There isn't a damn thing in the world that could have prepared her for Tsia's body. She wants to believe that the single bullet wound is merciful, but she can't get over the fact that Tsia's death is on her shoulders. Worse, she can't get over the fact that she definitely knows why. Doyle's not here for Tsia.
"Emily?"
Derek has the courtesy of keeping his voice low, beneath the murmur of natural crime scene chaos. She's so, so glad for it. She feels on display as it is, off-kilter and dizzy. He reaches out and discretely brushes her elbow.
"Hey."
"I'm good."
It's a reflex reaction and they both know it.
"Two bodies," he reminds her and while part of her wants to argue, remind him that she can damn well handle it, she's grateful for the reprieve. Or, more importantly, she's grateful for something else to focus on. Not that Carelli's body looks much better than Tsia's. And that's separate from the ridiculous mess that is the man's apartment. Ian's ransacked the place, the bastard, and Carelli's work is strewn all over the coffee table, the floor, the desk…
Carelli's work.
Oh God.
She has to stop for a moment, step back and suck in air slowly.
She closes her eyes, lets herself drift back to the FBI bathroom and a strong palm against her ankle. One, two, three…
"Ma'am?"
Her eyes fly open, her mask, at least temporarily, back in place. "Do we know if he took anything?"
"He?"
It takes her brain a moment to click over, to realize that there's the potential these men don't know there's a connection to a much larger case, a much bigger perp. "Is there anything missing?"
"Not that we know of. Guy didn't keep electronic records and it's going to take a while to comb though."
They don't have that kind of time. She glances to Derek, isn't surprised when he orients towards her immediately. She feels a strange sort of security settle in her stomach. He's in the lead here, the man Metro specifically requested, but she's the one with the knowledge.
"We'll take it back with us," she says, sees Derek's nod and is so, so grateful no questions accompany it. It gives her stability here, like everything isn't shaking out of her control.
Like maybe she'll be able to salvage something out of this.
Like maybe the whole thing, the reason she'd made the choices she had, the reason she is still keeping her cards close to the vest, maybe it won't all be for nothing.
"Shots look like .45s," Derek says, wonderful, magical Derek whom she no longer wants to kill for trying to pry into her life. "She didn't stand a chance."
Not as reassuring as it should be.
"Definitely our guy."
The Metro officer swallows, but looks prepared to stand his ground, to argue for his case. Right up until an exhausted looking detective steps up next to him. "You're sure?"
Derek glances to her, where she's already nodding. "Yeah, we're sure."
The detective nods. "Take what you need. We'll clean up here and send a couple of guys to Quantico."
Emily doesn't watch Derek and the detective shake hands. She's too focused on hoping to any deity listening that the picture of a little boy with the bluest of blue eyes is in Carelli's pile.
Have you heard the part where my September's been nuts?! I haven't done near the writing I wanted to. Which is why this has been so inconsistently updated all month.
Patience is love. The reviews are more love.
Thank you.