Sorry for the delay. I had a bit of figuring out to do, and I'm back to work now :) ...
Across the Line 14
He was moving fast, so fast that as the car jackknife up ahead he nearly panicked. No—he thought, as the car swerved—don't make me choose.
Don't make me choose.
Public duty, or Lindsay ...
Empty roads.
He watched in horror as the car spun out of control, crossed the road and crashed into the trees.
He braked his Harley. He's have to stop, had to see ...
And then he saw Pierson. Danny pushed off while still in motion, and let his bike slide. As Pierson stumbled back and drew his weapon, Danny had his out.
"I'll kill you now, you sniveling—" his attention was on the car.
"You'll drop it," Danny said, his gaze fully locked, his gun firmly positioned. "Back away from the car, Pierson."
Pierson turned, but kept is gun aimed at the car. "Messer. You should have stayed out of it."
"No," the answer was simple. He wanted to look toward the car, but he couldn't—didn't take his gaze from Pierson. "Drop it. Let it go."
Slightly hysterical, Pierson shook his head. "They vouched for you, you know. People knew you, said they knew Louie Messer. Don't mess with him, they said. Don't mess with Messer. So I didn't."
"You messed with her," Danny nodded toward the car, but kept his eyes on Pierson, he hadn't seen Lindsay, but he knew—he knew, "you messed with me. You had Mac Taylor fired and hunted him down. You wrote Bonesarra up for petty infractions. For doing her job. And you caused the lab to lose it's effectiveness. You don't think you were messing with me? Messing with my world?"
"It's bigger than this," Pierson took his aim away from Lindsay, pointed it at himself. "Bigger than you and me. You do the job. You do the job and work for the man who's in control. He's in control and he'll be in control."
"There's always a choice," Danny said, and made one. He hadn't seen Lindsay, and that was bad. She was hurt. He knew it, knew it like he knew Pierson was dirty.
With Pierson's eyes wild, Danny fired. Close enough to be accurate, to hit the arm.
The gun fired haphazardly, tumbled away. Danny rushed forward, shoved him to the ground. Pierson cried out, hysterically.
"You shot me."
"No," Danny said, as he cuffed him and made sure to pull extra hard on the injured arm. "I saved you for feds."
And then as he pushed up, he saw her. Crumpled in the back seat. Bleeding. There was so much blood. Her eyes were closed.
"Montana."
He ripped open the back door and fell to his knees. He tossed his jacket aside, and tugged off his t-shirt. "Lindsay—"
"Danny."
He watched her eyes blink open as he drew her out, into his arms, and fumbled to find the wound, to press his crumbled t-shirt to it. "You're bleeding."
"He got me. Mostly ... mostly stopped, I think ..." she breathed, and groaned, her eyes squeeze shut, as he pressed against it. "I think ... I'm okay. I—I like this."
Danny chucked, despite himself. "What? Being rescued?"
"No," she managed a smile and reached up, tugged at the neck of his wife beater. "This ..."
He nearly laughed as he called it in, his shirt firmly pressed against her shoulder. He called first for an ambulance and waited for them to triangulate his location. And then he called Mac.
"I got her," he said as he cradled her in his lap, and took a moment to press his lips to her forehead. "I found her."
~ny~
The ADA sat across from Finch, but Flack and Stella stood. Finch stared down at the paper he'd just signed, then looked up at Flack. He would do time for concealing information, for impeding the investigation of a crime, for obstruction of justice, but it would be minimum security. The time he served would, more than likely, depend on the number of crimes they could tie him too.
Unless they pinned him on murder, he could be out in a few months.
But he would loose his badge and his position.
"His name is Elliot Davis. He works—"
"The tech guy?" the name hadn't been on any list. Elliot Davis had built an empire in technology and software. Flack glanced at the ADA, then at Stella.
"Security technology. All of the equipment that Pierson and the rest used to set up Chief Sinclair's murder, the take over at the lab, the monitoring of NYPD officers and employees? The mayor's office? It all futuristic spy stuff—because Elliot Davis is in the security tech business. He has tech guys and equipment."
Finch leaned forward, folded his hands together and carefully chose his words. "Davis worked the system. He has people everywhere. He started with the mob, years ago. He offered to help me out, help me get away from Vencetti and that world, but it was just a controlling move."
"Oh come on Finch. Don't sit there and act like you're trapped in this world," Stella seethed. "I've heard about your apartment, and you sat right here at this table and admitted to trying to get Pierson caught. That means you were trying to move up in the world."
"I ain't no saint. Who doesn't like the money? But this right here? This was always going to be the deal for me. Cops don't do well in prison, so yeah—I held off." Finch said without fervor. "But you want Davis. He's gotten power hungry, likes to clear paths in his own way. One of his biggest challenges was Mac Taylor and the New York crime lab. He could never get rid of all the evidence."
"Until Sinclair," Flack supplied.
"Yeah. He's spent his entire business career building a network to protect his back and his motives. He got into the NYPD two decades ago and has been building up to this point. He started focusing on the crime lab four years ago. Taylor got a little too close to him. He had to step back, figure out away around him."
"So he killed Sinclair."
"He arranged it. Look, he's got technology I've never seen before. You can't record around the guy. He knows. But there are guys, other guys, that will role on him. That can give you more."
"Give us the names."
Finch tapped a finger on the file that contained his deal. "I want a new deal. Some changes."
~ny~
Stella stepped out of the room as the ADA and Finch went over the final details of his deal. He'd held out, renegotiating multiple times.
Flack didn't have to like it, but he'd rather have Pierson than Finch.
Unless … he glanced out the window, into the hallway and watched Stella on her phone. He didn't like the look in her eyes.
If something happened to Monroe, he'd make sure Finch was held accountable with an accessory for murder. They didn't know much; only that she'd been shot and that a helicopter had brought her all the way back to Saint Mary's. He couldn't think of it—couldn't imagine it. She would be okay. She was a cop—and that said a lot—but she wasn't just a cop to any of them.
Danny …
Not just Danny. She'd put her life on the line for all of them.
In all their dealings the ADA hadn't touched that one.
And Finch hadn't asked.
Either he was too cocky and focused on the big game to remember his role in Lindsay's disappearance, or he blamed himself a little as well. Flack was pretty sure it was the former. Finch might have told the truth when he'd said he hadn't meant to hurt her, but only because he saw her as a pawn in his bigger game.
Finch handed the pen back to the ADA and pushed the notepad across the table. The ADA capped it and slowly pushed away from the table.
"I suppose you know what to do with him?"
Flack opened the door for her. "We can find something," he promised, but his eyes were on Stella. She had just ended the call.
"Monroe?" he asked as he walked over to her.
She looked up at him, "I don't know," she said quietly. "She's lost a lot of blood. Danny's there, but she's in surgery. He hasn't seen her since he arrived. He's going to need someone to be there with him."
"I'll head down. You?"
"I've got to wait here for Mac," her eyes burned bright. "He's on his way."