Locked Away – Chapter Fourteen

They lay in bed. Neither was asleep, nor did they speak.

Each was consumed with their own thoughts.

Dani wondered why her father visited Crews and what he'd said. They hadn't discussed it yet and she knew they would, but for the mean time she pondered what it meant that she'd been kidnapped and held by Nevikov and then imprisoned (or so her cover was) and he hadn't shown his face, but Crews got arrested and presto, Jack Reese appeared. What the hell did that mean?

And that sultry temptress of a lawyer in her three inches and designer clothes, she who smelled like perfumes that cost more than Dani made in a week. What was her connection? It was clear she had feelings for Crews; ones he didn't return. Why keep trying? Was there a connection between Connie and her father? If so, what and why?

Her hand traced the torso of her lover. That was what Crews was to her now – minimum. Their sexual compatibility, once she stopped fighting it, was unmistakable. They easily fell into a rhythm and he seemed to know all the right ways to coax her into a place she didn't know well – trust. He was an honest partner and a skilled and attentive lover, but in truth he was far more than that now. She just wasn't willing to give it a name – not yet.

Her hands played over his body, tracing the edges of his ribs and running her fingertips over the lines and pucker marks of his scars. Bullet holes, broken bones, stab wounds, slices and rough patches of tattooed skin marred his pale body. It seemed he could survive anything, but the deepest of cuts – betrayal. And yet…he'd been betrayed by everyone he'd ever known; his wife, his partner, his work mates, his father – all of them. She looked up and his eyes were closed but he was not sleeping. She kissed his chest and watched a smile spread across his face.

He wondered what she learned by visiting MacIntyre. She hadn't said she'd found him or if he talked, but he knew without a doubt that there wasn't anyone she couldn't find and make talk if she set her mind to it. Why then had she never turned her prodigious sleuthing to locating her father? Maybe she didn't want to find him. Maybe her life was better without him, he considered.

Was Jack using him? To what end? How were Jack Reese and Constance connected – it was crystal clear to him now that they were. Was Tidwell and pawn or a player? Who was behind all this? Where were they going next? He didn't know but he knew that he wouldn't be alone. She'd be there – Dani.

He felt her hands on him; her fingers on his body and her fingerprints on his heart. It was his age-old torment. He turned it over in his brain, puzzling. How could he let go of something so essential to his life and yet, how could he justify exposing her to more danger? It was selfish of him not to end it – not that he could. But they both knew that she was being used to manipulate him.

It had been discovered that she was the one way to hurt him. Probably not what they'd envisioned when they put the young detective with a drug habit in charge of him. They'd tried to leverage her position, deep in the doghouse, to get Dani to inform on him; it never worked. They'd tried to intimidate him in other ways. Internal Affairs investigations, locking Ted back up, searching his house, tossing his car. The list went on and on: interrogations that lasted hours, but the thing that made him come unglued was exposing her to danger. Him being unable to protect her was the one thing he couldn't endure. He'd acted stupidly. He wondered exactly when they'd known.

Certainly, the thing with Roman had been a lucky first guess. But this? This was by design. They set this up. Tidwell had been in on it, but then in retrospect he'd shown his hand to Tidwell that first day. Sloppy of him to show that type of weakness and concern in front of the Captain, he chided himself internally. Having Dani inside unnerved him. He'd done what they said and he'd have done more, done worse, to get her out of there. He was absolutely, without a doubt, committed to the lithe shadow of a woman in his arms.

Her dark hair lay across his chest as he stroked her back and ran his fingers through her hair. He tolerated her exploration of his body. With others he'd felt self-conscious, he kept a shirt on during sex or dressed shortly afterwards, but with Dani he lay naked and did not feel judged. She had her own scars in places you could see and others you could not.

After awhile it was no longer exploring; her hand became like hands on a rosary as she repeated a wordless prayer. He felt her motions become repetitive and he knew she was deep in thought, but her hands on him kept her tied to the now, to him, to here. She, in turn, tied him to this world, this place, these people, but he longed to take her and flee – to run far from this and live without the demons of their collective pasts haunting them. But that just didn't happen – did it?

"Crews?" she questioned tiredly.

"Hmmm," he responded with an equal degree of lethargy.

"Are you gonna…" she began but stumbled over the hardness of her question. She didn't really want to go there yet, but she knew she had to.

"Tell you about your father?" he finished knowing instinctively where her mind would go first. She nodded. "Yes, honey, but let's sleep first," he suggested.

He felt her exhale and knew the relief she felt was twofold. First he'd known immediately what she wanted to know and didn't even try to fight him on it. Secondly, he'd known that it would ruin their hard won moment of peace and he wanted to preserve it as much as she did. She snuggled closer to him and his arms secured her to chest.

"Love you," he mumbled into her hair.

"Uh-huh," she replied in agreement and then yawned deeply, "me too." It was close as she got to a profession of love and he'd take it.

He woke first in the morning with a burning question. It was an idea tinged with insanity, but it made him feel giddy to even consider it. He wriggled and squirmed until he jostled her into a waking state.

"Crews," she complained groggily, "stop."

"Run away with me," he blurted out his desire. "Let's just leave and forget all this."

"What?" she twisted to examine him.

He smiled brightly and she frowned. "No," she said firmly, "I don't run away from anything."

"What about running towards something?" he couched the question separately.

She sat up and leaned back against the headboard, "you're serious aren't you?"

"Yeah," he sat back with her winding his hand through hers, "I think I am."

"Don't you want to know why? Why you? Why me? Why all this…" she couldn't find the words.

"Yes, but I want you more," he was blatantly honest.

"I want to know why," she said strongly. "Nobody fucks with people I…" she resisted for a moment and then let the word lose, "love and gets away with it."

He considered this. It took a lot for her to say those words. They cost and she meant them. He nodded and squeezed her hand, "okay."

"Besides," she grinned wryly, "didn't they tell you not to leave town when they arrested you?"

"Sure," he smiled in return, "but I don't usually do what I'm told."

"Yeah," she laughed. "That's one reason you're so much fucking trouble."

He grabbed her and pulled her under him, "too much trouble?" He asked his question breathlessly while poised to kiss her.

"There no such thing as too much trouble for me," she bragged.

She was back; her confidence, her wit, the intangibles that made her irresistible to him and a thousand other men. But she chose him – she chose him. He was still thinking about that when her hand on his face brought him back to reality.

"You gonna kiss me or keep me in suspense?" And kiss her he did.