AN: Hello. I'm back for another update. At this rate, I'm updating once every two weeks, which doesn't seem too bad. I want to thank those who reviewed and those who enjoyed the secret meeting upstairs. I got the idea for the one-way mirror from Magic City, and it also reminded me of the Officer Guapo one-shot I did for the Good Cop, Bad Cop series (lol, those were good times in the rollaro fandom). Any theories on the Madame? PM me or tweet me or leave your guesses in your review. We're coming close to the revelation and I'm interested to know how predictable I am. Enjoy this chapter! Please review. My rollaro babies would appreciate it :)

Hush

25. Malfeasance

Brown eyes are ordinary.

Throughout Amanda's life, she had been told by people that her blue eyes were beautiful. These kind strangers compared them to gemstones — anywhere in the spectrum between aquamarine and sapphire. When her cheeks blossomed with pink timidity, her eyes shined an even more brilliant blue. One time, she returned the lovely words when she complimented her neighbour's eyes — the colour of coffee with a splash of milk. In response, the woman shook her head and said, "brown eyes are ordinary."

Amanda begged to differ.

Staring into Nick's eyes was like being wrapped up in a warm, affectionate embrace. The kind where she could tuck her head in his chest and feel protected from any outside forces. It was a position that revealed his vulnerability. Pressed against his heart, she could hear its rhythmic thumps, like a secret song hummed in her ear. In one blink, the depth of his eyes would reveal something raw. They pierced through layers of defences with an intensity of fresh ink on paper, speaking without sound and devouring without breath. Brown eyes were an enigma, just like brown-eyed boys.

They were on their sides facing each other. Nick's finger was tracing the outline of her waist, crawling up the incline of her hip. His touches were gentle, but his stare didn't waver.

Amanda barely felt the light skim of his fingertips on her skin, but she felt the knots tighten in the pit of her stomach. Everything had been fine — blissful, actually — just moments ago; but as soon as her body was coming down from the last orgasm, it decided to turn against her. She ignored it at first, not wanting to leave her lover and the comfort of the bed. But it was becoming more and more unbearable by the second. She planted her hand over her stomach and winced.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Nick asked as he placed his hand over hers.

She looked down briefly at their hands joined together and planted over her stomach. There was something disturbingly maternal about the image. The thought quickly bursted as she felt a bubbling rise to her throat. Rolling away from him, she tripped off the bed. Her hands flew over her mouth as she ran toward the bathroom.

"Amanda!" She heard him calling after her.

Making it just in time to stand over the toilet, she vomited. As the first wave of nausea hit, she slumped down to the floor and rested her forearms on the seat. To add to the mess of her current situation, her head was now pounding and her eyes were welling up with tears. She didn't even feel like crying, but her body seemed to want to respond in a manner in which she had no control.

"Amanda —"

"No! Stay back," she blurted as she threw an arm behind her to stop him from making another move. His voice was near, filling the windowless room. "Don't go in here. Please."

"I can help. Do you want me to get you a glass of water? I can stroke your back if it makes you feel better. What do you need me to do?"

"I just need you to leave me alone." She looked at the murky contents of the toilet and felt another wave coming up. "Trust me. You don't want to see this."

"Trust that I've seen worse," he tried to assure her. "Please let me help."

Revolted by the sight of her own vomit, she sealed her eyes tight, crinkling at the corners.

"Now would be the worst time to be stubborn."

"Nick —" her neck snapped around, the momentum setting her off-kilter. "Stop! Just stop!"

Standing at the entrance to the bathroom, Nick appeared reluctant to accept that he had lost the battle. He tugged his earlobe as he followed her instructions to stand back.

Amanda groaned as the pain pulled deep in her belly. It felt a lot like the period cramps she had back before her doctor got her a prescription for birth control. Only these were ten times worse than she remembered. Crossing her arms over her waist, she clutched at her sides, letting the superficial pain from her fingernails distract her from the visceral pain.

Letting his worry take over, Nick sat on the cool tile floor beside her. She felt the warmth of his proximity, but made no effort to ward him off. He tentatively touched her. She tensed for a moment but relaxed as he rubbed circles on her lower back.

"I'm sorry. This is so gross."

"It's ok…"

Feeling a scratch in her throat, she lurched forward and hung her head over the bowl. She retched again, while Nick held her hair away from her face. When she was done, she saw his outstretched hand offering a few sheets of toilet paper. She wiped her mouth before she frowned in his direction. "Speaking of gross…"

He smiled softly. "This doesn't even come close to cleaning toddler poop off the walls."

"The walls?"

"Try having an independent two-year-old who thinks she can change her own diaper," Nick chuckled as he was reminded of the memory of his daughter. "She was so excited to show me that she came barrelling out of her room, tripping over a toy, and flinging a dirty diaper on the wall."

Amanda laughed, already feeling much better. She reached up to flush the toilet, for Nick's sake especially. He wasn't showing it in his face that he was grossed out, but even a saint wouldn't be ok with being in such close proximity to puke.

"You good?"

"Yeah. I think it's over," she answered.

"You sure?" he asked again, brows furrowing and hands rubbing her arms. "How's your head? Any dizziness?"

"I'm fine, doc." She rolled her eyes. "It was just my stomach acting funny. You know, it could just be the drug wearing off."

He looked skeptical.

"What about you? How're you feeling?"

"I don't feel sick. But you might be right, I think the X is wearing off."

"No side effects," she scowled at him, as she pushed off the floor. She headed to the sink to clean herself up. Staring back into their reflection, she caught him studying her with intense curiosity. "Do you mind?"

"Huh?"

"Can I have some privacy? Please."

He blinked back a few times. "Yeah. Of course." He staggered back until he hit the wall. She was gripping her upper arms and biting down on her bottom lip, still embarrassed over what had just happened. Nick backed out to the doorway, giving her one last look. "I'll just be out here if you need me. Waiting. But take your time, Amanda. Take all the time. I'm not going anywhere. "

Amanda had left the bed and Nick soon followed, leaving a still view of the disheveled sheet and blankets. The Madame's brows creased as she wondered why the couple had left in such haste.

Polished to perfect transparency, the one-way mirror was what Ben called a 'glorified glory hole'. Breathing heavy, the sheriff was lying on top of the glass, his cheek pressed onto the cool floor and his hand rubbing the bulge in his pants. He groaned in frustration as the couple left. He had begged the Madame to send a girl up to relieve him, but she wanted to focus on the two lovers without any external distractions.

Ben pushed himself up from the floor. The sides of his nose were red; his nostrils stained with a fine, white powder. Behind her, the Madame could hear Charlie thinking. He wasn't quite as enthralled by the free show as the other crooked cop.

She steepled her fingers over her lips, contemplating her next move as if she were playing a game of chess.

Psychological manipulation had always been her preferred method of settling a score with clients who deserted her and threatened to expose her. No bodies. No paper trail. It was clean.

That's why she was so cautious about revealing her identity. No one knew who she was apart from a select few she trusted. Leo Fiorentino was one of those men, and she knew somehow the two undercover detectives had something to do with his timely arrest. Months ago, she would've said that Leo would never snitch on her; but she had been rather hard on him since he physically tortured one of her girls. She temporarily took away his privileges and used his private security to conduct background checks on new clients. Leo knew the Madame would be furious with him for leading the two detectives right into the sex society. He had two options: he either proved his trust by staying quiet or he cooperated with the police and betrayed her.

The Madame didn't have time to wait it out. Besides, Nick and Amanda were special. No other law enforcement agency had ever gotten far enough to infiltrate her operation. She once had Vice and FBI chasing their own tails, trying to build a case against the trafficking ring. Nick and Amanda were too smart for their own good, and they needed to be properly rewarded for it.

"Ben, I need you to tell Raven to set up Mr. Conroy at the south-facing bedroom. I wish to have a word with him in half an hour." She ordered the town sheriff. He did her bidding because he owed it to her. He also got a sick sense of satisfaction being her second-in-command. She couldn't blame him. There was something intoxicating about power. Ben was strapping on an earpiece when she remembered the lovers. "Would you also mind telling Ruby to take the detectives back to the party. I've reserved a spot in the balcony for them, as well as a bottle of champagne. We might as well let them enjoy this party, since it'll likely be their last."

"On it, Madame."

There was a withdrawn quality to her anger; it was borne from confidence. No wonder the people who worked for her were so resigned in fear that they had no choice but to do as she ordered. Even strong, relatively powerful men like Ben and Charlie had to say 'yes'.

"Madame —"

She held a hand up to stop him. She had an idea what he was about to say. He was going to ask what she meant about this party being their last. He was going to ask if she was serious about digging a grave in the woods for their bodies. He was going to ask if the Madame wanted to commit a double-murder.

"There's a key on the table by the door. I want you to make yourself at home in the lake house. Get acquainted with some of the girls. Enjoy yourself tonight and save your energy for the rest of the week, because next Saturday, I'll have you doing quite a bit of manual labour." She answered him, without him even having to ask. He released a heavy breath, and just like Ben before him, he complied.

"Raven? Do I have Raven on the line?"

"No, sir, this is Ruby." The high-pitched voice said through the static. "You want to hit 8-9-1 if you want to get Raven."

There was a muffled response before another screech.

Ruby pressed the earpiece farther down until it was practically lodged in her ear canal. She didn't get anything that Ben said. There was virtually no cell reception on the island, and at least five kilometres surrounding the lake house. The Madame had installed these transmitters designed to block wireless communications. While they could still use old-school walkie talkies in place of cell phones, they simply didn't work as well as they could.

"Shit. Raven —"

"— Ruby," she corrected.

"While I've got you, I need you to take them down to the south-facing bedroom."

"What? I thought —"

"— You thought wrong. Just do as I say."

"Roger that, sir." Ruby sighed as she stood in front of the door to one of many bedrooms. She had left the Santiagos in there about two hours ago, and as she was directed, she was supposed to bring them back out to the party. She muttered to herself as she straightened the indecent skirt she was wearing. "I guess there's a change of plans."

Ruby took the couple down a series of hallways toward the room with the best view of the lake. She glanced over her shoulder a few times just to make sure they were following her. They cooperated and didn't give her any trouble; they didn't even ask where she was taking them. Nick looked too worried about whatever was going on with his wife; his brows permanently etched in concern as he studied her. Ruby could see why he would be worried. Amanda's face was pale as a ghost.

When they arrived at the door, Ruby searched through her keyring for the key that would unlock it. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Nick brushed his hand over Amanda's cheek. It was a sweet and loving gesture — a rare sighting in this place.

The room, although designed similarly as the last, was much larger by comparison. A king-sized bed anchored the space, and either wall was occupied by a desk or an armoire. The shades were drawn and all the lights were turned off, except for a single standing lamp at the corner of the room. It bathed the space in faded, amber light.

"Ruby, what are you doing here?" A woman appeared from another doorway. She had jet-black hair pulled tight into a ponytail, and her lips were the colour of ripe cranberries. It was Raven. She nudged her head to the right. "I've got a client here with me."

"What? Ben told me to take them to this room." She pointed at the clueless couple. Nick's hands were anchored on Amanda's waist, and he was leaning into her, whispering something in her ear.

"He's such a fucking moron," Raven groaned, rolling her eyes. "Even by the sound of our voice, he thinks we're the same person."

Ruby groaned in agreement. Ben was often confusing the two of them even though they looked nothing alike.

"This is my client's room for the night. Ben meant to tell you to take the Santiagos back to the party."

"Knew it." She nodded at Raven, before turning back to the couple. "Sorry about the confusion. If you'll follow me —"

"Who the fuck are these two?"

Ruby whipped around to see the silver-haired man stepping into the room. He was one of the Madame's special clients — one of the few she actually met with in the flesh, and one of the few who paid a good amount of money to have sex with underage prostitutes. Had Ruby known the extent of what she was getting herself into when she signed up to be a 'waitress' at an exclusive club, she would have never sold her soul to the Madame. But it was too late now. And she had no choice but to bow her head and bend to the will of these sick bastards.

"I apologize, Mr. Conroy. We'll be on our way out."

"No, no… Stay," he said, and his voice was laced thick with alcohol and barbiturates. "There's no need to rush."

"We really must go."

"Leave the blonde."

Ruby stammered, looking back at Raven and pleading with her eyes for some back-up; but her friend was just as dumbfounded. "Sh — She's not one of us."

Nick took a step forward and placed an arm around Amanda, shielding her from the older man. His eyes were staring him down with such severity. "That's right. She's my wife."

August 15

Crossing the garden toward the Huxley's home, Amanda inhaled the blend of salty air and freshly cut grass. The gardner was working on the hedges surrounding the property, the sound of snipping shears adding to the muted sounds of nature.

It was the middle of the afternoon and she had slept through much of the day. Since arriving back from the Wolfsbane party, her body had felt even more broken down than ever. Nick did everything he could with their limited resources. He made chicken noodle soup at three in the morning. He ran her a warm bath, drowning it in fragrant epsom salts and soothing oils. He held her hair back as she threw up the little she ate of the soup; not because she didn't enjoy his cooking, but because she had lost her appetite and her ability to digest food. When she felt bedridden, he collapsed in bed beside her and cuddled her when she was cold, and gave her space when she suddenly felt feverish. Eventually, playing doctor, especially after the day they had, became too exhausting and Nick succumbed to sleep.

When he woke up four hours later, she was slumped by the toilet, her head resting on her arm. It was the first time in over 24 hours that she had gotten a solid amount of sleep, even if the position was uncomfortable and she was inches away from falling into her own puke. She barely remembered what happened next. Nick had carried her upstairs and laid her down on the bed, wrapping her up in blankets when her body shivered. He set a glass of water down on the bedside table and a bottle of Tylenol. It gave her a sense déja vu, briefly reminding her of the time he did the same when she got drunk. He had no reason to be nice to her then, and yet he was.

She entered through the open french doors of the Huxley's home. Nick had left a note, saying he was in the garage working with Phillip on one of his restorations; but he wasn't there when she checked. She had been so sick since getting back from the party that they had no time to talk about one major discovery from last night. The man who was led into the same room was First Deputy Commissioner — Joseph Conroy. The second most powerful man in the New York Police Department.

Nick said he recognized the man immediately. The man's picture was plastered on every precinct in the city. Conroy was there on the stage the day Nick graduated from the academy; his signature was on the official form that promoted him from officer to detective.

The fact that they had someone that powerful in the NYPD involved in the sex society smelled like a cover-up.

Walking farther into the house, she crossed the arch that led into the living room. Phillip was on the couch, reading the paper. "Amanda?"

"I'm sorry for intruding —"

"No. You're not. You know you're always welcome in this house." He smiled warmly as he set the paper down on the coffee table. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I was looking for Nick. He mentioned he'd be at the garage with you, but neither of you were there. I saw our car in the driveway so I assumed he couldn't have gone far."

"I told him he could test drive the Ferrari."

"Oh."

Phillip crossed one leg over the other and frowned. "He wanted to take you out for a drive along the coast, but you were still sleeping. He mentioned you weren't feeling well."

"I'm fine. I was just tired." Amanda shrugged it off.

"Are you sure you don't want my medical opinion? It's free." He laughed softly.

"Thanks, Phillip," she said. "But honestly, I'm fine."

Clasping his hands over his knee, he leaned back and studied her with furrowed brow. "Headache and nausea again?"

She arched a brow, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Amanda, do you mind if I ask you a rather personal question. As a doctor."

"Um… Sure. Go ahead."

"When was the last time you had your period?"

Her eyes widened and her arms fell to her sides. "What? No — This is not — No way." Her head shook as she vehemently denied what the doctor was implying. It couldn't be possible. "I'm on the pill."

She wore a plastic smile — a defence mechanism — the kind people wore when they were stifling a scream. She figured if she kept smiling, then she wouldn't burst into tears.

"Do you take your birth control as instructed?"

What kind of question was that, she thought to herself. She was slightly offended that Phillip would think she didn't know how to take her oral contraceptives, even though the spiel had been explained to her by doctors and pharmacists.

"Yeah, I do," she countered defensively. "Well, most of the time. Sometimes I forget, but I double up the next day. I mean, I've missed a few days here and there since I was 16, but I never got pregnant." She realized how stupid she sounded, but she needed to rationalize her bad habit of gambling with birth control. If skipping a pill had never caused a pregnancy scare, why would it have started now?

"And your period?" Phillip asked, completely unfazed by the topic just like a seasoned medical professional should be.

"It's always been pretty irregular," she explained, more to herself now than to him. "Phillip, I'm not pregnant."

Terrified didn't even begin to explain how Amanda felt about the possibility of carrying a child. Of course she had imagined motherhood; but it always seemed like such a faraway concept. A concept that stretched farther and farther away the more she progressed in her career.

"I'm not saying you are, but from what you've told me, you're experiencing some early signs of pregnancy. I'd recommend you take a pregnancy test just to be sure," Phillip advised. "If it makes you more comfortable, I could give you the phone number of a colleague of mine. She's one of the best OB-GYNs in the Hamptons. She's been delivering babies since before you were born."

"Don't worry about it." She shook her head. "Thank you, but I think I'm just going to pee on a stick and hope to god that I'm not —"

"— Of course. I completely understand," Phillip sighed wistfully. He caught sight of a framed picture of him and his wife, before he turned back to Amanda. "Gracie and I never felt ready to have children, especially with me being so busy with work. When we finally felt like we had the time to raise a child… Well, it just never worked out quite the way we planned."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

His mouth quirked up into a small smile, but his eyes told a completely different story. "Does Nick know how you feel about having kids? I only ask because I've gotten to know your husband these last few months, and he seems like he would make an excellent father."

"He would," Amanda agreed. She felt that flutter in her heart, swirling all the way down to her belly. She didn't know if it was that light, top-of-the-rollercoaster feeling when she'd sometimes catch Nick looking right back at her, or if it was another swell of nausea. "I just don't know if I'm ready to be a parent."

The smudged windows of the convenience store were marked with faded signs of last week's specials. The linoleum floors had just been hastily mopped with heavy-duty chemicals, leaving them squeaky clean.

Approaching the counter, Amanda cast a tight smile at the cashier — a red-haired teenager who looked too eager to be there. It was likely her first summer job.

"Congratulations!" the girl exclaimed upon seeing the two brands of pregnancy tests plopped on the counter.

"I — I haven't taken the test, so…"

"Right! Duh!" The girl smacked her own forehead. "Geez, I can be so stupid sometimes. I'm really sorry."

"No, it's ok. Don't worry about it."

"No. It's not ok," she stated firmly. "I really am sorry. Terribly sorry."

Amanda forced a smile, assuring the teenager that there were no hard feelings between them. But the girl wasn't done.

"Like, how awful would it be if I said 'congratulations' and it turned out you weren't pregnant? How disappointing must that be?"

"Do you mind?" Amanda asked, this time with an edge to her voice. "I'm kind of in a rush."

The girl's big, green eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh crap! I just assumed you and your husband would be happy about the pregnancy. But what if you didn't want a baby? Not now, at least. I mean, women can choose whether or not they want to have a baby. But I'm just saying, you look like you'd be a great mom… a really cool mom… like, that is a really nice shirt. I bet your baby would wear the cutest, little outfits." Thankfully, while the girl was rambling, she was actually ringing up the pregnancy tests through the barcode scanner. Green numbers flashed on the black strip. "Your total is $25.47. Would you like to donate two dollars to the Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Re —"

Amanda slapped thirty dollars on the counter. "Keep the change."

"Have a nice day, ma'am!" the girl called out as Amanda headed for the door. "I hope you get the results you want!"

So rattled by what had happened inside the store, Amanda wasn't exactly watching where she was going. She stepped out and turned the corner, running right into another woman. "Oh god. I'm so sorry," she said, hands on the other woman's arms to help her steady herself. When she looked up to see the woman's face, she immediately recognized her as Teresa Finch, the sheriff's wife.

Teresa flinched from Amanda's hold, taking a step back.

The blood-shot eyes surrounded by puffy circles, the quivering lip, and the splotchy cheeks — Teresa had the face of vulnerability. Matched with her constant need to pull the sleeves of her shirt to hide the finger-shaped bruises on her arms, there was no doubt she had been recently victimized.

"Teresa, are you ok?"

"I'm great. Would you excuse me?" She stepped around Amanda, but she stopped as soon as she felt the loose grip on her wrist.

"Hey, if you need someone to come with you to file a report on what he's doing to you —"

"Are you kidding?" Teresa asked her incredulously. "My husband is the town sheriff."

"We can go to county and report there," Amanda offered, even though she was getting nothing but resistance from her. "Look, I can drive you to the hospital and we can get those bruises checked."

"I'm not going to the emergency room because I have bruises on my arms."

Amanda sighed. "You're hunched forward and your arm is wrapped around your waist." She suspected the woman had a broken rib, but didn't want to make her even more defensive than she already was. "How badly did Ben hurt you?"

Teresa didn't answer.

Amanda tried to place a comforting hand on Teresa's arm, but Teresa pulled away. "Don't touch me!"

"I just want to help."

"Why do you even care?" She hissed venomously. "You think you can just pretend to be a saint and come to a battered woman's rescue, when we all know this is all an act."

"This isn't an act."

"I know who you are. I know what you and your sick husband do. You're perverts," she spat. Amanda stared back at her in shock. She knew Ben's wife would have some idea what was going on; after all, she was helping move the money around. But it was still unnerving hearing it straight from her. "You pay money to have sex with other sick freaks. So don't try to tell me what's going on in my marriage, when you and your husband can't even stay faithful to each other."

"Teresa, this isn't about me and Nick," Amanda replied, trying to meet the other woman's eyes. "Your husband shouldn't be able to get away with this."

"And you shouldn't be able to get away with ruining the lives of people in this community," Teresa countered. "Everyone here is running scared, paid to make sure your reputations are protected. Then, you have the audacity to come to town and act like you're one of the good ones."

"Then why do you work for them?"

"You think I have a choice? You think anyone here has a choice?" She was in tears now. The makeup she wore on her face was streaking down her cheeks, and the purple circles around her eyes were emerging. Amanda felt a knot twist in her stomach; and, instinctively, her hands clenched into fists. Teresa was trapped. And although she wouldn't acknowledge it out of fear, she knew. Amanda didn't have to remind her. She sniffled and wiped the corners of her eyes. "People have lost their businesses and their homes for saying 'no' to people like you. You think I never tried to stop? Why do you think Ben treats me like this?"

"I'm sorry."

Teresa sighed. She raised her head and willed herself to stop the tears. Amanda stepped aside to let her have the way, but just before Teresa headed down the sidewalk, she caught a glimpse of the plastic bag. It was made of thin white plastic, so she didn't have to peer inside to figure out what Amanda had purchased. Teresa gave her the dirtiest look she had ever received in her life. Worse than any look any man ever gave her.

"I hope you know who the father is."