Hello to everyone. I see this story is actually catching the eye of some new folks out there... As always, I appreciate those of you who've taken a few moments to let me know if it's holding your interest. A fond thank you to all my readers.
Chapter 7
Saturday, December 1st
Olivia and Dean Porter had been sequestered for the better part of three hours in one of the lavish sitting rooms reviewing their 'dossiers' and working on their characterizations of Jason and Jennifer Randolph. They'd familiarized themselves with the spiel concerning the circumstances that brought them to Hempstead: They had found out through family friends it was for sale, and she and Jason had been given the option to buy it… They were offered the opportunity to spend the next several months in the home before making a decision.
Apparently Crestview had been empty for some time, although the house and grounds had been maintained impeccably... But the community was understandably curious about it, and because they'd be immediately immersed in the country club scene, it was essential to have a believable story to explain their sudden presence.
They committed to memory their respective background stories, then took turns quizzing each other. They'd agreed to use their undercover names at all times in order to stay in character. Now that they were actually working, their strong sense of professionalism kicked in and they were making good progress—although they were still tiptoeing around the subject of physical contact.
Porter looked over at her before addressing the 'elephant' in the room, hoping to god she wouldn't flip out and kick his ass. "Olivia, you know we've gotta put on a convincing act tonight—and it will include some physical intimacy. What can I expect from you when I take your hand, or put my arm around you, or hold you when we're dancing—or god forbid, kiss you?"
"Well, for starters, you can call me 'Jennifer' and not Olivia," she said drily. "That would be a dead give-away." She turned to look at him, catching his eye and holding it. "You know this wouldn't even be an issue if you hadn't been such a jackass the last few days."
"So why didn't you call me on it? We didn't exactly part on the best of terms last time we were together—and we've never talked, so we haven't worked anything out."
"Is that why you've been such a prick—you've been trying to goad me into starting a fight—so we could work things out? You couldn't have just picked up the phone and suggested we get together to talk instead of acting like a pre-pubescent child?"
"I tried to get you to sit down and talk to me, Oli—goddammit… Jennifer." He'd raised his voice and was pacing around the room.
"Yeah. After you'd been a total ass—the poster boy for sexual harassment…"
"You didn't answer the question, Oli… Jennifer. How are you going to react when I touch you?" She sighed and started to haul herself up from the depths of the too-comfortable, overstuffed chair. Dean stepped over to the chair, surprising her when he reached down and grabbed her hand, helping her to her feet.
"Thank you, Jason." She grinned. "See, I can stay in character."
"Okay." He cautiously stepped closer. "Good, Jennifer." He looked into her eyes, and she didn't flinch, so he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her—being careful to not overstep any bounds. Still she didn't resist. She held his eyes and he smiled. "Okay… Maybe this will work—and I'll get to keep all my parts."
"Don't push your luck."
She started to pull away and he yanked her back, his hands firmly gripping her upper arms, all levity gone. "Olivia, this op—and our lives—depend on it… I've gotta know you're up for this and I can count on you not to freak out and start beating the crap out of me if I grab you and kiss you—if we're in a situation that warrants it."
Her hands were resting on his chest, and she slowly pushed him away from her, never breaking eye contact. "I'm hungry, Jason. You want somethin' to eat?" She turned around and walked away, heading to their fully-stocked kitchen.
"Are you cooking, Jennifer?" he called to her retreating back.
"Hell, no... Jason."
"In that case, maybe I'll join you."
There were numerous events planned at the Country Club over the next few weeks, during the Holiday season, and the Randolph's would be attending almost all of them. On each occasion, there would be a crew monitoring the activity from the security office. Elliot and Frank, with the assistance of the 'techies,' were in the small office checking out the closed circuit monitoring system—making sure all the cameras were placed strategically and the equipment was in good working order for the evening's events. There were four screens set up to accommodate the amount of square footage the cameras would need to cover.
Frank was dividing his time between that and coordinating with a few agents working as 'wait' staff—in particular, Gary Stevens, who'd be posing as the bar tender. They'd be wired in order to transmit information to Frank and Elliot—and vice versa. It had been decided to not have Olivia or Porter wear a wire tonight… It would be too risky, with all the attention they'd be receiving.
Frank and Elliot had met earlier with both Gavin McBride and Jessica Abramsen, and together the four of them had explored every inch of the country club's interior. McBride would be spending some time in the security office, but he'd also be coordinating the added security for the event—mostly agents. They'd be covering the entrances and exits, and patrolling the grounds; Abramsen would be greeting and checking members and guests in as they arrived, and providing lists to Frank and Elliot.
Elliot had gotten a good feeling from her, but McBride had been harder to read—more standoffish. Frank had cropped it up to his shyness, but Elliot hadn't been so sure. He'd wished Olivia had been there to offer her opinion, and realized how hard being separated from her was going to be; he felt like he was missing a limb. He tried not to think about what it would be like this evening to see her all dolled up and on Porter's arm… Goddamn, he'd be glad when this was over.
As if he'd read his mind, Frank ambled over to him. He cocked one eyebrow and peered intently into his face. "You're thinkin' about her. You gonna be okay tonight when you see your pretty baby in the arms of another man, Stabler?" Elliot grunted and just shook his head as though trying to clear the image Frank had just conjured up for him of Olivia dancing with Porter's arms around her. "Do I need to take you off this detail tonight and bring someone else in…?"
"Fuck, no! I'm here to watch her back—I'll hold it together, Barrett," he growled. "I know what's at stake—I'll do whatever it takes… And if I start to lose it you can cold-cock me." He managed to grin over at Frank.
"I'll hold you to that. Remember, that pretty lady ain't got eyes for nobody but you, Stabler… Believe me, if I thought otherwise I'd be movin' in on her myself," he teased. "She's got a job to do: So stand back, watch her six, and let her do it."
The event hall had been decorated festively for the occasion: A regal fir tree stood in one corner, sweeping from floor to ceiling, adorned with ornaments of gold and cream, and splashes of red. Garlands of greenery hung close to the ceiling along every wall, and decorated the length of the bar. The tiny white lights on the tree and threaded into the greenery shone like a million twinkling stars.
In the corner opposite the tree, a piano and stringed instrument ensemble played softly, providing background music—not overwhelming the conversation. Tables draped with pine green tablecloths and lacy overlays the color of rich cream, had been placed along the perimeters of the highly glossed dance floor. Lighted, pillared candles of shimmering gold sat in the center of each table, surrounded by greenery.
The fully stocked bar occupied the wall beyond the dance floor, its rich wood polished to a high gleam, the glasses and bottles reflecting the white lights from the greenery wrapped around it. A lone bartender was busy filling drink orders while he chatted amiably with the guests. Wait staff—many of them agents—carried trays of scrumptious hors d'houvres while maneuvering skillfully through the crowd.
Olivia was nervous when they walked into the room; it felt like every eye in the place was on Jason and Jennifer Randolph. She looked stunning in a deep red, one-shoulder, designer evening dress that hugged her curves and flared at the bottom, her luxuriant auburn waves falling softly around her shoulders. Dean was handsome in a black evening jacket and tie. He held her by his side, one arm reaching around her back, his hand resting at her waist.
Elliot was watching the monitors closely, eagerly waiting for the moment when Olivia arrived—at the same time filled with dread at the thought of seeing her on Porter's arm. He heard Frank's low whistle before he spotted her. "Jesus, Stabler—she is one gorgeous woman." He looked over at Elliot shaking his head. "You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch—you know that don'tcha…?"
"Yeah. I know that…" he growled. Elliot watched her, feeling his heart rate increase as he took in the way the red dress showcased her curves, trying to quell the anger that threatened to overwhelm him when he observed Porter's arm move possessively around her while he introduced her to another couple.
"You gonna be okay, Stabler?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he managed to grit out, through clenched teeth.
Frank eyed him skeptically, but took his answer at face value. "That's the Chairman of the Board, James Hobbs. Wife's name's Andrea. He knows about the op—she doesn't. He'll be introducin' the 'Randolphs' tonight.
Olivia was trying to be polite and listen to Andrea—who insisted she be called Andi—as the hyperactive 'blonde' nattered on about all the club's upcoming events for the holiday season. She was doing her best to come up with reasons she couldn't join the eighteen committees the woman was trying to recruit her for. She could have wept with relief when Porter decided to rescue her. Handing her a glass of red wine, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, placing a quick kiss on her cheek. "Jennifer and I really need to make our rounds… I see a couple of folks we'd like to say hello to before they seat us. It was so nice to meet you Andrea… uh, Andi. And nice to see you again, James…"
Before Olivia could say her 'good-byes' James had taken her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Good to see you Jason—and it's been a pleasure to meet your lovely wife. We'll see you shortly—we're seated at the same table… And Jennifer, I'll introduce you both before dinner is over." Olivia gave all the appropriate responses and Porter led her away.
"Please don't make me sit by her at dinner," she groaned. "I'm running out of excuses for not joining her committees. Oh my god, I could never do this… I'd go stark raving mad within a week."
Porter grinned down at her. "Well, Jennifer, you better hope we wrap this up quickly, or she'll have you selling tickets to the winter carnival."
The evening dragged interminably. Dinner was served, and 'Jennifer' and 'Jason' made mindless chitchat with the other couples at their table, including James and Andi Hobbs. It gave them plenty of opportunity to practice their 'background' stories. Before dessert was brought out, James introduced them—as promised, and the next hour was spent chatting with the curious club members who came over under the guise of welcoming them, but more likely recognizing fodder for the gossip mill.
Olivia concentrated on putting names with faces and picking up on any anomaly—especially when being introduced to men who appeared to be single… or seemed to be a little too interested in her, or her relationship with her husband. When she thought she couldn't bear to meet one more person, she was relieved to hear the musicians change to livelier music—more suited to dancing; perhaps this would draw attention away from them, for a while. Her relief was short-lived when Porter led her to the dance floor. "You can't be serious!" she managed to hiss while keeping the smile on her face intact.
"Serious as a heart attack, Jennifer," he whispered, smiling into her eyes as he took her into his arms and pulled her close for a slow dance. "Remember, we're in love: I dote on you, and you thrive on being the center of my universe." And anyone observing them would have thought just that: She was attentive, smiling up at him and murmuring softly… And he buried his face in her hair, whispering in her ear—making it easier to compare notes; all the while appearing to be a couple hopelessly in love. But when he bent his lips to hers, kissing her ardently, she'd had enough.
She stiffened in his arms—not missing a beat, and looked up at him adoringly. "Listen, you son-of-a-bitch… If you kiss me again—when it's not warranted—I swear to god I'll make you cry."
He smiled back at her, not trying to hide his amusement. "Thanks for the warning, sweetheart. Just trying to stay in character..." She seethed, as she lovingly returned his smile.
Frank and Elliot had been busy trying to identify each person in attendance with the help of James Hobbs, who'd joined them, in between his duties as Chairman. They had a ledger with the names of every member, and a separate list of the guests. James had been helping them match names with faces and providing background information, including how long they'd been associated with the Country Club, or the Hempstead community—until he'd been needed elsewhere, in his capacity as Chairman.
Elliot watched as the dance floor started to fill, and had to force himself not to react when he saw Porter lead Olivia onto the floor and take her in his arms. His attention was diverted when the door opened and he heard a nauseatingly familiar voice behind him. What the fuck! "Tucker…? What the hell are you doing here? How did you even get in...?"
"Nice to see you too, Stabler," he said, with an arrogant smirk. He motioned to the younger man beside him. "I'd like to introduce you to Special Agent John Lamb… He's your connection to Crestwood and this community."
"It's good to see you again, John." Elliot shook the man's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to Frank. "John, this is Special Agent Frank Barrett… Frank, Special Agent John Lamb." As an afterthought, he introduced Frank to Tucker. "And this is Lt. Tucker of the NYPD's rat squad."
Tucker ignored Frank, as he gestured between Elliot and Agent Lamb. "You two know each other?" Tucker clearly wasn't aware of it.
"Yes, John was one of my instructors at the academy—Electronic Surveillance."
Tucker looked curiously at John. "I didn't realize that." He shifted his attention to Elliot. "Why aren't you out on the dance floor with Benson…? Or should I say—your wife, Jennifer…?" He looked him up and down. "You aren't even dressed for it… What the hell's going on, Stabler?"
"What the fuck business is it of yours, Tucker? Last I checked, IAB wasn't running the FBI, and you sure as hell don't have any jurisdiction over me anymore." Elliot looked questioningly at Agent Lamb. "This is supposed to be a goddamned undercover operation… I get why you've got inside information, John, but what the hell's he doin' here?"
Agent Lamb smiled, attempting to placate Elliot. "Settle down, Agent Stabler. Ed and I are good friends—we go way back. I've been involved in this from the beginning, and I knew Ed had ties to Manhattan's SVU unit; I just wanted to pick his brain. He highly recommended Olivia Benson for this… He's well-aware of the operation. It was my understanding you were going under with her…?"
"Sorry to disappoint you boys… There was a last minute change of plan." Elliot looked at Tucker with disdain as he addressed Agent Lamb. "Did he also tell you he jammed us up every chance he got...?" he asked with a sneer. "So forgive me if I'm a little surprised he'd recommend either of us for anything."
The look Agent Lamb gave Tucker indicated he hadn't heard about the bad blood between the three of them, and for a brief moment Elliot saw a flash of anger in his eyes—but he quickly recovered, and turned to Elliot. "Agent Stabler, we've taken up enough of your time. We'll let you get back to monitoring the guests." He looked pointedly at Tucker—giving him no opportunity to disagree, and ushered him out the door.
Frank had retreated to the other side of the room and sat in front of one of the monitors, interacting quietly with one of the agents on the floor—feigning no interest in the exchange between the three men, when actually he'd been listening intently and taking it all in. "What the hell was that…?" he exclaimed as soon as they left, crossing the room to stand beside Elliot.
"Damned if I know, but I sure don't like it… Something is way the hell off, Frank! I'm calling Cragen."
"Good. I was gonna suggest it... See if he can make some sense of this."
Elliot took out his burner phone, and dialed Donald Cragen at the Precinct. He picked up on the second ring. They talked for ten minutes and when he got off the phone he looked at Frank. "We've gotta find Lamb and talk to him."
"You're not tellin' me nothin' I don't know, Stabler. I woulda asked him a few things tonight if he hadn't had that jackass Tucker with him. Like, how'd anybody get access to the house to put cameras in the bedroom, for starters…?"
Olivia had had no lack of partners cutting in on her and Porter on the dance floor and she had so many new names and faces in her head she felt the beginnings of a headache; not one of them appeared to be any kind of a lead. She'd resolved to sit the next one out when she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to find Lt. Ed Tucker insisting he be allowed to cut in. She was so stunned she didn't decline, and found herself being pulled into his arms. This was certainly a bizarre twist… If anyone had told her she'd ever be on a dance floor in the arms of Ed Tucker, she'd have told them they were high on 'crack.' What the hell! She realized he was talking, and tried to compose herself.
"Olivia…?"
"Uh—what did you say…? What the hell are you doing here, Tucker?"
He gave a huff of irritation, still smarting from the dressing-down he'd just suffered at the hands of John Lamb, and he was in no mood for her attitude… but he managed to plant a smile on his face before repeating his comment. "I said, you look lovely, Olivia—as always, I might add." Olivia's eyes grew wide, not quite believing this was real. He continued before she could comment. "Why isn't Stabler posing as your husband?" He paused for a moment—his smile replaced with a sneer. "I'd have thought the two of you would've jumped at the chance to play out your little fantasy." The news that they were now a couple clearly hadn't made it to IAB. Before she could respond, he continued. "Who's under with you, Benson?"
"Tucker, I'm pretty sure this is none of your damn business," she hissed, being careful not to cause a scene. "Why are you here…? And for god's sake, call me Jennifer, you idiot."
"You're your usual charming self, Ben- Jennifer…" He gave her an appraising look that raised the hair on the back of her neck. "It's a damn pity such a beautiful woman is such a pain in the ass." His eyes were cold, and she gave an involuntary shudder at the maliciousness she saw there.
"You know what, Tucker. I don't have to dance with you… This is definitely not in the line of duty." She extricated herself from his arms and left him standing alone on the dance floor.
Porter, who'd been watching from the sidelines quickly made his way to her, putting his arm around her as he led her back to their table. She belatedly realized she'd probably passed up an opportunity, but hadn't until that moment entertained the possibility that Tucker played any real role in this. "Dammit! I should have kept dancing and tried to figure out what the hell he's up to..."
"What information could he possibly have…?" Porter studied her closely, a question in his eyes.
Olivia suddenly remembered she didn't know yet if she could trust him. She sighed. "Nothing… I'm sure. He's just a major pain in the ass," she said quietly. "You know who he is… right?"
For the briefest of moments something flashed in Porter's eyes, before he turned his gaze from her. "Isn't he the IAB brass that's always giving you and Stabler such a hard time?" he asked. The casualness with which he asked the question was clearly manufactured.
"Yeah." She left it at that.
Neither of them were aware of the eyes in the far corner of the room that had followed their every move.
It was well after midnight when Olivia heard the knock on her balcony door—she'd been expecting him.
After she and Porter had returned from the party they'd taken a few minutes to make it appear as though they were in the bedroom together getting ready for bed—being sure they were in full view of the cameras. They'd spent time in the 'his' and 'her' bathrooms, brushing their teeth, and chatting—going through a normal bedtime routine; then they'd stood in their nightclothes, talking, with his arms wrapped around her and her hands resting on his shoulders—looking into each other's eyes. He'd apologized as he'd reached down and kissed her—very convincingly—for the camera; Olivia had allowed it, remembering Frank's words, but she'd had to fight the urge to slug him. When he pulled away, she saw something in his eyes—something close to regret—and she'd quickly averted her gaze. After he'd left, she'd locked the doors to the suite and shut the balcony light off—her signal to Elliot.
She unlocked the door now, and Elliot pulled her into his arms. "Oh god, baby..." he groaned. He held her close for a moment, burying his face in her hair. "You looked so gorgeous tonight, Liv." He quickly found her lips and made up for all the hours they'd been apart—hours he'd been forced to watch her posing as another man's wife.
She clung to him. "I'm so glad you're here, El," she whispered.
He held her tightly. When he loosened his grip on her he pushed her away just enough to look her over. She was wearing a cobalt blue peignoir set—courtesy of the FBI—and he untied the belt to reveal the sheer gown beneath the robe. The empire-style bodice was low-cut and cradled her breasts, generously accentuating her cleavage. He groaned, and reached to caress her through the silky material, then pulled her back into his arms. "You look so beautiful, Liv. God I hate this, baby… This is torture—watching you with him."
"I don't like it either, El—and believe me, I miss you. This is the most fucked up thing we've ever been involved in, Elliot. I've got stuff I've gotta tell you about," she said, as she reluctantly pulled out of his arms, and led him over to a plush love seat in the corner of the room, out of the eye of the cameras. They settled into the cozy settee, and Elliot wrapped his arms around her.
"Elliot, I didn't tell you this at the time because it didn't seem important—but Ed Tucker's involved in this… He was there tonight. Cragen told me he'd made a point of endorsing the FBI's recruitment of me with the brass…"
"I just found that out a couple of hours ago, Liv. Tucker showed up in the monitoring room with Agent Lamb… He was one of my instructors at Quantico. Turns out he's the FBI's tie to this property."
"What's his connection to Tucker?" Olivia leaned into him, her head resting on his chest—just breathing him in.
"Seems they're old friends, and Lamb picked his brain about a good candidate for the role of Jennifer; Tucker recommended you. He was all bent out of shape when he found out I wasn't UC as 'Jason Randolph...' And I could've sworn Lamb was pissed about it, too."
"What the hell is going on, El?"
"Something's way off, baby, and I don't like the direction it seems to be heading." He looked down at her and pulled her closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. "I called Cap. He said he'd been thinking about Tucker the last few days, and somethin' doesn't feel right… We compared notes, and things started to take shape. He's gonna have Rollins research the ownership of Crestview… He said she's pretty skilled at that kind of stuff."
Olivia pulled away and leaned wearily back into the cushions raking a hand through her hair. "She is."
"And Munch and Fin are gonna go through all our old files looking for cases that involved wealthy victims or perps… or anyone with a tie to Hempstead; someone who might have a reason to be holding a grudge." He felt her body tense beside him, and he pulled her back into his arms. "Agent Lamb didn't tell Tucker he knew me… Tucker was shocked when he found out tonight."
Olivia shuddered involuntarily in his arms. "Elliot, Porter saw me with Tucker, and afterwards he questioned me about him—but made a concerted effort to appear uninterested. I'm really nervous about this… What in hell does it all mean? None of it makes any sense. How the hell are we supposed to concentrate on finding the perpetrator, when our own team members are acting so damn screwy?"
He placed his hands on her shoulders so he could push her away to look into her eyes. "Hey, baby, we'll figure it out. And I'm here to make sure you're okay." He leaned forward and kissed her again. "And right now I wanna try out that king-size bed, Jennifer," he growled, not trying to disguise the lust in his eyes as they roved down over the front of her gown.
"Hey, I thought this was information-sharing only, Agent Stabler," she teased.
"The hell you did," he declared, scooping her up and depositing her on the bed.
TBC
Thank you for reading! Chapter 8 will be posted Wednesday.
