A/N: References here to Shadow of a Doubt, Pick-Up on South Street, Casablanca, This Gun For Hire, Charade, Lady From Shanghai, and The Women.
It's a scary thing to wake up and realize you're handcuffed to a bed in a dark room.
And that's not a metaphor for anything.
One minute, I'd been sitting on the sofa in my apartment, listening to Maura tell me about her lousy childhood: how she found out she'd been adopted, how those adopted parents had never really seemed to care about her. How she'd been held up at home once by her birth father, who was in need of medical assistance and put her wise about his relationship to her. How she'd been made to treat him while Doyle's trigger man held a rod to her head. How Doyle had told her he was proud of all her accomplishments and that she deserved the best.
How he'd promise to intervene if he ever thought she wasn't getting top dollar in every aspect of her life.
Around that point I'd offered to get her a drink, and she said she'd get one herself. She brought one back for me, too, and that's when I should have been suspicious. But I was so engrossed in her story I wasn't thinking straight.
I guess I got a mickey from Maura.
The room I woke up in was a far cry from my apartment. My place might not be fancy or high-class, but at least it's homey: this place was a wooden crate for all intents and purposes. No decorations, no furniture and no music playing unless you counted some water dripping somewhere in the distance. I moved to sit up, and that's when I realized I was cuffed. To be specific, I was cuffed to a brass headboard behind me. Both hands. The mattress I was laying on was white, stained, and purely utilitarian.
Like…me?
"You're awake." I heard someone strike a match behind me. "Good." It was a man's voice, deep and scratchy enough to sound like the one Ma says I'm going to get one day if I don't stop smoking cigars and drinking so much whiskey.
I strained to try and look over my shoulder, but a few moments passed and made the move unnecessary. Paddy Doyle walked into my peripheral vision on the left side, flanked by two torpedoes who were both carrying iron. Then I saw Maura coming in on my right, until all four of them stood at the foot of the bed. A sane person would have been pretty scared right then, but sometimes I seriously question my sanity. All I felt was anger and a sense of betrayal which I probably didn't deserve.
"Jane Rizzoli," Doyle said, taking a big puff of his own cigar. "I've heard of you." Guys like this, I can't ever picture what they might have looked like as kids. He was probably born smoking that thing, wearing that smirk. Is that what my smirk looked like all the time? Pretty ugly stuff. "You know who I am," he prompted me.
I was determined not to look at Maura. Keep the focus on Doyle. I sighed like I was bored, like I wasn't handcuffed to a bed, God knows where. "Jimmy Durante?"
Doyle looked at me for a second, then laughed. His goons joined in, and I took the moment to steal a glance at Maura. She was eying Doyle warily, and only after a few moments did she chuckle as well. But the laughter all stopped abruptly when Doyle's face became hard and serious. He walked over to the side of the bed and leaned over me, his cigar dropping embers onto my shirt.
"Think you're cute, don't you, detective?" he asked, and I knew he didn't take my title seriously at all. "Thought you'd buddy up to my daughter and try to find me that way, huh? Make a name for yourself, get a little recognition? I don't think so." When I flicked one of my wrists, he grabbed it, and I admit I might have been a little scared at that point. "I don't think so," he repeated. "Nobody uses my daughter, understand? Not as a stepladder to success or to bring me down."
"Noted," I said dryly.
His smirk turned into more of a snarl. "Trying to be smart, huh? Let me tell you something, Miss Rizzoli, you're doing all this for nothing. You're risking your life and your reputation for nothing. Don't you wanna know how I know about you? I keep tabs on anyone I think might try to make trouble for me. And I got word on this skinny, greaseball dyke who fancied herself a detective. You gamble too much, you drink too much, and you're getting no place. You're not a real cop, and you'll never be a real cop. Get me? You'll always be a two-bit cannon, and someday when they pick you up in the gutter dead, your hand'll be in a drunk's pocket."
Somehow, his rambling made me less afraid of him. Maybe that's because I knew he was just trying to scare me. A man like Paddy Doyle wouldn't kill me, a woman, even if he did think I was one of nature's mistakes. I had to call him on his game: "You're grandstanding, chrome dome."
The smirk came back. "Despise me, don't you?"
"If I gave you any thought, I probably would."
"Doyle." Looks like Maura had finally decided to speak up. Her father looked as if he'd been about half a second away from slugging me across the face when she took a step forward. "I think you should let me handle this."
"Maura, this woman used you."
"Yes," Maura said, looking at me through those hooded hazel eyes of hers.
"She used you to get to me. She's a female," he said, like the word was the filthiest one he knew. "You can't trust 'em any further than you can kick 'em."
"Let me spare you the indignity of having to kick her yourself, then," Maura said, looking back at Doyle, who had since straightened up again. "I'd like to have the chance to avenge my pride, if I may."
Doyle put his hand on Maura's shoulder. I could tell he was trying to read the look in her eyes, and I could further tell she wasn't giving anything away. He looked back at me and said, "I gave up my daughter so she wouldn't spend her whole life slumming with the likes of people like you and me. If you were a man, you'd be wearing a pine overcoat right now, sister. But I think maybe this time, I'll let you off with just a little disciplining."
He nodded at his hatchetmen, and the three of them walked towards a door I'd just noticed on the left side of the room. Doyle was the last one to leave, his hand on the knob as he addressed Maura once more: "Take your time. We'll be waiting."
The door slammed with a bang, like a death knoll. With Doyle gone, I tried to sit up a little, although my positioning made that difficult. Maura made no move to help me, content to watch me struggle instead. A bead of sweat was trickling down my forehead, and I cursed my restraints for keeping me from being able to brush it away. My breathing had gone ragged all of a sudden, and it got worse when Maura walked over, then sat on the edge of the bed next to me.
"Goodness, Jane," she whispered. She took out a kerchief and wiped my brow. "You look as though you've been on a hayride with Dracula!"
"Where the hell am I?"
Maura frowned and got back to her feet. "Doyle's HQ," she said. "And you don't have to look so scared."
"I'm not gonna let you make a sucker out of me again."
"Don't you trust me?"
"Who trusts anybody?" I sneered. "If you're really gunning for me, why don't you let me out of these handcuffs?"
She shrugged. "Simple. I haven't got the key. Do you want to know what I do have?"
No.
It didn't matter that I hadn't said the word out loud; she'd have kept going anyway. She stooped and I saw her pick up my own billy club off the floor. She slapped it into her open palm and said, "I have you all to myself for as long as I wish—that is, for as long as I can keep Doyle's punks convinced that you are being properly… disciplined." She slapped the billy club against her palm again, this time letting her fingers wrap around the top. "So you know what that means you're going to have to do."
"I…"
"Yes," she purred, and before I knew it, she was straddling me on the bed, her knees on either side of my hips. She was wearing a teal silk skirt, which she had lifted slightly before getting on the bed, and now it rested just below her thighs. Her long-sleeved lavender shirt had a shockingly low neckline, and I'm guessing it was intended to have another shirt beneath it—a step Maura had skipped. Hovering over me, she was giving my eyes a direct look at her cleavage. I told myself it didn't matter if I was drooling, because I couldn't have reached over to wipe it away if I'd wanted to.
Curse this broad.
When she continued speaking, it took me a second to remember she was saying what it was I had to do: "You've got to scream for me, Jane. You've got to whimper, moan, and shout loud enough for those hoods out there to hear you."
"No," I choked out. A villain like Patrick Doyle could get the drop on me, but I refused to let Maura do it again.
"No?" she chuckled. "Jane, you are completely at my mercy."
"I want some answers first," I said, trembling.
A glimmer of softness passed through her eyes, but she didn't let it linger for long. "You want to know how you got here."
"Yeah, there's a start."
"Here's another start," she murmured, and she began slowly undoing the buttons of my white shirt. "I had to slip you something in your apartment. Once you were passed out, I dropped a line to Doyle. I had him come pick me up."
I groaned, but not because of what she was saying. She had just leaned over to kiss my newly-exposed collarbone, and I could not keep my hips from rolling upwards. What the hell was wrong with me? This woman had drugged me, helped get me kidnapped, and had presumably looked on while I'd been handcuffed to this bed. How could I be getting aroused?
Like a carnival psychic, Maura read my mind and said, "Your brain and body are at odds, detective. Don't worry; I assure you that you are experiencing very proper physical responses to the stimuli I'm providing."
"Proper?" I snorted. "There's nothing proper about this, Maura. You're a double-crosser."
"Yes," she whispered. "I am." I knew she couldn't lie, and yet the utter lack of apology in her tone angered me beyond reason. I yelled wordlessly: I was hurt, and I was furious that she sounded so casual in her disclosure of what she really was. Her eyes were glued to mine, and I saw reflected in them the calm before the storm. With one hand she brushed all her hair over one shoulder, then leaned in close, her breath hitting my ear as she continued: "You're not the one I double-crossed."
"What?" I breathed. Were I physically able to do so at the moment, I'd have given myself a pat on the back for being able to say anything at all with Maura Isles sucking on my earlobe like it was the sweetest piece of candy she had ever tasted.
She pulled back enough to look me in the eye again. "You're not the one being double-crossed," she repeated. I felt dazed. Could she really be on my side? Did she have to be rubbing around my navel while we had this conversation? A thin grey undershirt separated her fingers from my bare skin, but I still could hardly handle it. "Can you believe me, Jane, please? Trust me enough to protect you."
"I…I…"
Maura shifted her weight, one knee resting between my legs as she kissed my neck. "Make them think you're hurting," she whispered. "If they're not convinced, they'll think I've gone soft, and we'll both be in the soup."
"You're…"
"Give me one more moan, Jane, please. Just one." She cupped me through my pants, and I heard a distinctively feminine, un-me like gasp come out. "Louder," she breathed into my ear. "Let it out, Jane, louder."
There was a lion bursting to get out of my chest, and it was having a hell of a time getting up my throat. Maura's grip got harder, and she bit my shoulder. I yanked and the cuffs held me in place, and I let it out. I moaned. It was more of a wail, actually. Like I was dying but I didn't care, because the sweet messenger of death looked like, smelled like, felt like, and tasted like Maura goddamn Isles. I knew it was screwed up, and I knew I was playing into her hands, but I couldn't help it: my frustration (sexual and otherwise—not being able to move) was killing me, and I'd had to verbalize it somehow. It felt good to get the groan off my chest. It might have indicated either pain or pleasure.
And it seemed that Maura was satisfied, at least for the moment. "Let me bring you up to speed," she whispered, her slender fingers working to undo the button on my trousers.
"Maura," I breathed out, and she halted. "If you want me to listen to another word, you have got to stop what you're doing for a second."
"All right," she agreed, kneeling again. "As I told you in your apartment, Patrick Doyle is my father. He's been in prison for so long, I thought maybe I'd never be bothered by him again. But he broke out, and then my fiancé—my fat, lazy, neauvo-riche fiancé—disappeared."
"You've suspected him this whole time?" I asked. My breathing was still ragged, like I had just finished running a marathon or two. Or twelve.
"I've been unsure," Maura said slowly. "I didn't even know that he had escaped until after Adam went missing."
"And you didn't care he'd been killed?"
"I've told you," Maura whispered. "I wasn't in love with him. I'm sorry he died, I truly am, but I'm not a grieving widow."
"One good thing about being a widow? You don't have to ask your husband for money."
"True. Although the same can be said for a woman who's financially independent," Maura said back.
"Are you gonna lie down, or just stay like that?" I asked. "It sounds like this story's gonna take a while, and I'd hate for you to get tired."
"I don't need to lie down," she responded crisply.
"Right, you can lie from any position, can't you?"
"Will you just shut up?" she sighed. "I'm trying to be honest with you. Blood runs thick in my clan, Doyle's clan. He had Adam killed, and I know he had Garrett kidnapped when he thought Garrett might be asking for my hand next. We can find him if we work together, I know it."
Know it. I hadn't known anything for sure for a long time, not since I'd met her. From the very moment I'd met Maura Isles, I realized I hadn't really used my head at all except to think about her. I loved her. I hated her. So I couldn't get her out of my mind for even a second. I had never wanted to believe so badly that someone was honest as I did in that moment, as she knelt over me.
"You and Doyle, you don't play by the rules," she murmured. "But you've got a purpose behind your ideas, Jane Rizzoli, and he doesn't. He has what you might call a cold heart. Vengeance weighs on his mind constantly. I don't want him coming into my life all the time, calling violent, bloody shots. I want to do what you do, and take control of my life in my own way."
"Did he get in touch with you, or you with him? I mean, how'd you get his phone number?"
"One of his men got it to me. I was to use it if I ever felt threatened. And I figured after a while that he was probably having me followed, so I decided to call you in before he ever got to you himself."
"Why not just let him kill me?"
It had been a stupid question, so I deserved the look from Maura that I got, which might have sufficed if I'd just asked her why fish can't live out of water.
"Because even though you snark, even though you belittle, and even though you've had an extremely twisted way of trying to get around me to solve this case," Maura borderline-growled, "I know you care about me, Jane. Doyle doesn't."
"But you just said blood—"
"—is thicker than water, but that doesn't mean he understands me," Maura said. "You do, Jane. You do. So I made sure Doyle brought you here, and he wanted to tie you to a chair, but I suggested the handcuffs and the bed."
I pulled at the cuffs and let out an exaggeratedly aggravated yell, mostly for the men outside to remain convinced I was being tortured. And in a way, I was. Under my breath, I called Maura a name that wouldn't be used in high society outside of a kennel. She smiled at me, and somehow I felt relaxed. Which was strange, considering the circumstances.
"I knew as long as I was here, you'd be safe," she went on. "Together, we can bring this man to justice. So you see? It's all right for you to trust me, Jane. So…" She picked up the billy club from where she'd left it on the bed, and after catching my gaze, slipped it into my pants.
That one got another rattling gasp out of me, I admit. I'm about as accustomed to other women taking charge of me as I am to singing in the rain. But considering how much I'm enjoying this, I may have to try a little sing-song the next time it pours.
Maura rolled the club in her hand, and my back arched off the bed. Anything to get as close to her as possible. The cuffs still hurt, but suddenly it was a good kind of pain, like the kind you get when you know a broken limb is healing.
"So," Maura said in a shuddering whisper. Slowly she pulled the club out, letting its now-wet tip graze under my shirt, up my stomach. "You don't have to feel guilty about…" She brought the club up to her eyes, inspecting it. "This."
There was a sharp knock on the door, followed by Doyle's sharper voice: "Maura, I think that's long enough. You coming?"
Maura returned her gaze to me, whispering, "I think one of us was about to." She raised her voice enough to say, "I think I've almost broken her."
"Well, hurry up. I'll be down the hall when you're done."
"Let me see if I have this right," I muttered. "You slipped me a drug, got Doyle to kidnap me, handcuff me to a bed, all so you could…"
"Top you? Yes," Maura said, so matter-of-factly she might have just been announcing the weather. "Well, that was a side-perk, anyhow. Mostly I did it so we could find out where Doyle's hiding spot is, and save Garrett. I just…" She sighed, and there was unexpected tenderness in the way she touched my cheek. "I've had people controlling my life from day one. Doyle was the last, deciding who was good enough for me to be involved with and who wasn't—and then you were always so demanding, so determined to prove yourself and your dominance to me. I just wanted to be on top for once, that's all. I just wanted to be the one on top of things."
"Maura," I said quietly.
"The only reason I didn't tell you about Doyle sooner was because I was afraid he'd try—well, doing something like this with you," Maura said. "Only I wouldn't be here to make sure nothing really happened. This way he still thinks he's in control."
"What's your plan?"
"I know where the keys are to your cuffs, and I know how to get them."
"Okay," I said, trying to think. It was still hard. In my gut, I knew I had to trust that Maura knew what she was doing. "Just make me one promise."
"After all this? Anything."
"If we get out of all this… finish disciplining me for not trusting you right away."
