Perception Deception Part 3 - Tuttle
by Rabid Raccoons
Chapter 8: One Down, One to Go
…..
Amita Ramanujan hummed to herself, as she folded a sweater and put it in her suitcase. Her flight out was still three days away, but after her conversation with Charlie two days earlier, she suddenly couldn't wait to get home. She had decided to pack everything except what she would need for her last few days in Geneva.
Charlie's decision to give up consulting had removed any nagging doubts she'd had about her reception when she got there. He had said 'yes,' to her requests, and with that, any fear of rejection had vanished. Her first reaction was elation – she knew what consulting with his brother meant to Charlie, and the fact that he was willing to give that up for her, made it clear where she stood – it was a testament to his love for her. Strangely, though, as a day passed, then two, her euphoria had dimmed.
Oh, there was no doubt that she now felt confident that their relationship was solid; and that he loved her, and she loved him – more than ever. The fact that he had sacrificed what he lived for, what had become an integral part of him, was both the source of her joy – and the seed of her discomfort.
That seed had grown with the passing hours, into a rising sensation of guilt. Who was she, to dictate what he should or shouldn't do with his life? His was one of the great mathematical minds of the century, and she had feared that his consulting work was preventing him from reaching his potential – but how could she know that? Life was strange – who knew what one's destiny would be, or what route a person would take to reach it? Maybe by forcing him to leave consulting, she was actually sending him down a path to obscurity, instead of greatness.
It was true that she honestly felt that his consulting work put them in needless danger – but she also knew that Charlie was willing to accept that risk, at least for himself. The fact that she wasn't as willing was her problem, not his, but she had forced him into a corner, and made him choose. That really wasn't fair to him. Would he blame her for that, in years to come?
And so, during the course of the last two days, she'd come to a realization. It no longer mattered to her – at least not too much, in the big scheme of things – whether he continued to consult or not. The important thing was; he'd been willing to give it up, to make the ultimate sacrifice for her. She knew that now; she knew without a doubt how much he loved her. If she really loved him, the least she could do was to find a way to live with the worry, and let him continue to do what he loved. And as soon as she got to L.A. and could speak to him face-to-face, she would tell him so.
…..
It was a week for apologies, Don reflected, as he strode across the CalSci campus. He'd already apologized to Robin – successfully, he might add – but he still had one to go. He hadn't forgotten the expression on Charlie's face when he faced him in the office, and ordered his agents to commandeer his laptop. The invasion of privacy had been bad enough; legally, Charlie could have told him to piss off and get a warrant, and had he been the average Joe off the street instead of Don's brother, he probably would have. Hell, even most brothers would have reacted that way.
Most brothers, but not Charlie. Deep down, Don knew what his father had told him long ago – that Charlie had always looked up to him, and in spite of some outward resentment at times at being ordered around – would do anything he asked. Don had taken advantage of that on more than one occasion, and this instance was no exception. He'd planted his face squarely in his brother's, with a look that he normally reserved for the lowest of criminals, and made his demands – and Charlie had acquiesced. No argument, none of the resentment Don had been expecting – instead he'd looked shocked, even… frightened.
It was that expression that was bothering Don – hell, it turned his stomach. Scared. He couldn't fathom why – in spite of his anger – that Charlie would be frightened; he hadn't in his wildest dreams expected that reaction. Mad, maybe, but not scared. Had he really come across as that nasty; that threatening? God knew; Charlie's psychological state had to be a little fragile after everything that he'd been through – he was still probably healing emotionally. He probably couldn't take the show of anger, of aggression – and knowing that his own brother had kicked him when he was down, after everything that Charlie had done for him. He had to apologize – to tell Charlie that his anger hadn't been directed at him – that it was generated by Tuttle, and his frustration at not being able to nail the bastard, and by fear; the fear that Charlie was exposing himself yet again, because he had still been poking around in the case.
He knocked gently on Charlie's office door, and stuck his head in as Charlie glanced up, and said, "Come in." Charlie immediately put his head back down; he was typing away on his computer, and Don closed the door, crossed the sizable office, took a seat across from him, and waited.
After a second or two, Charlie looked up, questioningly. His expression was bland, but there was a hint of something unsettling in his eyes. Wariness, but something else… sadness? Had Don provoked that emotion, too? "Charlie," he began, gently. "I owe you an apology, Buddy."
Strangely, at that statement, the look of sadness deepened – just for a split second – then it was gone. Charlie waved a hand. "For what?"
Don frowned slightly at the too-glib reaction. "Charlie, you know 'for what.' For what happened at the office a couple of days ago. I was over the line – I realize that. What I want you to know is – I wasn't angry at you, not directly. I was angry at the fact that we haven't been able to get anywhere with Tuttle, and that he's still out there, and I'm angry at the fact that I still need be scared that he can come after my brother. I'm pissed off at the circumstances, Buddy, not at you. I definitely stepped over the line when I told the guys to take your files – you had every right to tell me to go to hell."
Charlie had put his head back down. He had stopped typing for a moment, but as Don had spoken he had started again, and now he replied as his fingers clicked on the keys. "Not a problem," he said, levelly. "I've been giving this some thought, and discussing it with Amita, and -," he stopped typing, and looked up, directly into Don's eyes. "I've decided to quit consulting. There are a lot of things I've been neglecting from a research standpoint; I think I need to focus on that." His voice was dry, matter-of-fact.
Don stared at him; feeling like his gut had just dropped through a trap door. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. "Charlie – when I asked you to give up this case, I meant this case – not all cases."
Charlie's expression turned wistful, and the deep sadness returned to his eyes. "Don't get me wrong – it's been a great ride – some of the best years of my life, and I loved working with you. I just – have had enough." He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his expression was pleading, his voice husky. "I need my life back."
For a moment, Don couldn't breathe. Charlie's decision made sense – how could it not? His work on this case had nearly gotten him killed, twice, had cost him the sight in one eye, and possibly his relationship with the woman he loved. It was best for him, safer that he leave this line of work, and after all, that had been what Don wanted, wasn't it? His brother's safety? Then why did he feel so horrible? He managed to find his voice, and it came out strangely smooth and normal-sounding. "Sure, Charlie, if that's what you want. I completely understand." No he didn't, not really. Need his life back? Was that how he had felt about all their years of working together? He rose. "No hard feelings, then?"
"Of course not," murmured Charlie. His shoulders slumped, and he looked back down at his computer screen.
Don hesitated, trying to fight the emotion welling up in chest. "Well, then – thanks. Thanks for all your help." He'd meant that to sound heartfelt, but the lump in his throat made the words come out as insipid; hollow. "Keep in touch." Keep in touch? Where in the hell had that come from – this was in essence a good-bye – how lame was that statement? Couldn't he manage anything better than that?
Charlie looked stricken. "Sure," he mumbled. "I will."
Don nodded, and somehow willed his feet to move. "See you around." Lame, lame, lame… but his mind felt disconnected; unmoored. He could barely manage to think straight, much less say anything meaningful.
He hesitated another split second, hoping that this would somehow be undone – that Charlie would retract his statement, but there was no response other than the relentless clicking of computer keys, and a brief nod. Those mundane-sounding little clicks were monumental; they signified the choice that Charlie had made – and made it evident that he was immersed in new pursuits. He had already left his consulting work behind him. The sound followed Don out the door and echoed in his head, all the way back to the office.
….
Robin stepped off the elevator into the FBI offices a little before noon, and glanced automatically towards Don's desk in the bullpen. It was unoccupied, but she could see Liz and Nikki at their desks, and she wended her way through the cubicles toward them. "Liz," she called out in greeting, as she approached. "How's it going?"
Liz and Nikki's heads both came up at her greeting; and Robin noted their smiles with just a little sense of pride. Both agents had never been anything but respectful of her in her role as a prosecutor, but Robin had the sense that their respect had deepened after her takedown of Audrey Montague. She suspected they now thought she had some street skills to go with her brains, and she had to admit, it made her feel good – although in truth, her victory had been due less to street skills and more to a frantic effort to save her own life, and, she had to face it, due to being more than a little pissed off at the woman.
"Good," said Liz. "What's up?"
Robin glanced around the office again. "Just looking for Don. We were supposed to go out to lunch. I guess he got held up?"
Liz's expression sobered, and she exchanged a wary glance with Nikki. "No – in fact, he left about an hour ago with Colby and David to go interview some of the inmates who might have witnessed Nardek's stabbing."
Robin felt an odd twist in her gut, and could sense heat rising to her face. It was bad enough that Don had stood her up, without so much as a phone call. What was worse yet – much worse – was that he had lied to her.
She forced a smile. "Oh. I thought you guys were done with the Tuttle case."
Again the guarded glance. It was a look that said, just a plainly as if Liz had spoken aloud, 'what – don't you guys talk at all?' Liz said, slowly, "Not yet. It's not looking great, but we haven't given up – we're still running a couple of leads. A connection that Charlie found, and David and Colby are trying to see if they can find who might have offed Nardek. It's possible his murder wasn't connected to the case, but you have to admit, it was pretty suspicious that he was killed the day after his lawyer told us he had dirt on Tuttle."
Nikki added, "They went up to Victorville. It takes an hour and a half to get up there, plus that to get back, not to mention the time they'll spend interviewing. We weren't expecting them back until this evening."
Robin laughed, a little self-consciously, still trying to hide the flush of embarrassment and anger on her face. "Oh well, I guess we got our wires crossed. I'll catch up with him later. Thanks anyway."
She strode off, her head high, a grim smile on her face. At her car, she climbed in, slammed the door, and just sat there, seething, for a moment. It was bad enough he was continuing with the case, and that he had forgotten their lunch date, but the fact that he sat there and lied to her face was unforgivable. She tapped a long, slender finger on the steering wheel – the only outward sign of the hurt and anger within, and then pulled out her cell phone.
She searched back through her dialed calls, and pulled up the number for her airline reservations. "Yes, this is Robin Brooks," she said, when she got a representative on the line. "I have a reservation for a flight in two days – I was wondering if I could move it up. Tomorrow is the earliest you have? The fee is no problem, I'll take it. Yes, charge it to the same credit card. Thanks."
She stewed all the way back to her office. How could he do this to her? Was he that smug? He got off the hook with his apology, and went right back to doing what he damn well pleased, and lying to her, to boot? Well, he wasn't getting away with that. At a stoplight, she pulled out her cell phone again, and hit speed dial for his cell phone. There was no answer – in fact, it went straight to voice mail. He either had it turned off, or they were already in the mountains north of the city and he had no signal. She left a message anyway, delivered through gritted teeth, in a voice tight with anger and dripping with sarcasm.
"Don. Sorry I missed you at lunch today – apparently our plans were pre-empted by your visit to Victorville. I sure hope that visit was worth it. Don't bother to call – I moved my flight up and I'm leaving in the morning; I'll probably be in bed by the time you get back. Oh, and for that matter, don't bother to call me in Dallas – I'm sure I'll be extremely busy." She hit the 'off' button before she completely lost her cool and said something really nasty, but the rest of the way to her office, all of the things she could have said, and might, when she saw him again, coursed through her brain.
She kept control of her anger that afternoon at the office while she finished up a few items and gathered up her files for the case, but submerging it was like putting a lid on a pot – it was bound to boil over eventually. Eric Tramden had looked at her oddly when she told him she was leaving the next morning, but he agreed readily enough. On the way home again, her lips tight, she took a few deep breaths, but the drive gave her time to think, and by the time she got to her house she was so mad she could barely see straight. Certainly too angry to register the men from the landscaping service working next door, with their truck parked at the curb next to her driveway – at least, until she felt their presence behind her as she strode up the driveway. By then, it was too late.
She had just retrieved her keys from her purse when she sensed movement behind her, but before she could react she was jerked backwards, choking as a strong hand reached around and grabbed her windpipe and another strong arm wrapped around her torso, pinning her right arm to her side; and her body against her attacker's. Amid the shock and confusion, she felt a sharp pain in her upper right arm as a needle was driven into it, and then the yard swirled and dipped, and collapsed into darkness.
"Get her into the truck," muttered Paully, with a quick look up and down the street as Dominic grabbed the unconscious woman's legs. It was quiet; the street was primarily occupied by working professionals, and was relatively deserted at midday. Once she was in the truck, they covered her quickly with leaf bags, and then Paully grabbed her keys from where they had fallen, darted up the driveway, and quickly opened the door to her house. Several moments later he was back, carting a suitcase. He grabbed her purse and briefcase from the driveway, locked her car, threw the suitcase, purse, and briefcase into the truck next to Robin's inert from, and climbed into the passenger side.
"What took you so long?" groused Dominic.
"I had to think for a minute," shot back Paully, defensively. "I tried to take not just the clothes, but the stuff she would take on a trip, her toothbrush and crap. If anyone comes in to check on the house, we want all that stuff gone so it looks like she left on her trip."
Dominic grinned as he started the engine. "Good thinking. One down, one to go," he smirked, and he put the car in gear and hit the gas. Moments later the street was empty, and the only sign that anyone had been there were the lawn clippings on the curb.
….
End, Chapter 8
