Hey Guys,
A huge thank you to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. I really do appreciate the kind words.
This is the penultimate chapter of Cold Roses. Hope you enjoy it.
Chapter Fourteen
"Same again, Detectives?"
"Yeah." Flack drained the last of the beer from the bottle, still chilled from the fridge, the glass still cold beneath his fingers. "Line em up."
"You got it, Detective." The barman turned, opening the fridge, the hinge moaning in the mostly silent bar. Flack slipped his phone from his pants pocket, glancing, frowning at the darkened screen. "There you go, Detectives."
"Thanks." Flack shifted on the stool, feeling the phone pressing against his leg, silent and uncommunicative. He reached for his phone again, then stopped himself, trying to cover the motion by reaching for the cold bottle. "Put it on the tab."
"No problem, Detective." The barman turned away, staring up at the television screen, the game playing out to the uncaring bar.
"Why don't you just phone her?"
"Phone her?" He reached for his phone again, stopping himself at the slow, easy smile spreading across her face. "Phone who?"
"Katherine." Angell smiled as he flushed, looking away. "You should phone her."
"Nah." He looked straight ahead, lifting the bottle, rolling it between his fingers, picking at the still damp label. "She'll be okay." He took a long drink, the beer so cold it almost burned his throat, robbing his words of their conviction and belief. "She'll be okay."
"If you go phone her, maybe you'll be able to sit still."
"Sit still? I can sit still." Flack sat up straighter on the stool, still picking at the label. "See? I'm sitting still."
"Is that your phone ringing?"
He had dragged it out of his pocket before the sound of her laughter filled the mostly silent bar. "Why don't you bite me, Angell?" He threw the phone down on the bar, ignoring the surly look the barman threw in their direction. He took another drink, unable to fight off the urge off glancing at the phone again.
Still silent, the screen dark and mocking.
He reached out for the phone, stopping himself, drumming his fingers against the polished wooden surface of the bar.
Where was she? Where was she?
Angell's smile faded, and she stared at him over the top of her bottle, poised half way to her mouth. "Go phone her, Flack. Put your mind at ease."
He smiled at her as he snatched up the phone from the bar.
xxxXXXxxx
She rested her head against the window of the subway train, the vibrations running through her, easing her weariness, lulling her almost to sleep. Grateful just to be out of the cold, out of the biting wind.
It was warmer on the train, the harsh, artificial heat seeping into her, washing away the last of her strength and her energy.
It took fifteen minutes or so to get to her stop. She could snatch a quick nap, just close her eyes, rest…
Someone coughed near her, the sound caught, vibrating, echoing as the train rattled across the tracks. The sound startling her awake, out of her almost sleep, the cab shaking as it picked up speed.
His eyes fixed on her, slipping across her, away, guiltily.
She looked away, hurriedly, her breath catching in her throat. His gaze still fixed on her like a statement of intent, burning across her skin. Looking out the window, the narrow walls of the subway tunnel closing in around her, plunging the cab into darkness, the flickering overhead lights providing just enough illumination.
Just enough illumination to see him. Standing in the middle of the cab, his large, thick hand wrapped around the pole, his eyes, dark and hungry.
Fixed on her.
xxxXXXxxx
The cold grew around them, thick and dark, creeping across the chill streets, running clammy fingers across their skin, leaving them chilled and shivering, their breath peeling away from them like the memory of a gunshot.
Hawkes sighed, lifting his case into the car, grimacing with the effort. He stretched, trying to ease cramped and sore muscles. He glanced over his shoulder, watching as Danny walked towards the car, his phone pressed against his ear, frowning as he listened to the message.
He could guess who it was.
"Problems?"
"What?" Danny glanced quickly, guiltily at Hawkes, hurriedly putting his phone into his pocket. "Nah, just…just my mother. She wants to know if I'm coming over for Christmas."
Hawkes raised his eyebrows, his face painted in a half smile.
"What? You don't believe me?"
"I'm saying nothing, Danny. You say it was your mother on the phone, then it was your mother on the phone." Hawkes shrugged, starting to turn away, then stopped. "If it was my…mother, though, I think I'd go see her."
"Yeah. Maybe." Danny sighed, shivering as the cold night ran its lonely fingers across his spine, a delicate, solitary caress. "but the job is what it is."
The job is what it is.
What a weak excuse to run from her, hide from her. Hiding behind his shield, instead of facing his fears, facing her.
"Go on." Hawkes jerked his head away from the scene. "I got this. Go see your…mother."
He smiled hesitantly, almost reluctantly, the thought of her smile, lighting up her dark eyes making him feel warm for the first time all day, driving away the dark, cold night. "You sure."
"Yeah. I got this."
"Thanks, Hawkes."
"Don't worry bout it. Oh and Danny?"
"Yeah?"
"Say 'hey' to your….mother for me."
He laughed, almost daring, taunting the cold night. "I will Hawkes. Thanks"
xxxXXXxxx
The bar had filled up, warmed up as the night had rolled on, the rumble of conversation filling the empty spaces, drowning out the silence, the game, growing louder and louder with every passing drink.
She would almost be home now.
He almost smiled, sliding the bottle back and forth between his hands.
Almost home, almost safe.
"Flack." Angell's elbow, sharp and pointed dug into his side, urgent and repeated. "Your pocket's ringing."
His face flushed, he pulled his phone out, the ring tone lost, almost drowned beneath the noise of life and conversation in the bar. He smiled when he saw her name, illuminated across the screen.
"Hey, Katherine." His eyes grew wide, and he snapped his fingers, drawing Angell's attention to him, his blood running cold at the nerves, panic in her voice. "Kathy, Kathy, slow down. I cant under….we're on her way." He hung up, standing up quickly, lifting his coat.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Kathy." He pulled a roll of bills out of his pocket, counting them off onto the bar with stark angry gestures. "She thinks someones following her."
xxxXXXxxx
"I have nothing to say." The Auld Man leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest, seemingly stronger and more imposing than his frail form could contain. He glanced up at the clock, his smile cruel and mocking.
They were running out of time.
"We have evidence connecting you…"
"If you had evidence connecting me to anything, Detective Taylor, you would have charged me by now. Just like you did my boy."
"What about Michael Caffee?"
"What about him?"
"Tell us about your dealings with him."
"My dealings with him?" The Auld Man laughed, wheezing, wet and cruel in the interrogation room, his shoulders shaking with amusement. "I haven't seen Michael Caffee in fifteen years. I knew his mother from the before…"
"I don't give a shit about his mother. Tell me about Michael Caffee and the attack on the safe house."
"I don't know anything about that."
"Tell me about the shooting of Nick Potter."
"I don't know anything about that, Detective Taylor." His shoulders still shaking with silent, mocking amusement, enjoying Taylor's frustration and anger, his helplessness. "I've never heard of Nick Potter."
"bullshit."
The laughter stopped, his shoulders still and straight, the Auld Man's pale blue eyes still twinkling with amusement. "Prove it."
xxxXXXxxx
"You get anything?"
Hawkes nodded, his fingers dancing quickly across the keyboard. "I got a couple of prints from the weapon we found at the scene. They're both in the system."
Stella glanced up at the screen, at the mug shot and record displayed on the screen. "Kieran McCann."
"He's low on the food chain, but still part of the family. He's done time up at Rikers with some of the real heavy hitters. Maybe we can pick him up, put some pressure on him, see if he'll turn."
"You got an address for him?"
"Yeah."
"Lets pick him up."
xxxXXXxxx
She could feel him behind her, his footsteps drawing closer, closer behind her. She stiffened, forcing herself to keep moving. Feeling him draw closer. Closer.
She could almost imagine his breath, warm and raw against the back of her neck.
She knew the feeling, remembered the feeling, the sensation of being hunted.
She forced herself to keep moving, picking up her pace. Feeling his gaze against her skin, like a cold touch against her nerves. She shivered, her shoulders drawn in, making herself as small as possible
As small a target as possible.
He was getting closer. Closer. She could hear his footsteps, echoing, mirroring hers.
Closer.
Closer.
"Katherine."
The sound of his voice was salvation, an answer to her prayer.
xxxXXXxxx
"Where can we find Michael Caffee?"
"I don't know." Sean O'Neill paused, licking dry lips, his eyes following Desmond nervously as he paced around the room. "Why don't you ask the Auld Man?"
"I'm not asking the Auld Man." Stella tapped a long finger on the desk, dragging Sean's attention back to her, sounding like a gavel banging against the bench. "I'm asking you."
"I don't know…I swear to God, I don't know."
"Then why are we offering you a deal?" Desmond stopped his pacing, leaning against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his suit, still expensively, perfectly dressed despite the lateness of the house.
"I gave you the Auld Man…."
"Forget about the Auld Man, Sean." Stella cut easily, cleanly across his protests. "Give me something we can use."
"There's a house. On Park Avenue." He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "Can I have a cigarette."
"Sure." Stella stood up. "And then we'll talk about this house on Park Avenue."
xxxXXXxxx
Michael Caffee took a drag of his cigarette, leaning against the car, huddled within his leather jacket, watching the lights of New York City, gleaming like a jewel beneath the night sky.
One last drag, one last look.
Time to go.
End of Chapter Fourteen.