A/N: I'm back - sorry for the wait, all. Happy Birthday, An-Jelly-Ca!
See Disclaimer, Chapter 1
Bird Flu - Chapter 10
Charlie groaned, ran a hand over his face, and fumbled for his alarm clock. Early Sunday morning sunlight streamed in through the sides of his window blinds, delivering a message that he didn't want to recognize. It had taken him a long time to get to sleep, even as exhausted as he was, and now he wanted to stay there – in sweet oblivion. Asleep, he wouldn't have to think about Don, about Amita, about the horrors of the case.
It was the case that drove him up and onto his feet, however. Don was starting the day off with a group meeting at headquarters, and he was requested to be there. Even if he hadn't been, he would have shown up – Charlie was as frustrated by the lack of progress as the rest of them, more so, by his own failure to narrow the killer's operating area down to anything less than the south half of L.A. Anything south of LAX and as far east as Yorba Linda appeared to be fair game.
As badly as he felt about Amita, as much as that was weighing on his mind, the case was worse. Even if it hadn't involved Don, it would have been supremely disturbing – he had the feeling that they weren't facing merely sickness, but pure evil. The fact that it was directed at Don made it unbearable. He was terrified his brother would be hurt by this – if not physically, then mentally. Charlie wasn't trained to observe other people in the way that FBI agents were, but even he could see the toll that the killer had taken on Agent Shire. The man was barely holding it together, nearly ready to crack. Charlie couldn't bear to think of Don that way – of him being reduced to mental rubble. The sooner they brought this monster in, the better.
Still, it was an effort to move – all of it, the case, the killer, his argument with Don, Amita - had beaten him down to the point that he just wanted to crawl between the covers and pretend it was over. He hadn't felt this bad, this depressed, this anxious, since his mother died. As he stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, a vision of Amita, immersed in a kiss with the unknown man rose in his mind, and he pushed it away, fighting down the feeling of panic and despair it engendered.
Downstairs, his father was making coffee and eggs. Charlie felt a little better after a shower and a shave, but it was the coffee that finally woke him out of a stupor. Alan set a plate in front of him and sat down with one himself, fixing Charlie with a probing gaze. His son looked exhausted, beyond his limit. "Charlie, you don't have to go in this morning. In fact, maybe you should take a break from this case. Do they really need you on this one?"
Charlie shook his head, and poked at his eggs with his fork, one elbow on the table and his head in his hand. "Dad, they need all the help they can get on this one. The killer's directing this at - ," he stopped himself, but Alan finished the statement for him.
"Donnie. I know. He finally told me about it, yesterday. I almost canceled my trip, but he convinced me to go. Frankly, though, looking at you, I'm still wondering if I should stay."
Charlie tried to look reassuring. "I'm fine, Dad. There's nothing you can do anyway. I'm going in for the meeting this morning, and then I'll probably come home and just work on my program from here. In fact, I should be home well before you leave for the airport. You never know – the case could break and be all over, and you'll have canceled your trip for nothing."
Alan sighed. "Well, you can start making me feel better by eating your breakfast. And don't forget to eat while I'm gone. I have a couple of meals thawing out in the refrigerator – enough for Donnie too, if he wants to come over."
Charlie obligingly stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth, and spoke around them. "Okay – and don't worry about me - I'll be fine."
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They found Amber Peterson at five-thirty a.m. She'd been dumped in a vacant lot off East Alondra Blvd, and had been stumbled over by a homeless drunk on an early morning amble to his napping spot of choice. Actually, dumped was not the word for it – she'd been laid out carefully, just like Cookie and the others before her. The news – and the pictures – set a grisly tone for the meeting that morning.
"I went through the video several times," said Colby, a trace of the experience still on his face. "There's a lot of background noise – sounds like construction equipment. The sheets he hung blocked out the background, but you can see the floor – it looks like unfinished wood. The ceilings are obviously high, so we think it's a warehouse or manufacturing site of some kind. I have some of our folks checking for construction sites on the south side of L.A."
"Okay," replied Don. "Maybe that will help narrow down Charlie's search a little."
Charlie could see the strain in his brother's face, but Don still appeared to be collected – not like Shire. The man looked worse every day, and Charlie couldn't begin to imagine what he was going through. He frowned, trying to concentrate on his program while the others talked. Epiphany suddenly struck him, and he looked up. "I think I've got more data here – I've been putting in all of the Courier Express locations, but we've got two more data points – the drop points for the victims."
Don looked at him, approvingly. "Good – you can plug those in. How long will it take to run?"
Charlie shook his head. "It's not that simple. I can't assume that he used the same rationale to select those sites; in fact, we know he didn't, so I'll have to write a new program and integrate it with the original. That job itself will take a few hours; then it will need run time."
Wright frowned. "You'd better get going on it, then. He's got to be preparing for his next victim."
"Speak of the devil," murmured David, as Marcy appeared at the door. All eyes swung toward her, and the Courier Express envelope she held in her hand.
"Just one," she said softly, and handed Don the envelope. He took it, his dark eyes glittering with something indescribable, and ripped it open. The room was silent as he read, turning pale, and he handed it to Jill Cash, who was standing to his left.
She scanned it, her green eyes narrowed, then read aloud.
Agent Eppes:
Dark head, red breast, this is the bird that you love best.
Agent Shire:
When I hold Agent Eppes' bird in my hand, your flower will die.
It happens today.
"Dark head, red breast," repeated Liz. "That's a robin." Colby and David exchanged glances.
Jill looked up. "He's escalating. In Seattle, it took him four vics to work up to Joan. He's only killed two here before he decided to go for Robin. That's a pretty bold statement – that he'll pull it off today."
Shire's voice was hoarse. "He's going to kill her – he's going to kill Joanie once he has Robin."
"And that's not going to happen," said Don firmly. "Effective immediately, I'm going to put increased manpower in Robin's apartment, and she goes nowhere until we catch this guy."
Charlie was already packing up his computer. "I'm heading home to work on this. I'll let you know as soon as I've got something."
Don nodded absently; he was turning to the team. "Colby, David, Liz, Jill Cash – you're with me at Robin's apartment. Colby, line up a tech and get some equipment over there for a phone trace, in case he tries to contact Robin. Mike – you're welcome to join us, or you can head up coordinating incoming leads here from other groups – your choice."
"I'll stay here," Shire replied, his voice tight. "I can't just sit there and wait – I need to do something."
It had remotely registered with Don that Charlie was saying something, but by the time he turned around, his brother was halfway through the bullpen. He got just a glimpse of the dark head and the tan jacket, before Charlie disappeared around the corner.
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Charu stood on the curb, pouting, as Amita wheeled her suitcase away from the trunk, and pulled it up on the sidewalk in front of the Indira Gandhi International Airport. "I still do not understand why you have to leave early," she said peevishly.
"I wouldn't," retorted Amita, "if you hadn't made a mess of things." Her face was angry, but it softened as she looked at Charu. "I did have a wonderful time. I'll think about what you said, but I can't make a decision like that overnight."
Charu leaned forward and hugged her. "I will miss you. Come back soon."
Amita returned the hug, nodding, but evading Charu's last request. "Good-bye. I'll call when I get back."
An hour later, she was in her first class seat, and accepting a glass of wine from the flight attendant. It was a twenty-two hour flight back to L.A., but even though it was near noon Sunday in Delhi, with the time difference, she would get in to L.A. Sunday night. In the meantime, she would have twenty-two hours to sort out her thoughts, her feelings, before she saw Charlie.
In Delhi, the excitement, her immediate surroundings, and the people around her had pulled her in their direction, but now that she was headed home, all she could think about was Charlie – his endearing smile, his gentleness, his mop of unruly hair. She could feel an almost unbearable anxiety begin to settle inside. She loved him, she realized, really loved him, and there was a chance that their relationship had been irreparably damaged. In spite of what she had told Charu – that she would think about Charu's recommendation that she return to India - she knew her home was in L.A. In fact, Charu's ploy had solidified things in her mind, had made her even more convinced – home was wherever Charlie was.
Home – she couldn't get there fast enough, and she could only hope she had still a home – that he would forgive her. She sighed, her eyes brimming with tears, and took a sip of her wine to try to hide them. It was going to be a long flight.
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"What's going on?" asked Robin, as she watched the group file into her apartment. A tech made directly for her dining room table and began setting up a computer and tracing equipment; and agents began to move through the rooms, familiarizing themselves with the layout of the apartment.
Don took her elbow gently and steered her aside. "We got another letter today. It points directly to you." He handed her a folded copy, and she paled as she read it.
"So what does it mean?"
"It means we increase our presence here until we get the guy," Don said firmly. "My team and I are here for the duration. I have to believe he's going to try something to draw you out – he can't possibly get to you in here. We're setting up a phone trace in case he tries to contact you. I also have LAPD manning other parts of the building. He may try to start a fire or something along those lines, to create a distraction, and if he does, we'll be ready for him. We're locking the place down."
Robin looked at the group taking up residence in her living room. "That's a lot of people."
"It's my team – you know all of them – Liz, David, and Colby. Jill Cash is a profiler from the Seattle office, and we brought along a tech to handle the phone traces. I know it's a lot to deal with, but it's necessary, at least for the time being. Charlie's working on trying to narrow down the perp's operating area – he should have something later today or this evening. Once we have that, we can go on the attack."
"And in the meantime?"
Don looked at her steadily. "We wait."
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End Chapter 10