she just whispered. "I think that if you were still here," she paused and then smiled sadly, "everything will be okay. That's what you always tell me after all."

Rashel wanted to cry. She missed her mom. She missed the bed time stories she told her . . . the gifts she gave her . . . the memories were still etched in her mind.

She rubbed the corner of her right eye and sighed softly. "I have a problem, Mom." Rashel leaned back and ran a hand through hair, her fingers lightly grazing her cut. "I screwed up last night. I don't know why I purposely let John go." Rashel swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking of the other people he could be hurting right now. If she only stopped him last night . . . "I'm so sorry, Mom."

Crunch, thud, thud, crunch . . .

Footsteps.

She could hear someone walking on the dried, fallen leaves. Rashel stopped talking and just bowed her head, clasping her hands together. She was waiting for the person to pass by instead of just standing a few feet behind her. It was just . . . weird.

Her skin produced goosebumps. She was wearing a jacket, but she had no idea why her skin had goosebumps. Rashel licked her slightly chapped lips, breathing in the mossy smell of the graveyard.

Why is she feeling like this?

Rashel didn't notice anything out of the ordinary-

"You. What are you doing here?"

She knew that voice too well. Rashel was fairly accustomed to the voice now. Even if they have only talked last night. The voice was monotonous and deep. The voice of . . .

"John Quinn," Rashel said softly, pushing herself up from the ground.

"Rashel Jordan," he greeted with a nod as she turned around to face him. "How are you this fine day?" Curved smile.

That bastard.

A/N: THANKS TAYLAR FOR THE BRILLIANT ENDING IDEA! :D Thanks so much SpOrTyNo1! I totally appreciate your help! Now I know who to turn to when I'm stuck;)
So, um, what do you guys think of this chapter? Was it rushed?

Thank you so much guys for the reviews! I really appreciate them! :D And thank you everyone who reviewed/read/subscribed/favorite-d/whatever-ed this story! :D Thanks a lot guys! :D Since break is almost here, I might update sooner! :)

Thanks so much!

. . . Review? :3