-1Disclaimer: 'Law and Order: Criminal Intent' and all its characters belong to Dick Wolf. Not me. : (
Warning: Harsh language.
A/N: So many wonderful reviews! I love you guys so much, you keep me writing!
Just to clear something up, in the last chapter I made a mention to Alex and Bobby being a couple and by couple, I just meant two people who spend a lot of time together. Not a couple as in like marriage or anything. Sorry about the confusion.
And I think I get off-character in this chapter. Please tell me if you think so too so I can fix it!
Anyways, here's another chapter. Hope you like.
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Twelve Years // Chapter Three: Secret Admirer
Alex hissed as sunlight erupted into the room. Groggily, she rolled over to stare at the man who had flicked open the blinds. "You're so mean," she moaned, and stuffed a pillow over her head.
"Shift starts in 45 minutes," replied Bobby and had the woman jumping to her feet.
"Damn it!" she growled, and nearly tripped over the shoes she had dumped onto the floor the night before as she snatched up the duffle bag she had stuffed with clothes. Chuckling, Bobby watched her dart into the bathroom and then settled himself down at the kitchen table to read the paper.
Once in the apartment's small bathroom, Alex punished herself by taking a cold shower. She bit back the curses and shivered as goosebumps crawled up and down her spine.
Bobby had fallen upon the article that went deeper into the death of Diane McNeal and was reading it by the time Alex jogged back in. He stared at her for a moment, studied her crisp, ready-for-work attire, and then glanced at the clock on the stove. "Twenty minutes. I think that's a new record."
"Ha ha. Laugh it up, Mr. Early Bird." Alex rolled her honey eyes, but their was a grin gracing her lips. When she walked past him to get to the door, she tapped his jaw. "Missed a spot."
Confused, Bobby ran his fingers along his jawbone, scowled at the prickly patch of whiskers he had accidentally skipped over while shaving earlier that morning. He looked over to his snickering partner and rose to meet her at the door.
---
While Bobby stopped to pump gas into near-empty car, Alex lingered around inside of the Short-Stop, looking for the coffee machine. She found one quickly and grabbed two cups to fill up. The detective was digging around in her wallet while at the front counter when an older teenager at the register said, "Hey, do I know you?"
Alex looked up, studied the rosy face of the clerk. "No, I don't think so," she replied and handed her a ten.
The girl cocked her head to one side, then just-like-that her eyes lit up and she beamed. "Oh! You're that detective!" she exclaimed. "I've seen you on the news. Alexandra Eames, right?" Alex nodded and the clerk continued. "You and your partner are, like, the top detectives for Major Case Squad. Is he here with you?" She peered over her shoulder and through the window out to the man who was pumping gas. "Oh," she cooed. "He's much cuter in person."
Alex couldn't help but snort out a laugh. "He's old enough to be your dad," she informed the girl.
The other female only smiled as she rang up the drinks. "I like older men. They have more experience."
Alex waved her a good-bye and trotted through the snow that was already sticking to the ground. She slipped into the heated car only moments later and handed over Bobby's coffee while she took a sip of her own. "The clerk in there was hitting out you. She said you were much cuter in person," she explained with a laugh.
Bobby shook his head, smiled, and pulled out onto the busy New York street.
---
They stopped only briefly at One PP to clock in and exchange vehicles. Once that small task was completed, they drove straight to New York News' production station. Because of the sudden and tragic death of one of their most beloved anchors, flowers, candles, and photos littered the snowy ground. Alex and Bobby had to carefully climb over them to get to the entrance where they stepped in and headed for the front desk.
"NYPD," Alex said with authority. "Where can we find Rebecca Segel?"
The young woman stared up at them through red-rimmed brown eyes. "Are you guys investigation Ms. McNeal's murder? Isn't it a tragic thing? Gosh, everyone loved her so much. Who could possible do such a thing to her? To her family? To us? I wish whoever did it would just - "
"Ma'am," Alex cut off the woman before she could go any further. "Segel, please."
"Oh, right." The woman sniffed, typed something on the keyboard in front of her, then read from her computer screen to the detectives. "Floor eight."
With that, the detectives turned on their heels and were off. They hopped into the elevator and zipped up to the eighth floor. It wasn't long before they found the short, black woman known as Becca. Alex held out her badge for the woman to examine as she asked, "Would you mind if we questioned you on Ms. McNeal's murder?"
"Goodness, no! I would be so honored if I could help." Becca dragged them over to a small sitting area where she perched herself in a fluffy chair across from them. "Fire away, detectives."
---
Becca proved to be little help, as well as everyone else at the station. Not one of them knew about the exclusive McNeal. No one knew if she had a boyfriend, she obviously never talked about her family, and there wasn't anyone who had ever been invited over for milk and cookies.
Settled just outside of Central Park, the apartment that formerly belonged to Diane McNeal was an elaborate place with sparkling chandeliers and couches that weren't meant to be sat on. With a whistle and a quick once-over of the flat, Alex said, "I need to change jobs."
Bobby grinned over at her as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and began to rummage through the things of the deceased.
It turned out that the apartment was just about as helpful as Diane's coworkers. With no leads and not a single suspect, Alex and Bobby slipped back in the police-issued SUV. The female detective cranked the heat as her partner babbled on about the victim. "She's very protective of herself. She doesn't let people in. Is she afraid of something? Or is it just her nature?"
Alex gave a shrug and pulled out of the building's garage. "Guess we'll never know. It's not like we can ask her."
---
She blinked. Then turned to stare around the bullpen. Who was the sorry son-of-a-bitch that was going to get clocked in the face today?
"Heh." Bobby moved up to his partner's desk and examined the bouquet of blood-red roses on her desk. "Who's it from, Eames? A secret admirer?"
Alex bared her teeth at him, then plucked the card from the holster that lingered above the flowers. She read it silently to herself as Bobby smiled from the desk across from her:
Hello, Alexandra.
Did you enjoy the present I left for you last night? I thought these roses matched the color of her blood.
I hope we'll see each other soon.
Signed,
Your Secret Admirer
"Damn. Shit. Fuck." Alex flipped the card over, memorized the address of the florist and was storming to the elevator by the time Bobby had jumped to his feet.
"Eames! What is it?" he asked as he stepped into the elevator with her. She shoved the card at him and tapped her foot impatiently as the numbers clicked down. "Well, damn it." Bobby ran a hand through his hair, felt around in his pockets to see if he had an evidence bag. When his hands came up empty, he pulled a handkerchief from inside his jacket and wrapped the thick piece of paper around it. "Someone's after you."
When the elevator doors swung open to reveal the garage, Alex stomped towards the SUV. She was already in and sticking the key into the ignition by the time Bobby opened the passenger's door.
---
Betty's Flowers and Candles was a small little shop that settled itself on the outskirts of Manhattan. The owner (Betty, of course) was a small woman with a short crop of graying hair. She greeted the two as they entered and offered the day's special. When Alex slapped the card onto the table, she jumped and squeaked softly. "Who sent a dozen red roses to One PP, Major Case Squad, floor eleven, Alexandra Eames' desk?"
"Um, um." Frightened, the plump woman rummaged around under the counter until she found a thick, black binder. She dropped it onto the table with a small thud and flipped through it quickly. She read over it, finally falling upon the correct entry "H-his name is John Smith. Came off the streets, paid in cash." She shook her head rapidly. "That's all I have on that customer. He just said he need them delivered as soon as possible. Our policy is - "
"Did you get a good look at him?" Alex asked.
"N-no. He had a scarf over his mouth the whole time. T-there was a snow-cap on his head. B-but that's normal. It's the middle of winter."
"Did he touch anything? Was he wearing gloves?"
"Only the card. T-to sign it. And yes, h-he did."
Alex slammed a fist on the table, causing Betty to jump, and turned to stare outside at the falling snow. "Son-of-a-bitch. I'm being stalked."
