Step By Step
Disclaimer:I don't own anything. This is only a fan fiction story. CSI:NY and all the characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and CBS. I'm just a fangirl who can't resist playing with their wonderful creations:-)
A/N: So, am finally back with this story! Am really sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience, now the updates will be much more frequent!
Enjoy!
Chapter 4 – First Day Of The Rest of Your Life
It had been a warm, rainy night in New York and even after the rain stopped a layer of clouds moved slow and heavy over the city, obscuring the morning sun that tried to penetrate their gloomy cocoon and filling the air with the fresh scent of the East River. Stella Bonasera breathed a lungful of the brisk morning air as she made her way through the sleepy streets. She herself was far from sleepy, though. On the contrary, she didn't remember a time when she had last felt so elated and alive.
After leaving the studio, Stella didn't feel like she could sleep any time tonight so she went straight for Jess's where they had spent the rest of the night talking. She didn't reveal the details but she could tell from the look on her friend's face what Jess was thinking. That she had fallen for the secretive CSI detective. Had she?
Her attention turned to a man who was groggily stumbling in the opposite direction dragged by his Labrador eager to have its morning walk. The man looked at her with sleepy blue eyes, which instantly made the face of another man swim in front of her eyes. She sighed.
It wasn't as simple as Jess thought. This wasn't just some random man you meet at the bar. Mac Taylor was the real thing. So real that it was frightening. She had never felt so strong about any man before and the intensity of her feelings scared her.
She knew next to nothing about his life and his past but she felt like she knew him. Not the cop, not the scientist and not the man of reason. Those were all masks designed to protect his heart. For some unfathomable reason, though, yesterday he came to her, let all those masks fall from his face and allowed her to see him. The real Mac Taylor, without the thick layers of stoicism and reserve concealing his loving and compassionate heart.
She knew why he did it, though – he had been hurt before and this was the only way he knew how to protect himself and the people around him. Oh, he knew loss and heartache. She could tell because she had had enough of that in her own life. Still, when he did let his heart out of his chest like he had yesterday…it took her breath away.
Completely engrossed in thought, Stella didn't even notice that she had found herself at her door. As she fumbled with the keys to find the right one she noticed scrapes on the doorjamb and around the door lock. Feeling her heart rate skyrocket, she pushed the door.
The duffel bag she was carrying fell to the ground.
XxXxXxX
"Morning," Lindsay said walking into the lab and donning her lab coat.
Danny looked up from the microscope he was working on and Lindsay had to smile at him. He had his glasses shoved up on his forehead and that goofy smile that she had come to recognize as his trade mark.
"Hi, Montana. Sleep well?" he asked mischievously.
She rolled her eyes at him. "I would have slept better if your daughter hadn't woken up every half an hour."
"Unrelenting character. Perseverance. Strength of spirit. Definitely my daughter," Danny flashed her a wide innocent grin.
"You forgot selfishness and narcissism," Lindsay quipped. "I hope she doesn't get that after you."
"Ouch," he frowned playfully. "Someone really did get up the wrong side of the bed today."
Lindsay flashed him an annoyed look as she walked up to him putting latex gloves on with a rubberized snap. "What have you got?"
"Mac told me to go through all the trace evidence we've got from the Ballas/Kurtz crime scene again," he sighed looking at more than a couple of dozen various samples laid out on the whole lab table. "And there's lots," he huffed.
"Lots and nothing conclusive," Lindsay frowned. "Think we'll find something new?"
"Mac seems to think so," Danny shrugged and adjusted his glasses. "And I hope we will because otherwise we're at a dead end."
"Maybe not completely," Sheldon announced with a satisfied smile as he went into the room with that spring in his gait that always signaled he had something good. "Hey, Linds."
"Hey," she smiled at him.
"Please tell me you've got something and we don't have to go through all the samples again," Danny said in a whiney tone.
Sheldon flashed him a mysterious smile as he went up to the computer. "I've got something all right. But you won't like it," he said calling up the results he had gotten from Sid onto the screen. "Kurtz's tox screen just came up. He was poisoned."
Both Danny and Lindsay looked at him in surprise.
"The bullet did him in but he was dead anyway," Hawkes explained. "The tox showed traces of thallium sulfate in his kidneys and liver."
"Someone fed him rat poison?" Lindsay asked incredulously.
"Nice," Danny huffed and ran a hand through his hair. "There goes our slum dunk. I thought we had at least Kurtz's murder sorted out. Ballas shoots him in rage and boom. Now it turns out we've got two unsolved murders and possibly three killers, two of them still on the loose?"
Sheldon looked at him with a sympathetic sigh.
"Want me to help you with those samples?" he asked with resignation.
XxXxXxX
Mac Taylor looked with interest around the modern and very neat office he was led into with Flack in tow. His eyes swept over the probably very uncomfortable furniture, the mahogany desk and a state-of-the-art computer perched in one of the corners of the room. Then his attention turned to the owner of the office, one Tony Boyd, the business partner and best friend of Jayme Kurtz. When they came in, Mac noticed the instant stiff pose he took on and the abrupt way in which he stood up to greet them. Too abrupt.
His job took him to many different places and what Mac had learned in all his years as a CSI was that a person's space, be it working or leaving, tended to tell more about its inhabitant that the person themselves. Or at least it didn't lie. People did. Notoriously. He had a feeling that Tony Boyd was no different.
Mac noticed his slightly blood shot eyes and swollen nose and he didn't have to wait long. Before he had the time to utter a word, Boyd made a desperate lunge for a box of tissues standing on the corner of his desk right before he sneezed.
"Allergy?" Mac asked with a small smile.
"Just a pesky bout of cold," Boyd waved a hand. "You're the police?"
"I'm detective Flack and this is detective Taylor from the Crime Lab, Mr. Boyd," Don said.
"And we'd like to ask you a couple of questions concerning your partner, Mr. Kurtz."
"I'm sorry, detectives, but I thought my lawyer told you that I would come to the precinct myself," Boyd cut him off. "Do you have any idea what the death of a partner does to a company?" he buttoned up his suit jacket and looked at them nonchalantly. "It means I don't have time for this," he said pointedly.
"You've got a lot more time than Jayme Kurtz does," Flack shot back irritably.
"Look," he sighed and leaned against his desk crossing his arms over his chest. "I want to help you but this company was Jayme's child and the apple of his eye. We're going through a rough patch right now and he would have wanted me to take care of it."
"Now that you're the only owner," Flack said pleasantly.
Tony looked at him in indignation.
"Are you serious?" he furrowed his eyebrows at him. "Jayme was my friend. We grew up together, for God's sake."
"Did Jayme have any enemies?" Mac stepped in. "Anyone who would do this?"
"Not that I know of," Tony shrugged. "Like all businessmen, we can't make everyone happy so there may have been an unsatisfied customer or an angry employee…"
"Have you had such cases recently?"
"Not that I can recall."
"Did Mr. Kurtz know a man by the name of Steve Ballas?"
"Ballas? The dancer, you mean?"
"Yes."
"He was our customer a couple of weeks back," Tony nodded. "Ordered some kind of a program…something to do with a project he was starting. I don't know the details, I'm afraid."
"An interesting way of managing a company," Flack said snidely. With such weasely, cold bastards he just couldn't help himself. "Some kind of program…something to do…I can see you're on top of things here, Mr. Boyd."
Mac looked at Flack warningly.
"Listen, detective," Boyd eyed him angrily. "This is the way most IT companies handle their business. Our clients value their privacy and we respect that. The only people who know the details of the order are the programmers themselves."
"And who was that in Mr. Ballas' case?"
"Jayme Kurtz," Mac sighed knowingly.
"Yes," Boyd admitted.
"What about his other projects? What was he working on most recently?"
Boyd blanched visibly but before he could answer there was a knock on the door and a petite blonde peered inside.
"Tony, sorry to interrupt but the meeting's already started," she piped up.
"I'll be right there, Tina," he said and looked impatiently at the two detectives.
"Mr. Boyd?" Flack pressed.
"Look, to be honest, I don't know what he was working on," he replied, annoyance rising in his voice. "He's been pretty secretive these last couple of months. Wouldn't tell me what he was up to."
"Sounds like you were real BFFs," Don deadpanned.
"Listen, Jayme was like that," Boyd pushed a frustrated hand through his coppery hair. "He didn't like to share his success," he admitted unwillingly. "I figure he was working on some private thing for himself. Again. He had everything encrypted really well."
"And you would know how he encrypted his private programs because he told you, right?" Flack said snidely.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Listen, we were friends but we were also the two best in our field. We had a friendly private rivalry going on. So of course I tried to crack his encryption codes and find out what he was working on. He did the same," he shrugged.
"Did you succeed?"
Tony lowered his head.
"No," he conceded after a while. "It was too good."
"And maybe you were jealous and this 'friendly rivalry' turned less friendly?" Mac asked with a pleasant smile.
"No," Boyd looked at him furiously. "And I don't like where you're going with this, detective."
"Would you be willing to give us a DNA sample to exclude you from the suspect list, Mr. Boyd?"
"Absolutely not," he shook his head. "And unless you have any proof that I am involved, present it now or leave," he motioned at the door. "I have a company to manage and a dead friend to mourn," and with that he left.
They both looked after him, Don raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"This guy really needs to work on his priorities," he said. "Still, he's not stupid. We don't have enough for a warrant and he'll never give us a sample willingly."
"We don't need it," Mac said with a mysterious smile and went towards Boyd's desk.
"Mac?" Don asked furrowing his eyebrows.
Mac didn't respond, his attention focused on Boyd's desk. He drew a latex glove from his suit jacket's inside pocket. Don lightly shook his head wondering how was it that Mac always seemed to have a pair stuffed away somewhere on him. Regular people carried chewing gum or cigarettes. Mac Taylor carried surgical gloves and a penlight.
His interest piqued, though, he looked on as Mac approached Boyd's desk and took something from it into his gloved hand. He had that look on his face that told Don he was on to something and it was something good. Flack cleared his throat to remind Mac, who seemed to be completely engrossed in his finding, that he was still there.
Mac looked back at him with a satisfied smile.
"Nasal secretions," he informed him in a matter-of-fact tone, showing him the soiled tissue Boyd had left behind. "As good as a DNA sample."
"And this is one of the moments that remind me why I love my job," Don said snidely with a look of disgust on his face as he eyed the tissue.
Mac chuckled lightly and then Flack's phone went off.
"Sorry," he told Mac and flipped it open.
Mac carefully bagged the tissue and when he was done, Don had ended the conversation and was looking at him with a frown.
"We just got ourselves a detour, Mac," he said pocketing his phone. "Someone broke into Stella Bonasera's apartment."
XxXxXxX
The sight that met them upon arriving at Stella's was that of utter havoc. There was broken furniture lying around, books and clothes scattered on every surface and lots of items so damaged that they were hard to identify at all. Flack stood on the threshold and whistled through his teeth looking at the extent of the damage but Mac scarcely spared the room a glance, his sole focus on Stella, who was standing in the corner of the living room talking to a uni. He was at her side in two swift strides.
"I'll take this over," he told the officer and watched him step away before he turned to Stella, giving her a quick once over to see if she was ok.
"Are you hurt?" he asked with concern, his hand automatically curling protectively around her arm.
"No, I'm perfectly fine," she managed a weak smile, taking comfort in his simple but tender gesture. "Just angry at whoever did this."
"We'll find them," he vouched.
Stella stepped one step closer to him and leaned in, her lips almost brushing the tender skin near his ear.
"Thank you," she said softly, touched by the worry and tenderness in his eyes. "I know you will."
"Miss Bonasera?" came Flack's voice from behind and Mac quickly moved away from her.
"Were you here when this happened?" Don asked incredulously.
"If I were, there would be the body of the bastard lying on the floor," she said angrily. "Sorry," she said apologetically. "No. I spent the night at a friend's."
"I know it sounds absurd right now but have you maybe noticed anything missing?"
"You mean jewelry or money?" she asked knowingly. "Everything's here."
"Which means this wasn't a robbery," Mac concluded. "The perps were looking for something specific and judging by the amount of damage done, they didn't find it. Do you have any idea what it could be, miss Bonasera?"
"Not a clue," she shook her head.
"Anything will help, miss Bonasera," Flack prodded.
"I'm a dancer, detective," she crossed her hands over her chest. "I don't keep any secret documents or weapons of mass destruction stashed under the bed if that's what you mean."
Mac gave her a wry smile. "That's good to know."
Stella shot him a sideways glance and Flack smirked.
"Do you have any idea who could do something like this?" Don continued his questioning. "Any angry ex-boyfriends, dissatisfied clients?"
"No," she shook her head. "Nothing like this."
Flack nodded. "Well, that's it for now. Thank you for your time," he turned to Mac. "I'll start my guys on the canvas, maybe one of the neighbours saw or heard something," and with that he was off.
Mac turned back to Stella. "Do you have anywhere you can stay?"
"I…" she looked around the demolished apartment before focusing on him again. "My friend, Jessica. I've already called her, she's on her way."
"Ok," he nodded. "In the mean time, I want you to sit down and take a deep breath," he took her by the hand and led her out on the corridor, where he gently sat her on one of the steps. He saw she was trying hard not to show it but he knew that inside she was more than a little shaken. He took off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
Stella looked at him, slightly amazed at his tender gesture. She wasn't prepared for their next meeting to come so soon and she didn't know what to expect. He had left so abruptly yesterday. She didn't really know where she stood with him but she knew one thing – he cared about her. That much was obvious. And for now, it was more than enough.
"Thanks," she finally said wrapping his coat tighter around her, the gentle scent of his cologne enveloping her senses immediately. She closed her eyes for a moment to revel in the sensation and gather her frantic thoughts.
"You sure you're okay, Stella?" his worried voice brought her back.
"Sure," she said slightly flustered. "Just…it's a lot to take in. First the murder and now this," she sighed. "Do you think they're connected?"
"No way to tell before we process your apartment," he said. "Which reminds me, I have to get back in there. Will you be fine here?"
"Sure," she nodded mustering a brave face. "Go and do your 'sciency' thing," she said wryly.
He chuckled lightly and went inside.
She leaned out so that she could see into the apartment. She watched him give out orders and work the scene with growing interest. His every move was accurate and intentional, every step carefully weighed and every glance caught something meaningful. Nothing escaped his attention as he systematically made his way through the debris. He was calm and collected and exuded an air of confidence and strength that commanded respect verging on admiration in his subordinates. He was truly fascinating to watch. Then as if sensing her gaze, he looked up and their eyes met.
His gaze seemed to caress her almost palpably before he collected himself and gave her a small smile. Stella felt her heart skip a beat. Oh, she was in trouble.
XxXxXxX
"Danny, you coming?" Sheldon asked popping his head into the microscope lab room, where Danny had been working since morning.
"No," Danny said in an irritated tone. "I'm too busy sifting through the umpteenth sample of dirt."
"You know, it's not actually dirt," Sheldon deadpanned. Danny could be such a child sometimes and he couldn't help himself from teasing him at such times. "It's a mixture of quartz, calcium carbonate and various hydrocarbons."
"Geek," Danny said with a crooked smile.
Sheldon chuckled. "If you don't want to sift through this till the end of your career, you'd better not keep Mac waiting."
Danny sighed and took off his coat. Due to the developments of the day and the fact that they were practically at a dead end, Mac called in a brain-storming session in the conference room. When Danny got there, Lindsay, Sheldon and Flack were already seated at the table and Mac was poring over one of the huge LCD screens they had installed on one of the walls.
"So you're telling me the man died twice?" Flack was just saying with incredulity. "Aren't you supposed to live twice?"
"He didn't die twice," Sheldon corrected. "He was killed twice."
"Now that you put it like this, it makes perfect sense," Don deadpanned and both Danny and Lindsay chuckled.
Mac cracked a half-smile but then he called Kurtz's tox results on the big screen and looked at it in thought propping his hands on his hips.
"Thallium sulfate…" he said in thought as he turned back to his team. "That actually gives us a good starting point. It used to be implemented as a rat poison in the seventies but was banned from commercial use due to high toxicity. There are only a couple of specialized companies in NY that are allowed to use it nowadays. Lindsay, check with all of them if there hasn't been any break-ins or robberies lately."
Lindsay nodded.
"And what about that break-in to miss Bonasera's apartment, Mac?" Sheldon asked. "You think it has something to do with the murders?"
Mac sighed. "The timing seems to be more than a coincidence so I wouldn't rule it out," he said in thought. "But there's no hard evidence. Which is why I want you and Danny on the samples and trace I've brought in."
"You've got it," Sheldon nodded.
"Danny, anything new on the samples from the scene?"
"Nope," Danny shook his head. "But I still have a couple left."
"I want you to cross-reference them with the DNA I got from Tony Boyd today," Mac said. "Especially the cigarette butt sample."
"Will do," Danny nodded.
"Okay, that's it for now."
XxXxXxX
After the meeting Mac told the team they were free to go as it was almost ten in the evening but he himself stayed late to catch up on paperwork as he usually did. When he finally did leave, a fierce summer storm almost turned him back again. By the time he got to the silent haven of his apartment, the storm was over, though. Little did he know that another storm was about to start.
The buzz of his phone was the harbinger. He looked at the caller ID and frowned.
"Taylor."
"Mac?" came Stella's shaken voice and he knew something was very wrong.
XxXxXxX
The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door was simply breath-taking. Stella was standing in a small puddle of water, her drenched hair and clothes clinging to her body and her mascara slightly smudged under her eyes. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
"Didn't have an umbrella with me," she shrugged with a small apologetic smile.
He realized he was standing there just staring at her like an idiot so he cleared his throat in embarrassment.
"Come in," he motioned her inside. "You simply can't stay away from trouble," he added with a grin twitching at his mouth when he managed to compose himself.
"Ever since I met you, trouble seems to find me," she retorted going in and leaving wet footprints on the floor.
She stood in the middle of his hall, taking in his apartment with curiosity. It was just as she had imagined it would be. Very neat, organized, and almost like a 'show home'. It looked like something out of an IKEA catalogue rather than an actual living space, where normal humans function on a daily basis. It wasn't exactly what you would call homey or cozy but it had that comforting ambience about it that actually made her feel safe. She looked back at the master of the house, who had just locked the door and turned back towards her.
"Mac, I'm so sorry to intrude on you like this…" she began uneasily. She knew he was a private man and imagined how much he valued the silent sanctuary of his home. And here she was, a stranger and a witness in his case, getting unceremoniously into that serene, organized world with her wet feet.
"It's no problem," he said levelly. "Come and sit down," he motioned at the couch.
"Oh, no," she said, still feeling very awkward and uneasy about imposing on his private space like that. But she had no one to turn to with this and she knew she could trust him. "I'll leave wet stains on your furniture and besides, I won't be long. I really don't want to interrupt and impose…"
"You're not imposing," he said trying to assuage her worries. He saw she was uneasy with all this but he also noticed the fear lurking in her eyes. He knew her enough to know that she was tough and wouldn't allow anything trivial get to her like this. It had to be something really serious. "And I think my furniture can handle you," he added with a half-smile and was rewarded with her finally lighting up a little.
"We'll see about that," she said in a slightly mischievous tone as she allowed him to lead her to the couch. He sat on the armchair to her right.
"You sounded pretty rattled on the phone," he began. "Everything all right?"
"I know how this sounds but I think somebody's following me," she said.
"What makes you think that?" he asked with furrowed eyebrows.
"I'm hearing footsteps, seeing shadows and glimpses…," she looked him in the eye wondering if he was already thinking she was deranged and paranoid. "I know this seems crazy but I really feel like I'm being watched."
He looked at her seriously.
"When did this start?"
"After the murders? The morning after I was going to the studio and thought I saw a man going after me but whenever I turned around there was no one there. And today's break-in only seems to confirm that," she shivered.
"And what happened just now?"
"You know I stay long hours at the studio exercising," she chanced a small glance at him wondering if he thought about their yesterday's 'lesson'. She thought she saw his face grow a shade redder and she had her answer. "It was the same today. Immediately after I locked the studio, I heard footsteps behind me. They wouldn't go away. I guess I panicked and started to run but they were still after me. Finally I found a coffee shop that was still open and got in," she said. Her voice seemed strong and her expression composed but Mac sensed how agitated she really was, even though she was trying hard not to show it. "And I saw the shadow stop before the door and I thought he was going to get in after me...but then someone else passed by and he moved away from the door and left. That was when I called you. I'm really sorry for disturbing you in the middle of the night like that but I didn't have anyone else to turn to. And I know I can trust you," she looked him in the eye sheepishly.
"Don't worry about it," he gave her a small smile. "You did the right thing."
"I thought if an ex-Marine detective can't help me, then no one can," she said playfully.
He chuckled. Then he saw the slight crease on her forehead. "There's something else, isn't it?"
She looked up at him with amazement. They had only known each other a couple of days, how could he read her expressions so easily?
"Yes," she sighed and started fumbling through her purse. She produced a small item from it and pushed it over the table to Mac. "I found this only today in my purse. It's not mine."
Mac looked thoughtfully at the pen-drive lying on his coffee table, reflecting the lamp light with its silvery polished frame.
"And you have no idea how it got there or when?"
"Well, I just bought this purse before the party so…"
"You had it with you the night of the party?"
She looked at him, realization dawning on her.
"You think someone at the party planted it in my purse?"
"Or after you left," he said with a knowing look. "There's one way to find out," he said standing up and taking the pen drive into his hand.
He looked down at her and saw that she was beginning to shiver ever more so in her wet clothes.
"Stella, why don't you…um…get yourself dried off in the bathroom," he felt his nervousness on the rise again at the very notion of her in his bathroom. The images of her voluptuous body pressed against his in the passionate tango they had shared only yesterday began to swim in front of his eyes and he felt heat rise within him. "There are clean towels near the shower and I'll get you some clothes and a hot tea. You look really cold."
"I'm fine, thanks," she said dismissively. Her statement might have carried more clout, though, if her teeth weren't chattering so badly. Damn, she thought to herself.
"You don't look fine," he arched an eyebrow at her. "Your skin is turning blue," he observed.
"It's just something it does from time to time," she tried, flashing him a grin.
"Yeah, when you're freezing to death."
She saw he wasn't going to let this go. She really didn't want to cause him any more trouble than necessary but she was really cold.
"All right, doctor Taylor," she finally conceded and he nodded.
"The bathroom's the first door to the left," he answered her unspoken question and went to the kitchen to start on the tea. Unfortunately there wasn't much else he could offer her. Unless she liked old pizza and beer. Not exactly quality food, he frowned and closed the fridge. He would really have to go shopping one of those days.
Steaming tea ready, he went to his bedroom in search of something for her to wear. Passing by the bathroom he heard the shower on and gulped, feeling the dreadful heat rise within him again.
After several minutes he went back with a frustrated expression and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Um, Stella?"
"Yes?" he heard the shower being turned off.
"I'm afraid I don't have any women clothes…"
"I'd have to start being jealous if you did," she said in a flirty tone and he could picture that playful expression on her face. "Do you have any spare shirts, Mac?"
"Yes," he said amazed. "But…"
"Then just leave one under the door," she instructed.
"Right," he said awkwardly and did as she asked.
Then he wandered towards his computer and plugged the pen-drive in. His eyebrows rose slightly in surprise and then they gradually inched downward to crease into a deep frown as he looked through the contents. So engrossed was he in his task that he didn't notice that he wasn't alone any more.
Dried and feeling tons better after a hot shower, Stella was standing in the corridor watching him with growing fascination. The serious and focused look on his handsome face gave him an additional depth and appeal that she found irresistible.
Then he seemed to sense her presence and his gaze locked with hers. For a second his eyes ran over her almost palpably and his face turned a deeper shade of red.
"It's too big," she said with a big smile as she sauntered over to him dressed only in his shirt. "But it will do. I put my clothes in the drier, they should be ready in an hour."
Mac didn't really register anything she was saying to him. All he could do was stare as the Greek goddess made her way towards him, his shirt covering only her uppermost thighs and giving him a spectacular view of her long, tanned legs.
"You like?" she asked playfully seeing the flabbergasted look on his face.
He cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead trying to gain some time that would allow him to get a grip.
"You…certainly look much better in it than I do," he finally managed.
"That's your point of view," she said, quirking a smile at him. "I think you look gorgeous in your shirts," she said quietly not looking at him.
That raised his eyebrows but she quickly changed the topic. "So, what's on that pen drive?" she asked motioning at the computer.
That managed to cool his overheated brain a little and he was finally able to tear his eyes away from her and look back at the screen.
"Well, I think I know who the drive belonged to."
"Belong-ed?"
"Yeah. The owner's dead," he said seriously. "Jayme Kurtz."
Stella frowned and went up to him to look at the screen. She stood very close and as she leaned forward a little to get a better look, he felt heat rise within him again and he had to move away slightly. The smell of her freshly showered body and hair so close was driving him insane and he couldn't think straight.
"FBI?" she exclaimed reading the screen. "Are you serious?"
"I don't know," he sighed. "For all I know, it could be a ruse. That's all that the drive will show me, the rest is encrypted and knowing the Feds, it's pretty good," Mac sighed. "I'll get this to my IT guys at the lab first thing in the morning."
"So Jayme was FBI?"
Stella moved away to sit on the edge of his couch, her legs straightened out before her and a thoughtful look on her face. Mac couldn't help his eyes from hooking onto her voluptuous body a while longer before replying.
"Not necessarily," he shook his head. "My guess would be that he was cooperating with them. He was quite an accomplished IT expert," he sighed. "But I don't want to make assumptions. I'll make some calls tomorrow and hopefully my people will be able to get something from that drive."
Stella nodded absent-mindedly.
"But at least we know why you're being followed," he said. "And probably why your apartment was searched. Someone wants this drive really bad."
That got her attention.
"Stella, I don't mean to be too forward or anything…," he started uneasily. "But I'd prefer if you stayed the night here."
She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Whoever was following you seems to be getting desperate," Mac continued in a matter-of-fact tone though the blush that crept up on his face betrayed him. "Jayme Kurtz was probably killed because of what's on this pen drive and I don't want you to be next. I'll assign protection for you tomorrow but till then, I wouldn't want you to wander alone or be in any place they can connect you to. Your friend Jess' place especially. You could endanger not only yourself but her as well," he added pointedly seeing she was about to protest.
"That is the most convoluted pick-up scheme I've ever heard," she said, a smile playing on her lips.
"I…It's not…" he stuttered.
She noted with mischievous glee that the stoic and distant detective was indeed a flesh-and-blood man. She could clearly see she did have an effect on him but he tried to cover it up and stay strictly professional. She figured his job demanded that focused and empirical attitude from him but she could also see there was more to it. He hid behind it, treating it like a shield.
"Relax, Mac," she chuckled. "I'm just teasing you. I understand the situation and I think you're right. I do appreciate what you're doing for me. You have no reasons to trust me, let alone help me," she came up to him and placed a hand on his cheek.
"So thank you," she said in a heart-felt manner and delicately grazed her lips against his rough cheek, very close to the corner of his mouth.
He looked at her in amazement, heat spreading through his body once again.
"I trust you," he said quietly, his eyes glued to hers.
"This is the best thing you could say to me right now, Mac," she said with a big smile as she reluctantly pulled away and went back to sit on the sofa. "But I'm really better off staying at a hotel."
He eyed her skeptically.
"I snore, Mac," she chuckled. "And I really don't want to intrude more than I already am. As soon as my clothes are dry, I'll get a taxi to the nearest hotel."
He looked at her still unconvinced but by the decided set of her mouth and the steely look in her eyes he knew better than to argue. She was an independent and self-reliant woman and he respected that. He also understood that she had a hard time trusting other people, let alone leaning on them for help. Hence, he imagined it must have been hard for her to come to him and ask for help as it was so he didn't want to push it. Still, to his amazement, he found he really wanted her to stay. He usually felt very uncomfortable having anyone in his private space, especially a woman, but with Stella it was so different. So natural. He couldn't explain it in any rational way and it only caused additional turmoil in his already troubled head.
Stella observed the play of emotions on his face with fascination for a while. He kept an exceptionally good poker face but she was starting to recognize the smallest and finest details that gave him away. The slight crease to his brow when he was worried, the almost imperceptible quirk of the left corner of his mouth when he was amused or the slight pout of his lips when he was frustrated. Still, his current expression was a total mystery.
She took a sip of the tea he had prepared for her and looked at the mug with a quirked eyebrow.
"You're sure this is tea?"
He chuckled lightly as she eyed the mug warily.
"It's a special warm-up Chicagoan recipe," he explained.
"It's really good," she said taking another sip. "Rum? Sugar?"
"Yes," he said with a smile. "And a secret ingredient I'm not at liberty to divulge."
"National security?" she deadpanned.
"Even worse. My mother."
She chuckled. This relaxed, fun side of him was even more enticing.
"So, you're from Chicago?"
"Yes."
"You're far from home, Mac. What brought you to NY?"
The smile on his face faded and he sighed. "The job."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only the job?"
His head snapped up to look at her with amazement. It was uncanny how she could see into his eyes and soul and pick up on everything he tried to conceal or pass over in silence.
"My wife was from NY," he said tightly.
By the look of his face, she knew now for sure what she had only been suspecting. His wife was dead and it was something very tragic. Any death was tragic but she could sense that the circumstances here were truly dramatic and had changed him forever. They had left a deep, unhealed wound. She could see how much pain he carried inside.
"What was her name?" she asked softly.
He looked at her, his posture stiff and his expression taut. For a moment Stella thought she would get the cold shoulder for prying but then his expression relaxed a bit and he looked her in the eye searchingly as if ascertaining that he could trust her. She saw that while he was strong on the surface, it wasn't all the way through.
Looking at the woman before him, Mac was once again reminded of the night he saw her for the first time. He felt that silent understanding again that could only exist between two tormented people who had been to hell and back. They both knew what loneliness and loss meant. Because of that, he had hidden his heart away and he saw she had done the same. Still, there was a difference between them – she managed to see colours in life and make the best of it and her strong presence was making him see what he was without all these years. He took a deep breath wondering if he could revoke the ghosts of the past without breaking apart in front of her. He had kept it all bottled inside and hidden his heart away in a cold, lonely place for so long. Maybe too long.
"Claire," he finally said, the syllables rolling off his tongue with a soft tremour. He hadn't spoken her name aloud in years. He felt a surprising relief wash over him. It hadn't killed him. He could say her name aloud and he didn't fall apart.
"A beautiful name."
"She…" he started carefully, still feeling like he was treading on extremely thin ice. "She was beautiful."
It didn't hurt like he thought it would. There was a numb throbbing at the back of his mind that would never go away but it wasn't as breath-takingly acute and sharp as it used to be.
"She died on 9/11," he continued in that level tone that just barely contained the emotion underneath. He looked at her. "It was the most cruel and unjust death…and I was powerless to do anything about it."
Stella could see how much it cost him to even speak out his wife's name, let alone talk about her death, but she sensed he wanted to say it aloud, wanted to face himself and his pain. And he wanted to do it in front of her. The suppressed anguish in his eyes and the numb remoteness that seemed to envelop him like a cocoon were almost too much to take. In that moment she knew she would do anything in her power to make them go away. She would do anything to see him have happiness and joy back in his life. In that moment she knew she loved him.
Mac looked at her pained and sympathetic expression and he knew she understood. He noticed a single tear sliding down her cheek and reached out to wipe it away. She took his hand in hers and looked him in the eye.
There was no need for words. They remained frozen like that in a comfortable silence that penetrated their thick armours and steel shields to reach their hearts and souls and bring hope.
Then a shiver shook her and Mac was brought back to reality. He stood up.
"You're still cold," he said. "I'll bring you a blanket."
"Mac, really no need," she said with a slight sniffle, glad for the change of the topic. "My clothes will be dry soon and I'll be going."
"Not up for discussion," he said with a half-smile.
And with that he went to his bedroom. The search took longer than expected and when he finally re-emerged from the depths of his closet into the living room, the sight that met his eyes made him smile.
Stella was curled on his sofa and true enough, he could hear her soft snoring. He silently came up to her and covered her sleeping form with the blanket. He smiled and moved a strand of her wild, curly hair away from her face. He allowed himself a moment to stare at her serene expression and felt a sense of peace and tenderness he hadn't felt in a long time.
Then he turned off the light and went to his own bed.
For the first time in many weeks, he slept soundly.
tbc.
A/N: I hope you liked this chapter! Do let me know - your reviews always make my day:) I tried to do my best but today's news of Melina kind of left me out of steam…
A/N2: Also, I wanted you to know that despite the news I will continue with this story and my other one, 'Stalemate'. i think I owe it to you, myself and SMacked:) I can only hope you'll still want to read them!