Chapter Seven: Eye for an Eye

I'd been given the option by the department to take the rest of my allotted vacation time until September, or begin at Manhattan Homicide effective immediately and take my vacation time with me. I decided for the latter; as it was a mid-afternoon on a Friday, I decided to start on Monday. In high spirits, I finished my lunch with Henrietta, and the car took her back to the office. As Lincoln was expected to be in the office until six daily, I was given Jensen's services; ever since the second engagement had been confirmed, as well as the co-habitation arrangement and some wedding plans had been finalized, Lincoln gave me full access to his bank account and he would delight in coming home to find that I had been shopping for some of my days.

I pressed the button to lower the security glass to speak to Jensen; I'd always liked his calm, no-nonsense attitude, and I found I appreciated it when he had warmed to me so quickly. "Jensen, I want you to know that I got my results of the detective's exam this afternoon while I was at lunch with Henrietta."

"Yes, Miss Grayson?" Jensen asked, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror for a fleeting moment before returning to the road.

"Yes, and I've passed the exam," I tell him. "I will be starting the position next Monday, so I would like to do some shopping in between now and picking up Lincoln from work later."

"Of course, Miss Grayson," Jensen replies. "Anywhere in particular?"

"Where would you suggest, Jensen?" I ask him, leaning forward ever so slightly in my seat. "After all, I'll need to wear good quality suits on the daily."

Jensen nodded, contemplating. "Well, MM. LaFleur is quite wonderful—Henrietta shops there a few times a month herself. It's in the Village, so it's on our way to the penthouse if you would like."

I grinned at Jensen and clapped my hands. "Sounds wonderful, Jensen! Thank you!" I crowed. "Oh, and Jensen?"

"Yes, Miss Grayson?"

"Don't feel the need to bring up the security glass unless I'm taking a confidential phone call. I would love to speak to you, if I'm alone in the car."

He raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure, Miss Grayson?"

"Lincoln obviously hired you because your background check was sufficient, as well as your professional background. He obviously trusts you with me. And besides, if Lincoln and I are going to be married, I'd like to get to know the members of the staff better, as you'll be my staff soon, too."

Jensen looks touched. "Of course, Miss Grayson," he replies.

"Then, let's get to know each other," I proclaim.

"Of course, Miss Grayson," he says.

"How old are you, Jensen?" I ask him.

He chuckles, navigating himself carefully along the road. "I'm forty-two, Miss Grayson. And I know that you're twenty-five."

I nod. "That's right. Where were you born?"

"Chicago," he replies. "I graduated with above-average grades from high school and, since they were pretty normal, no colleges wanted me. I enlisted in the Marines and became a General," he says, modestly, even though it was a very impressive honor. "I managed to take classes at Northwestern University in my free time. I got a Master's Degree in Security Management and worked as a security guard at local clubs and things like that for several years after I got an honorable discharge after fifteen years of service to my country. That's when I started working for Homeland Security."

"How did you meet Lincoln?" I ask him.

"At O'Hare Airport," he replies. "He was coming back to New York following the death of his parents. He'd been in Los Angeles securing a deal—that was the cover story, at least; in actuality, he was taking a break. His team suggested that he get flights with several layovers so the press wouldn't be able to track him down as easily. He flew from Los Angeles to Phoenix, then from Phoenix to Topeka, and then Topeka to Chicago. His last flight was from O'Hare to LaGuardia, and he was about to get into the VIP security line when suddenly, he was ambushed by a combination of press, and people there to kidnap him, mixed in with the press. I saw the whole thing going down and got in there, dragging him out and away from all that while his team stood by, helpless. When Mr. Beckett asked my name, I told him, and he was happy that I didn't know who he was—at the time, I didn't. He took me back to New York with him—he had his family's private jet waiting—and kept me in a guest wing, working out my personal and professional background check as I waited for my things to arrive. I passed everything, and he offered me top position on his team; he'd fired everyone else—they were his father's workers and he wanted to decide for himself—and he wanted to build an entirely new team and he picked me."

"You saved his life," I breathe.

Jensen smiles. "All part of my job, I suppose. Any more questions?"

"Yes," I reply. "Just one—what's your first name?"

"William," he says.

I'd even managed to find a lovely dress that evening for dinner; it was always implied that Lincoln and I would go out for dinner on Friday nights. I finished after about an hour at MM. LaFleur, who told me that they would overnight ship all my tailored suits over to the penthouse by Sunday evening. I thanked them profusely for rushing the order before walking back to the car with Jensen, who was always on standby. It wasn't even five o'clock yet, so I told Jensen that I would like to return to the penthouse beforehand and to change into my new dress for dinner before picking Lincoln up.

Jensen opened my door for me before taking my purchases and putting them into the trunk. We drove along the street, making small talk until we arrived at the penthouse just a few minutes away. Jensen lets me out of the car and I thank him, rounding the back of it with him to assist in fetching my purchases. We walk to the elevator together, the chrome double doors dinging as they open before us, and step onto the carpeting that is very much like an antique Persian rug. We remain silent throughout the journey and arrive on the main floor, walking through the doors and into the entryway.

"How are you, Miss Grayson?" Fairfield asks, coming towards us.

"Fine, thank you, Fairfield," I reply. "Were there any calls or messages while I was out this afternoon?"

"One from your mother, Miss Grayson," Fairfield says, following me just ahead of Jensen as we make our way through the entryway. "She received word that you passed your detective's exam and was wondering if you and Mr. Beckett could do Sunday brunch with her and your father."

"Does Lincoln have anything pressing that day?" I ask him.

"No, ma'am—he had a golf game, but Michael Waterston suddenly got called to Europe due to a family emergency," Fairfield explains. "I've asked Mr. Beckett if the idea would be agreeable to him, and it is, pending your approval, of course, and he's not contacted your mother directly."

"Thank you, Fairfield," I reply. "I'll just pop most of these over to the dry cleaner after changing for dinner..."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Fairfield replies. "I'll handle them for you, Miss Grayson, never fear. Mr. Beckett has an excellent dry cleaner that can do the work in less than twenty-four hours. He has an account there, which includes a complimentary delivery service. When do you need your things by?"

"No later than Sunday night," I reply.

"Wonderful," Fairfield says.

"Why don't I gather the things I'll need dry cleaned, separate them out, and have them for you before I leave to get Lincoln from work?"

"That would be fine, Miss Grayson, fine." He nods to all the bags. "Somehow, I think you would have a better grasp of what needs to be where."

I giggle. "Thank you, Fairfield," I reply, and Jensen and I head upstairs towards the master suite. I open the door, flicking on the light as I go. "You can put the bags upon the vanity table, please, Jensen," I tell him.

"Very good, ma'am," Jensen replies, and waits for me to face him after I've put the bags I'd been carrying upon my bed. "If you don't mind, ma'am, I have a few calls to make on Mr. Beckett's behalf. If you would excuse me..."

"Of course, Jensen," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to keep you..."

"You didn't, I assure you, Miss Grayson," he tells me. "I'll be ready to take you to Mr. Beckett's office in an hour."

I flash Jensen a smile. "Thank you, Jensen," I reply, and watch him leave.

I then shut and lock my door when I sense that he's far enough away that I'm not kicking him out. I then sift through my bags, finding my new dress for that night, and judge that it would be all right for me to wear it. I'd made a quick stop at Wolford on the way home, selecting a cream-pink colored dress which was quite flowy, with no sleeves and a high collar. I'd pair it with my pink strappy heels, as well as my mother's engagement ring. I then set out everything for the evening and promptly head into my en suite bathroom and walking towards my shower. I swipe the fan on and the light and manipulate the water temperature to my liking before proceeding to strip down and step inside the cubicle.

After my shower, I blow dry my hair before putting it securely into curlers. I step out into my bedroom, relieved that I still have twenty minutes. I manage to get my dress over my head easily, knowing that Lincoln will probably want to take it off me himself later. The thought sends a delicious tremor up my spine as I adjust my engagement ring and slip into my heels before returning to the bathroom. I make quick work of completing my hair and makeup before taking out my curlers, and then I return to my bedroom. I retrieve my matching pink clutch, complete with ID, keys, and cell phone before leaving my bedroom and making my way down to the main floor.

"Jensen!" I call out. "Are you around?"

"Yes, Miss Grayson? You're ready to go?" he asks, coming from the hallway where his bedroom is located.

"Yes, Jensen. All ready," I reply.

Jensen smiles as he looks me up and down. "You look lovely, if I may say so, ma'am," he tells me.

I return his smile. "You may," I reply.

"Ready to go get Mr. Beckett, then, ma'am?" he asks.

"Yes, please," I say.

We say goodbye to Fairfield before leaving the entryway and returning to the elevator. We make our way down and into the underground parking garage before getting into the town car and onto the main street. I watch as Jensen keys in Lincoln's office address in Chelsea, consulting traffic reports and figuring out what would be the best way to get there. He finds a good way and we set out, making small talk until we pull up at the office.

"We're a bit early, ma'am," Jensen tells me. "Would you like to wait?"

"Does he have a meeting?" I ask him.

"Last one was due to end twenty minutes ago," he replies.

I nod. "I'll head in, if you don't mind, Jensen. I'd like to surprise him, if that's all right with you."

He smiles. "I should think Mr. Beckett would enjoy that, Miss Grayson. You go along in and I'll be here."

"Thank you," I reply.

I open the door and step out onto the sidewalk, making my way towards the revolving door of the building. I smile at the receptionists on the bottom floor, and they don't ID me, familiar with who I am as I make my way over to the set of elevators and press the button. Once inside, I click the button to the fifty-seventh floor, the topmost in the impressive skyscraper, and listen to the mundane elevator music as I make my way to the top. The stereotypical ding sounds fills my ears less than a minute later, and I step out of there and make my way at a normal pace towards the lobby.

"Hello, Edythe!" calls Joan, Lincoln's senior secretary as she gets to her feet, a bright smile on her face. She has creamy-white skin and a shock of long, dark red hair which goes to her waist; that afternoon, she sports a lovely white blouse and a dark green pencil skirt, along with standard black heels. "I suspect you're here to see Lincoln."

I grin at her; Joan had told me that the three junior secretaries—Pippa, Victoria, and Adelaide—flirted a big game with Lincoln, but the flirting had subsided ever since our second engagement. I peeked over at them for half a moment, and they all three immediately became blue eyes-deep in their desktop computers, ashamed at their behavior. "Yes, I'm here to see Lincoln," I reply, quickly turning back to look at Joan. "Is he in his office?"

"Yes. Go right in," Joan says, smiling and nodding for me to go to towards the walnut door.

Stepping inside, I immediately spot Lincoln taking a phone call, his back to me in his impressive, fine leather desk chair. Upon hearing the door shut behind him, he peers around it, and his eyes light up at the sight of me. He holds up his finger and proceeds wrapping up the phone call as I make my way over to the west wall, which is completely made up of floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as the north and east wall. I peer out of one window, admiring the impressive architecture of the other skyscrapers around us and sigh ever so slightly as Lincoln—who has since wrapped up his phone call—crosses the office and almost immediately puts his arms around my waist.

"I take it you missed me," he states then, moving some of my hair to the side and putting his lips to my neck.

"So much," I say softly, my knees proceeding to shake and my eyes beginning to roll back into my head.

Lincoln chuckles at the effect he still has on me. "I made the two of us reservations somewhere special tonight—your last night of freedom," he says softly, tightening his grip around my waist.

"Where?" I whisper.

"A new Italian place," he whispers softly against my skin. "I know it's your favorite and it was the first time they had a table."

"I'm prepared to eat, if you are," I reply, my hands blindly inching for his belt, so close, and yet so far away.

The alterations and dry cleaning go perfectly, and I make my way across town the following morning, just after Jensen has dropped Lincoln off at work. Jensen assures me that all I need do is say the word, and he will be in the car with Lincoln when I'm finished for the day. I thank him and slip from the car, flashing my new golden badge to the receptionist, who does a double take when she catches my surname, but nods when I put my finger to my lips. I make my way towards the chrome elevator doors and click the correct button; they ding open for me and I step inside, making my way to the proper floor. The doors ding a second time and I step into the hallway, knowing that I must report to my mother first.

I wave hello to all the other detectives, who acknowledge me as is appropriate to the captain's daughter, and point to my mother's office. "Is she in?" I ask.

A door opens on the other side of the unit, and Nate, my mother's second in command, steps out. "Hey, Edythe!" he says, embracing me. "What are you here for today, officer? Want to take your mom out for brunch?"

"Uh, it's 'detective' now," I say, flashing my badge.

Nate, his wife Violette, Melanie and her husband Jimmy, plus other detectives Abi and Chester immediately proceed to applaud. "Very nice," Nate says. "So, you're our new recruit then, I take it? I knew they'd be arriving, but they didn't give us a name..."

"That's on me," I reply. "I kinda wanted it to be a surprise," I say, nodding in the direction of my mother's office.

"Ah, I see," Nate says, smiling. "Well, she's working on some paperwork now but I think she may take a break to see you. Go on in."

"Thanks, Lieutenant Barnes," I say formally.

"No problem, Detective Grayson," he replies.

"Don't get used to it," I call over my shoulder, "it'll be Detective Beckett in just twelve weeks." I walk up to my mother's office door and tap on it, hearing her usual 'come in' before turning the knob and stepping inside.

"Nate, I told you, if the new recruit wants some pointers, you give them to him, or her," my mother says, eyes-deep in her paperwork and not even bothering to look up at me. "God knows there isn't any discernable talent in the police world anymore, and of course they'd send us a bad one..."

I scoff at that, rolling my eyes and shaking my head. "You always were such a charmer, Mother," I say to her, shutting the door behind me and stepping into her office. "You really must look before you assume you know what's going on in the police world—like, your daughter making detective for instance and being the newest recruit for Manhattan Homicide Unit."

My mother raises her eyes to mine, the shock fully apparent in her face as she slowly gets to her feet. "Honey... You made detective?!" she cries, all smiles as she circles her desk quickly and pulls me into her arms. "Look at us!" she says, and pulls away from me, looking me up and down with approval. "Two generations of police detectives... Your father will be so proud."

"Well, technically three," I say, shrugging it off. "Doesn't matter—the point is that I'm here to work. No special treatment."

My mother raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Well, there is the wedding and the honeymoon..."

"Don't worry—your commanding officer before me gave you the time off already and I'm sure all the paperwork will arrive in the next couple of weeks. You'll have the time off for the cruise and whatnot. Just don't try to get pregnant right away, honey—there'll be a lot of cases I'll need you for."

"No promises," I reply. "So, all your detectives are paired off it looks like. Am I going to fly solo, or are you putting me on a preliminary period of desk duty for a few months?"

My mother shakes her head. "No, darling, of course not. You'll have plenty of time to prove yourself, once a call comes in. And besides, we're getting a transfer in this afternoon."

"Two recruits in one day? Mother, such hard work..."

She shrugs. "The call only just came in—I didn't get an opportunity to tell Nate about it yet. While this new recruit will be your partner, I'm afraid you won't be able to sit in. But I will allow you to watch the interview."

"How am I supposed to do that?" I want to know.

"We have three interrogation rooms, correct?"

I nod. "Yes, of course. You took me on a tour of this place more times than I can count, part of the reason why I requested placement here."

"Really?" she asks. "Me being your mother had absolutely nothing to do with your request to be placed here?"

"No, of course not," I reply. "Now, about these three interrogation rooms? What do they have to do with anything?"

"We changed one to be an interview room of sorts," she replies. "The department didn't like that we conducted interviews in my office or Nate's—mine was too imposing and Nate's felt too claustrophobic. And Homicide having one more room than SVU seemed too extreme. So, we split the difference and conduct witness interviews in there, or just job interviews."

"Oh, I see," I reply. "And when is this new detective supposed to arrive on the scene, so to speak?"

My mother checks her watch. "Anytime now, which is why I should show you to your desk and inform Nate." She puts an arm around me and leads me into the squad room, showing me a desk near her office and motioning to Nate, who was in a deep conversation with Violette in the hallway. "Nate?"

He sighs, kissing Violette on the cheek and coming back into the squad room. "Is everything all right, Maggie?" he asks, and I immediately note the informality my mother has with her co-workers.

"Everything okay over there?" she asks, noting Violette's posture as she returns to her desk, opposite mine.

"Fine, yeah," Nate says, his tone clipped. "What's the situation? Did you get a call or something?"

"No, no call," my mother says, stepping across the room with him. "We have a new transfer scheduled," she informs him, business-like. "They should be here in just a few minutes. It wasn't supposed to be until next week, but the date got moved up—the department didn't give me reason, but the new recruit should be here at any time."

"Do you know anything about them?"

"Yeah," my mother replies. "Her name is Noelle McDermott. She's twenty-seven and one in the top of her graduating class from the academy. She was in Hostage Negotiations for two years but wanted a change, so we got her."

"Yeah, I know her," Nate says. "She received a Medal of Honor from the mayor for her public service."

"That's right, she did," my mother says approvingly. "Since she's going to be Edythe's partner, I figured I'd let Edythe watch the interview, if that's no objection to you, of course."

"No, of course not," Nate said. "It would do someone some good to be forewarned about certain situations."

Clearly a jab at his wife, Violette looks distraught and quickly leaves the room. I anticipate where she is going and follow her, down the hall and into the ladies' room. After discovering that we two were alone in there, I gently place my hand onto the stall door and say, "Violette? Hey, it's Edythe. Come on—I've known you for years. If there's a situation, you can tell me."

"Promise you're not spying on your mother's behalf?"

"Spying on her behalf?" I say, scoffing. "Jeez, that's a new one. Why don't you come out of there? Let's talk."

Violette opens her stall door and steps out, washing her hands in a methodic manner before dabbing at her eyes with a paper towel. "Sorry—you really shouldn't be seeing a fellow detective like this."

"Hey, don't be that way," I say, gently touching her shoulder. "We've all got feelings here. Tell me—what's going on?"

"Nate and I barely have time for our family as it is," she tells me softly. "I mean, last Christmas was the first time in a long time that we actually got to get away with our kids. Your mother let us borrow your ski cabin up in Connecticut. It was beautiful and all the kids learned how to ski. One night, when the kids were in bed asleep, Nate and I..."

I smile at her. "You're married and madly in love. No harm in making love with your spouse or with someone you love or both."

"We'd talked about Nate getting a vasectomy," she continues. "The kids are in middle school—well, just started really, but still—and we just wanted to be done with that phase of our lives. Nate got one at New Year's, but I got pregnant during the ski trip. Now he automatically thinks that this baby can't be his. I would never cheat on Nate—I love him."

"Obviously, you got pregnant at Christmas, then," I reply.

"That's what I tried to tell him," Violette replies with a hint of desperation. "But Nate's been so preoccupied with work lately that I think he's lost touch with what his first priorities should be..."

I smile at her. "Well, you just have to communicate that to him," I assure her, putting an arm around her. "Communicate that to him; don't hide in the ladies' room."

We return to the squad room, and Melanie informs me that I'm welcome to go watch the interview. Gratefulness washes through me then; I was going to see what my first-ever detective partner looked like and possibly glean what her attitude would be. I leave Violette at her desk and make my way towards what used to be the third interview room; I turn the dial so as I can hear what's being said, and get a good look at Noelle for the first time.

"Did you enjoy your work in Hostage Negotiations?" my mother asks Noelle in a pleasant tone.

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact," Noelle replies, turning towards my mother and her hair continuing to fall like a red waterfall down her back. "So many people to get to know and I feel it's a necessity to know many different languages on the job so that you're prepared for anything. I remember once I was holed up in a house with a criminal who had a gun on me—we stood off for a dozen hours before the bastard fell asleep and I grabbed the little girl he was holding hostage and got her out of that dangerous environment," she says, shaking her head and lowering her dark green eyes. "He was an ex-marine and there were convictions of domestic violence on him; his wife was in the process of divorcing him, but unfortunately the judge gave them joint-custody. Sometimes the law isn't on the right side, and it's our job to ensure more rights are made than wrongs."

"You mentioned knowing many different languages is beneficial," Nate puts in, leaning forward. "Can you tell us what those are?"

"Of course," Noelle replies. "I'm fluent in French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Yiddish, Russian, Mandarin, Japanese, and Italian," she says with a smile. "It should also say in my file, but I don't mind saying so."

"What made you want to be a police officer?" my mother wants to know.

"My father was killed in the line of duty," she replies honestly. "I was born and raised in Chicago until I was fourteen; that's when the guy killed my dad. My mom is an attorney, and she works for the same office as ADA Barba."

"Who's your mother?" Nate asks.

"Claudia Abernathy," Noelle replies. "She kept her maiden name."

"Well, if you don't mind, Nate is going to call your former commanding officer while I go over your file," my mother says. "And, if you don't mind, your new partner would like to meet you."

"Of course," Noelle says, and quickly gets to her feet as my mother and Nate do the same. "It was nice meeting you, Captain Grayson, Lieutenant Barnes," she says, shaking each of their hands in turn before my mother and Nate troop out of the room.

My mother walks towards her office while Nate goes into his. She spots me as I walk out from my post outside the interview room and flashes me a smile. "Go on in now, honey," she says, squeezing my shoulder and making her way into her office as I walk around to the main door.

I take ahold of the brass door knob in my hands. "Let's do this," I say softly to myself, and turn the handle and step inside. "Noelle?" I ask.

Noelle, who did not resume sitting, immediately steps forward. "Oh! I wasn't expecting you," she said, clearly in polite shock.

I blink. "Excuse me?" I ask.

Noelle smiles at me. "My younger brother graduated the same year you did at the academy," she explains. "Parker McDermott."

"Oh, of course!" I say, shaking Noelle's hand. "He and I were in the same training unit! Really wonderful cop," I say quickly. "He took the detective's exam the same day I did."

"He passed," Noelle replied.

"What division is he in?"

"Manhattan," she tells me. "He's working in Narcotics, actually."

"Got to have a lot of patience with that one, or so I hear."

"I would think you would need to have a lot of patience," Noelle replies. "You're going to be working under your mother." She regards me then, not unkindly. "Do you resemble your father...?"

I shake my head. "No, actually, I'm adopted."

"Oh!" Noelle says, her hands immediately flying to her mouth. "I'm so sorry," she says, lowering them quickly. "I had no idea—I hope I didn't offend you..."

I shake my head. "Trust me—it takes a lot more than that to offend me. And I know you didn't mean any harm."

Noelle smiles. "I would lie if I said I didn't know anything about you."

I raise my eyebrows. "Really? What do you know?"

"No judgement—but your past is deemed to be sketchy," she replies. "And when I say no judgement, I mean no judgement."

"How could you possibly know that?" I want to know.

She sighs, pulling out her chair again and sitting. "You'd best get comfortable, because we're getting to know one another," she says, nodding to the chair my mother had occupied.

I lower myself into it. "All right, I'm comfortable," I say.

"My mother and I were in the courtroom when John Buchanan got you off," she replies. "My mother was shadowing Barba that day in the hopes to get the job in his office. She was studying his strategy in the courtroom to better equip herself to how the New York attorney's office prosecuted."

"And when you say 'no judgement' you mean...?"

"I had a few older boyfriends growing up," she says. "And let's just say that I wasn't altogether upset when my precious father got gunned down."

"Meaning...?" I asked.

She sighs. "My father had dissociative identity disorder," she tells me softly. "One personality was a fun-loving father, totally committed to his family and to his job as a detective in Chicago. Things changed when he was made sergeant, the year I turned nine. My mom was out of town on her annual 'Girl Lawyer Getaway' to Miami Beach and Parker was staying at a friend's house. My babysitter left and my father proceeded to get drunk. He came into my bedroom and he raped me. He didn't sound like himself—smashing things, yelling, screaming, demanding me to take off my clothes..." She shakes her head. "It just wasn't like him. Then my mother began taking trips more and more often, and Parker made more friends, so I was left alone with him more."

"What happened?" I ask, softly.

"I was acting out in my hoity-toity private school to begin with over the next year and a half," she replies. "I would destroy my classwork and my teachers got nervous when the disturbance in my drawings began to escalate. They showed it to the school psychologist, who saw me immediately. She deduced that I was being abused but I refused to tell her about the identity of the person responsible. I finally told her after my thirteenth birthday—it was after I got my period and my dad was beginning to lose interest..."

"How did you get something like that off your chest?"

"Broke down in the middle of the session," Noelle replies. "I was asked about my home life since becoming a teenager—what new privileges I'd gotten, and other things like that. Not much had changed, other than my dad had significantly reduced his assaults of me. I thought there was something wrong with me; he wouldn't look at me and wouldn't talk to me unless he had to. 'Please pass the green beans' or something like that. I broke down and cried and told the therapist that my daddy didn't love me anymore..."

"And that's when you told?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes—I actually knew the proper words for it. Dad called the protection 'rubbers' and I never liked that word, even to this day. When they heard that, they tried to investigate, but the investigation took so long that an ex-cop—now a con—took care of things the old-fashioned way."

I lower my eyes, wanting to know if Noelle had anything to do with the crime, but cannot find the words to ask.

"I know what you're thinking."

My eyes flash to hers. "Do you?"

Noelle scoffs, tracing the deep lines in the table. "Yes. And the answer is 'no'. The Chicago police force hooked me up to a lie detector for Christ's sake. They were initially convinced that an older guy—who was my boyfriend—had done it because I'd asked him to. We both had solid alibies; I told the cops point blank, sure I had cause for wanting him dead, but bottom line, he was my dad, and I'd never do something like that."

"And so why exactly did you want to be a cop?"

Noelle laughs. "Well, mostly so my mother would quit demanding for me to go to law school," she replies. "But it was also due to the other cop who saved my life, effectively. How do I know what would've happened if my dad had lived? Maybe the eventual jury would think that a good old boy cop couldn't possibly be abusing his own daughter. But the bottom line was the fact that I was adopted, too, and I thought by being a cop I could try to piece together where some, if any, of my biological family is."

"Have any leads?" I want to know.

"Just New York," she replies. "That's why my mother moved here when I was a teenager—so that we could find my biological family. But, so far, unfortunately, we haven't found anything."

I reach across the table and take her hand. "Well, good luck," I say.

Noelle looks genuinely touched at my statement. "Thanks," she replies, a spark in her hunter-green eyes.

There is a tap on the door then, and my stomach drops for fear that someone has been watching us. Getting to my feet, I open the door, and Nate is standing there with a smile on his face. Relief immediately flows through me, but I don't allow it to overtake me completely.

"Your commanding officer says we're good to go," Nate says.

"Great," Noelle says, getting to her feet. "So, what now?"

My mother rushes from her office then, completely frantic. "Nate, send two of our guys out," she says, desperation in her voice. "There was a shooting in Midtown and we need two guys on the scene."

"Why not send out Edythe and Noelle?" Nate asks, nodding to the pair of us and turning back to my mother. "They need to prove themselves."

"Great," my mother says, thankful. She hands me a pair of keys. "You've got your badges?" she asks us.

"Yes," I say.

"Yeah," Noelle replies.

"Go on, then," my mother says.

Noelle and I grab our coats and head out of there, going down to the parking garage in the elevator. I click open my mother's car automatically, and get inside, firing up the radio as I step on the gas and drive out of there. "Detective Edythe Grayson, Manhattan Homicide, badge number 4712," I say.

"Detective Noelle McDermott, Manhattan Homicide, badge number 8943," comes Noelle's statement, rapid-fire after mine, as I pull into traffic.

"Heading to Midtown shooting," I say, stepping firmly onto the gas and driving quickly down fifth avenue. We make it there in around ten minutes and I park at an angle and get out of the car, Noelle at my heels. We duck under the rope at the same time, flashing our badges, and seeing some of the bodies have already been moved to the side. "Fin!" I say, recognizing him.

He turns and sighs, obvious gratefulness within him. "Hey, Edythe," he says, briefly pulling me into a hug. "Detective Tutuola," he says, moving to shake Noelle's hand.

"Detective McDermott—pleasure," Noelle says. "Big admirer of you and what you've done for SVU."

"I know your mother," Fin says, smiling at Noelle. "Good lawyer."

"Thank you," Noelle says.

"What do we got?" I ask Fin.

"Mass shooting," he replies. "We're a bit worried, though—Liv took the guy on the run to the back alley. Haven't heard anything, though..."

"I'm on it," I say.

"No, Edythe, you don't have to..."

"Gotta prove myself sometime," I say, taking out my gun from its holster and making my way towards the alley.

I flash my badge again and I see mostly everyone is aware of who I am, so they don't stop me. I head directly into the alley and throw myself up against the concrete wall, stepping slowly and silently along its edge, dodging certain pieces of garbage as I go. Stepping around the bend, I just make out the shooter, dressed in black, who has Olivia in a choke-hold, facing him.

"Listen, I understand your anger," Olivia says. "But all these killings of innocent people—it won't bring any good to any situation. So, just put the gun down," she tells him softly. "I can help you. We'll walk out of here together, and I can get you the help you need..."

If I could just shoot him in the hand, I think to myself. If I just shoot him in the hand, he'll release Olivia and then we can get him... But I'm so focused on Olivia that I don't see the can of beans or beer or whatever it is before my expensive, patent leather shoe contacts with it. Damn, I think to myself, and it is then that the shooter turns his gun on me.

"Don't move," I say, through my teeth.

"Edythe!" Olivia cries in shock.

Several things happen then: The shooter's gun goes off; Olivia kicks him in his boys; I fall to the ground; Olivia tackles him; and I proceed to bleed out onto the very concrete I'm standing on.

"Edythe!" Olivia screams, when she sees me kneeling there, putting pressure upon my wound. "Damn... Oh, my god, what the hell were you thinking?!" she demands of me, shaking her head. "You're an officer! You shouldn't even be here, you silly girl..."

I laugh, although it causes me great pain. "Made detective," I wheeze. "Just started at my mom's division today..."

"Hell of a way to start," she says, then sees the blood seeping through my fingers and her eyes go wide. "Not again," she whispers, taking out her walkie-talkie in one fell swoop. "Fin, do you copy?"

"Hear you loud and clear, Liv."

"Fin, we have a detective down."

"Damn," he says. "All in!" he shouts, and I can even hear him from around the bend, followed by a series of footsteps.

Fellow officers swoop in and grab the shooter, and Olivia hauls me up to my feet, but I can barely stand. Fin comes in then and gives Olivia a tight smile. When Olivia tries to walk with me, he puts a hand out.

"I got her," he says, lifting me up effortlessly and carrying me out.

"Olivia," I say, and immediately she is by my side.

"I'm here, sweetheart," she says, moving the hair from my face. "I'm here—do you want me to call someone?"

"Ride with me," I say as I'm loaded into the ambulance.

"Fin?" Olivia asks.

"Go," Fin urges her.

Olivia climbs into the ambulance and sits beside me. "Takes me back," she muses briefly to herself. "Want me to call anyone?"

"My phone's in my pocket," I whisper.

"We need to get oxygen on her now," the EMT states.

"Call Lincoln," I whisper as the oxygen tank is ready. "Then call my parents, please, Olivia," I say softly as I am pulled completely into blackness.