Title: Blood Relatives
Author: Roth
Rating: T
Spoilers: I don't do spoilers
Disclaimer: I don't own Numb3rs and neither do you. We don't have a problem so please don't sue.
Summary: There is a serial murderer on the loose with a history with the FBI, but what is his agenda?
Note: I hope you enjoy this chapter, but please. Don't bombard me with reviews telling me not to apologize so much. You don't know the story behind them, and it just makes me mad, but thank you for the good reviews. I would like to thank my beta reader Willy, and my friend, because it was a past story she helped me on that helped me write this.
Blood Relatives
Chapter Ten
"Delay always heeds danger." Cervantes
The longer Paul Greene sat at his desk staring at the phone thinking , the more the Hackett case seemed to fit. "Seven years," murmured Greene. He opened the folder and stared at the top page of the report; Greene had almost memorized the information in the file, but he was still trying to convince himself that the conclusion he had come to was wrong.
"He couldn't have done this," murmured Greene. "He's good a kid." His grandmother had insisted that on the phone.
The more time Greene spent brooding in his thoughts, the more keeping his suspicions of the Hackett kid a secret seemed like a bad idea.
Leaning foreword, Greene searched through a pile of papers that cluttered one corner of his desk. Somewhere, in the dump he called an office, he had the number of the FBI agent he didn't get along. Having someone know he was meeting with a possible killer might not be such a bad idea.
He couldn't find the number in that pile and moved to the opposite corner of the desk. Every once in awhile, as he searched, he glanced out the corner of his eye at his phone, almost praying that it wouldn't ring quite yet. It's shrill call though broke up the search, and Greene reached out to answer it.
"Det. Paul Greene?"
"You're still there?" said the person on the other end.
"No, Tina," said Greene sarcastically. "I'm answering my office phone from my car. You knew I would still be here, so what's up?"
"Well," said Tina. "I was hoping to find that you had gone home. Figures I wouldn't be so lucky."
"Is there a point to this, Tina?" Greene sighed loudly and leaned back in his chair.
"Yes. I wanted to apologized for earlier. It's just...What's with you lately, Paul?"
"Stress." Greene shrugged even though Tina couldn't see.
"You've been under this kind of stress before, so don't give me that crap."
"I've never been under this stress before," muttered Greene as he leaned forward and began searching for the number again.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," retorted Greene angrily, but he quickly calmed himself back down. "Look, Tina. I'm sorry for screaming earlier, but it really is just stress. I'm kind of in the middle of something. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay. Bye." Greene heard a click and then nothing, but dead air on the other end. With a sigh, Greene put the phone on the cradle and continued searching for the number.
XVIIIIV
Don pulled his SUV in the driveway of Charlie's house and turned off the engine. He looked over at Charlie and saw him slumped down in the passenger's seat; his bag was sitting on his lap, and he was absently fiddling with one of the zippers on it.
"You okay, Charlie?" asked Don.
"Fine," replied Charlie quickly as he threw open the car door. He walked across the lawn to the house and walked into the house; Don wasn't far behind.
"Is that you, Charlie!" Don heard his father shout from the kitchen.
Charlie didn't answer; he was busy dropping his bag on the couch.
"And Don!" Don shouted back answering for both him and his brother.
Alan walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, and looked at his two sons. "Donnie, what are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see ya."
"I gave Charlie a ride home," explained Don. "Thought we could both use a break."
"New case?" asked Alan.
"Kinda," replied Don quickly; Alan took the hint not to ask any more questions about it.
Alan nodded at Don and looked over at Charlie who was digging through his bag. "Um...," said Alan still watching his youngest, "you staying for dinner, Donnie?"
"Uh...," said Don, "sure. I guess." He shrugged with his reply.
"Good," said Alan eyes still focused on Charlie. He grabbed hold of Don's arm and motioned for Don to follow him. "Do you know what's bothering Charlie?" Alan asked his son quietly. He knew that if Charlie heard what they were talking about, he would immediately deny anything was wrong at all.
"Um...," said Don prolonging the answer. "It's kind of complicated, Dad."
"Oh," said Alan. "This got something to do with that case you two are working on?"
Don paused before answering. "Kinda."
Alan nodded, thinking that he wasn't going to get any more information out of his eldest.
"Dad?" said Don watching as his father turned back around to go back to the living room. He had to tell his father the truth.
"Yeah, Donnie?" Alan turned back around to face his son.
"Can we go into the kitchen. I gotta talk to you?"
"Sure," said Alan, following his son into the kitchen. "What's up, Donnie?"
"Take a seat," said Don pulling out chairs for both his father and himself. Alan sat and looked up at his son.
"What's going on, Don?" asked Alan as Don took a seat too.
"It's about the case, Dad," Don started slowly. He was choosing his words carefully. He didn't want to freak out his father out with his news of the FBI killer, but he couldn't keep it a secret anymore. If something were to happen to his father or his brother, he couldn't live with himself.
"What?" asked Alan. Both of his children's recent behavior had been confusing and worrying him.
"Like I said," started Don not entirely sure how to explain the situation to his father, "it's about the case." The entire time he spoke, Don wrung his hands together.
"You're repeating yourself, Donnie," said Alan; he was responded to by a glare from his son. "Sorry," said Alan putting his hands up in defeat.
"Dad," said Don slowly before taking a deep breath, "there is a serial killer out there who is targeting the family members of FBI agents." He paused to let his father absorb the information.
Alan blinked a few times and then turned to stare at his son. He opened and close his mouth a few times before a word finally came out. "Why?"
Don shrugged. "If we knew that, we could probably catch the guy."
Alan paused again trying to take it all in. "Is that why Charlie has been acting so weird? Is he helping you on the case?"
"Yeah," replied Don quickly; it wasn't a complete lie, but Don did not think it wise to mention that he had yelled at Charlie only three days before.
Father and son sat there for several minutes in silence letting it all sink in.
"Dad," Don said when he thought the silence was going to drive him crazy, "promise me something."
Alan looked up at his eldest almost startled by the amount of solemnity in his voice. "Wha-what, Donnie?"
"Until we catch this guy, don't take any unnecessary chances. Don't go out at night by yourself, stuff like that."
"Don?" said Alan putting a hand on his son's arm.
"Just promise me, Dad." Don took a breath. "All of the murders have happened at night in the LA area." he looked at Alan; his eyes bearing into his father's. "Just promise me."
"Yeah, Donnie," said Alan nodding. "I promise." Never before had he seen Don this disturbed by a case. Don had been frustrated, maybe even obsessed, but never had it been like this.
"Thanks," said Don letting a sigh out and leaning back in the chair.
"Can you tell me anymore about the case?"
Don shook his head. "You don't even want to know," muttered Don quietly as he rose from his chair shaking his head. He began to pace slightly across the kitchen.
After watching his son for several minutes, Alan said the only thing he could think of to get him to stop. "Dinner's gonna be ready pretty soon."
Don turned toward his father and smirked. "Okay," he said running a hand over his face.
"You're still staying, aren't you?"
"Yeah, Dad." Don turned and headed back to the living room ready to give the same speech to Charlie.
XVIIIIV
Charlie was staring at the papers he had dug out; they were a mixture of finals and the pointless equations from before.
"Great," he thought to himself sarcastically, "two things I just can't get a handle on." He tossed the papers on the couch and ran his hands through his hair. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself back down, Charlie paced across the living room a few times.
"Why am I stressing myself out over this?" Charlie asked himself quietly. "Don seems to be finding out more without my help than with." He tried to convince himself that he didn't know why he was so bound determined to find something, but deep down, he knew. Charlie was still trying to prove to both himself and Don that he wasn't useless.
Charlie walked toward the kitchen, but paused when he heard his brother's voice. "There is a serial killer out there who is targeting the family members of FBI agents."
Charlie waited, hidden just beyond the doorframe, listening for his father's response.
"Why?"
"If we knew that we could probably catch the guy." He could hear the frustration in his brother's voice.
Charlie listen to another long pause before his father spoke again. "Is that why Charlie has been acting so weird? Is he helping you on the case?"
Charlie held his breath almost dreading his brother's response. "Yeah," he heard Don say; Charlie almost let out a snort of laughter, but managed to hold it back. Don had just flat lied to their father. Well, maybe not a complete lie, but the half-truth seemed a little odd considering the situation.
With a sigh, Charlie turned back around and returned to the living room. He picked up the final that he had thrown on the couch and dug a pen out of his bag. He might as well do something productive.
Several minutes went by before Charlie became aware of a presence in the room. He looked up from the note he was writing and saw his brother standing in the doorway staring at him.
"You're not working on that equation again, are you, Charlie?" asked Don, crossing his arms. "I took you home so you would take a break."
Charlie shifted the papers in his lap and went back to writing. "It's a final," he muttered not looking up at his brother.
"Good," said Don. Leaving the doorway, he took a seat in his father's recliner.
"Can I help you?" Charlie asked irritated perfectly aware of his brother's gaze on him.
"Charlie, I need to talk to you about the case." Charlie's pen paused, and he sat completely still on the couch. "Would ya look at me?"
Charlie slowly raised his gaze feeling a repeat of his brother's apology three days before. "Yeah?"
"You know what is at stake on this case, Charlie?"
"I'm trying to find a way to connect them, Don, but I just--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Charlie," said Don cutting his brother off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not talking about that."
"What are you talking about then?" Charlie was a little confused.
"Charlie, think about the type of people we've narrowed it down to." Charlie just stared at his brother as realization sank in. "The only agents who had been targeted are agents with immediate family in the LA area. We can't put protection on all those people; we don't have the manpower for that. What I'm trying to say, Charlie, is that I want you to be careful. Do not take any unnecessary chances. No staying late at the school by yourself or anything like that. I know with you consulting on this case, you should be pretty safe, but Dad is another story. I just want you two to be careful."
There was a long silence as Charlie took in the information.
"Charlie?" said Don after a few minutes had gone by.
"I understand," said Charlie quietly. "I'll be careful; I'll make sure Dad is too."
Don let a tired smile creep onto his face, and he leaned back to relax in the chair. He was perfectly content in letting his mind drift until dinner was ready when the shrill ring of his cellphone brought him out of his reverie, and he answered it quickly.
"Agent Eppes."
Charlie watched as Don's demeanor changed with the phone call; his shoulders tensed, and his face adapted a serious look. His tone was no nonsense as he spoke. "Why didn't you inform me of this sooner?"
Charlie couldn't hear the response, but he could tell it was not to his brother's liking. "Alright," muttered Don, leaning forward and running a hand over his face. "I'll be there as soon as I can." Don let out a sigh and hung up the phone; he looked up at Charlie who was staring at him.
"That was Det. Greene," explained Don quickly. "He's the detective who's helping on the case. He says that he's got a lead on the case and wants me to come to his office."
"When?"
"Now," replied Don as he stood. "I'm sorry, but I gotta go." He ducked into the kitchen and saw his father sitting at the table reading the paper while something bubbled on the stove. "I'm sorry, Dad, but I gotta go."
"Okay, Donnie," said Alan a little surprised. "The case?"
Don nodded and then headed to the front door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Charlie," said Don as he headed out the door. "Remember what I said."
Charlie nodded in response , even though his brother couldn't see it, and then leaned back on the couch.
"What did he say?" asked Alan; Charlie looked up at his father standing in the doorway watching him.
"Nothin'," murmured Charlie with a shrug of his shoulders.
XVIIIIV
Greene sat at his desk still watching the phone on his desk. He knew it was illogical, but the thought that if he stared at the phone long enough, it would ring had somehow planted itself in his mind, and he was not leaving until it rang.
"Ring," Greene had began to mutter to himself. "Ring! Ring, damn you!" He slammed his palm in his desk with the last words, but the echo of flesh hitting wood was the only sound in the office.
Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Greene leaned back in his desk chair and began to chew on his thumbnail thoughtfully. He heard the door to his office open, but did not look up from the staring contest he was having with the phone.
"I thought you had gone, Tina," said Greene assuming she was the one who had entered his office; she was the only one who never knocked in he station.
"It's not Tina," said a voice angrily from the doorway; Greene didn't recognize it as the voice of the FBI agent and looked up quickly. He didn't need any help figuring out that the late visitor was Kade Hackett. Kade didn't look too different from the fifteen-year-old he had met seven years before, maybe just a little taller and few more muscles.
"Hello, Mr. Hackett," said Greene, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the desk. A thought hit him, and he quickly scrawled a note on one of the folders before showing it off to the side.
"Call me Kade," said the man as he walked up to the desk. "There's not a whole lot of people out there."
Greene nodded suddenly feeling very nervous; it was the same feeling he had gotten before every bust that had gone wrong. "Umm...take a seat, please," said Greene gesturing to the only empty chair in front of his desk.
"I think I'll stand," replied Kade stiffly.
"Alright," said Greene. "I wanted to talk to you about--"
"I know what you want to talk about," said Kade, cutting the detective off.
"That's convenient," said Greene with a nervous laugh, but stopped when he saw the cold look in Kade's dark green eyes. "I'll cut to the chase," said Greene as he cleared his throat. "Why are you doing it?"
Kade glared, but did let his gaze drift from Greene. "You were there," he said quietly, and for a moment, his eyes glazed over as a flood of memories hit him. "You saw what they did to my family."
"An eye for eye," said Greene thinking that maybe he was getting through to Kade.
A sadistic smile crept onto Kade's face. "A father for a father, a sister for a sister, a mother for a mother, a brother for a brother, and so on. If I can't have my family, why should they have theirs'?"
As Kade was speaking, Greene reached down and opened the drawer where he kept a spare gun. "You have a lot of potential, Kade. You're smart, brilliant even, hardworking. Why are you doing this?"
"They promised," said Kade quietly; Greene could see his eyes watering. "They promised they would find that bastard! I've been waiting seven years for some sort of closure, and it was never given to me." He laughed lowly. "I'm not waiting."
The second Kade pulled out the gun, Greene knew he had seen him reaching down to the drawer. Greene slowly brought his hand back to the desk. No one would hear; Greene could tell. There was a silencer attached to the end.
"I'm sorry," said Kade with a shrug of his shoulders; Greene doubted he meant it. "But I can't have you ruining this."
Greene always knew that when death came, he would look it in the face; he never knew it would be quite so literal. The last thing Greene ever heard was the sound of the gun's hammer clicking; the last thing he ever saw was the twisted smile on Kade's face. Greene felt a burst of white-hot pain in his chest and then, nothing but darkness.
XVIIIIV
Don walked into the police station surprised by how few people were there. He saw a desk sergeant sitting near the entrance looking half asleep. "Excuse me," said Don walking up and tapping the woman on the shoulder.
She snapped awake and looked up at Don through sleep-gazed eyes. "I'm sorry," said the woman her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "Can I help you?"
"I need to speak with Det. Paul Greene," said Don.
"Two visitors in one night," muttered the woman. "He's popular."
Don felt an urge to ask about the first visitor, but held his tongue.
"Just go straight down the hall," said the woman, "and it's the first door on the left."
"Thanks," said Don, turning and heading to the hall. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, but chocking it up to paranoia and stress, Don was able to push it off to the side.
He saw that Greene's door was slightly ajar, but Don knocked anyway. No one replied, and Don pushed the door open all the way.
At first, Don thought his eyes were playing tricks on him; all those years of FBI work had caused him to see crime scenes wherever he went, but when he blinked a few times and the scene didn't go away, Don knew it was real.
Det. Paul Greene was lying back in his chair; eyes staring lifelessly at the far wall and blood was staining the front of his chest; a small trickle came down from the corner of his mouth. Don walked around the desk trying to get a better look at the scene. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the detective was dead; the glazed eyes and lack of breathing gave it away.
Don was about to walk back to get the desk sergeant when something on Greene's desk caught his eye. Moving a stack of papers over, Don picked up a folder with a note hurriedly scrawled in the corner. His name was written in bold letters just beneath the word "important." Don picked up the file and set it off in a chair before exciting the office to get the sergeant.
XVIIIIV
Well, I hope you enjoyed chapter ten, but I will be taking another hiatus from this story, so I can finish my Christmas story in time. I hope you will be patient, and I plan on having chapter eleven done after Christmas at the latest. Thank you in advance for your patience. Roth