I hope that you guys are ready to read some more Fusco. What can I say? He started talking to me this morning, and the only way to quiet him was to write down everything he said.


I'd Come For You

"Have a seat, Joss," Shaw gestured toward the chair beside the dining room table. "I want to check you out." She waited for Joss to settle before beginning her examination. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better." Except every muscle in her body ached.

Shaw gently touched the stitches. "Does this hurt?"

"A little," Joss admitted with a slight wince. All she wanted to do was sleep, but she knew if she closed her eyes, the nightmare would come back. Her hand unconsciously touched her chest were the scar from the bullet wound was.

"The swelling has gone down, and there is no sign of infection." Shaw put her finger up in front of Joss's face. "Follow my finger," she instructed and moved it in different directions. Satisfied, she pulled back. "Your pupils are almost back to normal size, so I think you're pretty much out of the woods."

"I still have a headache."

"That's to be expected. It should pass in a couple of days. You're still going to look like a boxer until the bruises fade," Shaw remarked. With the utmost care, she dabbed the wound with a cotton ball drenched in hydrogen peroxide.

Joss steeled herself and tried not to move. "I can live with that." At that moment, looks were the last thing on her mind.

"I still wouldn't rule out an MRI or CAT scan to be on the safe side. You did take a heavy blow to your head. I want to make sure your brain stem is okay." Shaw threw the cotton ball in the small trash can.

"How's the wrist?" She motioned at Joss's right arm.

"Hurts." Though not as much as her pride.

"Scale of one to ten?"

"Uh...a seven, I think. It doesn't compare to being shot, but it's up there. Heh," Joss said with a shrug. She tried not to pull back as Shaw carefully and with expert hands, examined her arm.

"Your fingers are a little swollen, but that's going to happen since you can't and shouldn't move them. I'm not going to unwrap the splint until tonight. But I do want to get you an ice pack. And I want you to keep it elevated," Shaw instructed.

Joss nodded. "Okay."

Shaw closed the First-Aid kit, then peeled the gloves off her hands and tossed them in the trash. She gave her patient a serious look. "John said you didn't eat."

Joss inwardly groaned. She should have known he would rat her out. "I'm not hungry."

"I'll admit that I make a better doctor than a chef, but it wasn't that bad. You should try to get something in your stomach to counter all the meds, Joss."

"I..."

"Doctor's orders."

Joss sighed and dropped her shoulders. "Sure. You win."

"I'll get you something. Stay here." Shaw stood up and patted Joss's shoulder.

"You know, Shaw, for all of your stoicism and hard ass attitude, you're really not so bad," Joss admitted.

Shaw turned around. "Right back atcha, Joss. Just don't tell anyone," she winked.

The women shared a small, knowing smile between them.

"I'll be right back." Shaw disappeared into the kitchen to leave Joss alone with her thoughts.
****

Sitting down at his desk, Fusco tried to relax, but as he glanced at Carter's desk, he felt a weird sense of apprehension go thru him. He tried to assure himself that everything was alright, and that if he were needed, Wonder Boy would contact him.

Nervously he looked down at his phone. No new messages. Sighing, he shoved it back in his coat pocket.

Picking up his reading glasses, he adjusted them on his nose and picked up a folder. If he couldn't be of any use to his friends, he could at least try to do something to help take down the remaining criminals on the streets.

"Detective Fusco," a voice asked from behind. Lionel set the folder down and turned around in his chair.

"How can I help you?" he asked as he quickly sized up the well dressed man and his partner. He would bet his bank account they were feds. And he would bet his pension they were here for Carter.

The tall man flashed his credentials. "I'm Marshall Peters," he introduced himself. "This is Marshall Jackson," he nodded toward the short man standing on his right. "We need to ask you a few questions."

Taking off his glasses, Fusco laid them on the desk. "I'll do my best to answer them."

"Have you had any contact with your partner Detective Jocelyn Carter?"

"No."

"Not even a phone call?"

Fusco kept his expression blank. After all he had been through, he had the right to be distrustful of anyone in authority. "No. Why? Is something wrong?"

"She didn't show up to the rendezvous point last night," Peters informed. "We're wondering if you heard anything."

Fusco shook his head. "She hasn't called me." It was the truth, yet he didn't feel the need to elaborate further than that simple answer.

"She's your partner, and she hasn't contacted you?" Marshall Jackson asked with incredulity.

"No. No, she hasn't. What's happened?" Fusco asked. His eyes jumped from one agent to the other.

"I'm sure you're aware that she was supposed to escort a material witness into protective custody." Marshall Peters looked down at this notes. "A, uh, a Sonseeahray Quinn, who happens to be the daughter of Alonzo Quinn – the same man who put a hit out on her." He leveled a steel gaze at Fusco. "And you."

"I appreciate the reminder, Marshall," Fusco replied with just a tad bit of disdain in his tone.

"Weren't you supposed to accompany your partner in the transport of the witness?" Peters inquired.

Fusco nodded. "I was. I was detained with other matters and couldn't fulfill my obligation."

"May I ask what these 'other matters' were?"

"I was sent out of state to investigate a new development on a cold case," Fusco returned smoothly.

"How convenient for you, Detective."

"Last minute change of plans, compliments of my Captain. I didn't have a say. "You'll have to ask Captain Womack what happened," he threw the blame back where it belonged."

"Your Captain sent you out of town knowing that your partner was escorting a targeted witness?" Peters couldn't believe his ears.

"Don't believe me, ask him. But then again, getting the truth out of him might entail some kind of miracle only Jesus could perform," Fusco replied tongue in cheek.

"We found the vehicle Detective Carter was driving." Peters pulled out his phone and showed the mangled wreckage of Joss's SUV. "She was three hundred miles outside of Manhattan."

Fusco glanced quickly then looked away. "What happened?"

"We believe she was ran off the road by an unknown driver. The SUV appears to have rolled three times before resting beside a tree. We did find bullet holes in the SUV and the bodies of two unidentified men nearby, but no trace of her. Do you know if she mentioned being followed by anyone?"

Fusco tried not too appear nervous, but the news of Joss nearly dying again, shook him to his core. "We haven't spoken since yesterday morning. Are you sure she wasn't in the vehicle?"

"We found her cell phone and purse, but her service weapon was missing. We believe she's been injured severely since blood was found inside."

"Have you checked the hospitals?" Fusco asked.

"We have APB's out to every hospital and clinic between here and the accident site. That is why we need to know if she's contacted you."

"She hasn't. But I'm sure she has her reasons."

Exasperated, the agents looked at one another. They had no leads and no way of pining any of their suspicions on the rotund detective, but their hands were tied. Joss Carter was missing, and Alonzo Quinn was on the run, and their hands were tied until they got a solid lead.

"You are aware that Alonzo Quinn has escaped and is on the run?" Jackson asked hoping the news would throw Fusco.

His hands shoved deep in his dress slacks pockets, Fusco crossed his fingers to ward off any bad karma. "This is the first I've heard of it. Do you know where he is?" he wondered.

"We're sure he's heading back here to New York. Has he been in contact with you?"

"Trust me, the last thing Alonzo Quinn wants to do is contact me," Fusco tried to keep the venom out of his tone. "If he's smart, he'll leave the country," he advised to the Marshals.

"So, he hasn't contacted you?" Peters repeated the question. His eyes met Fusco's in a form of intimidation. But the Detective was prepared for it. After all he had been through during his career, a couple of wet-behind the ears Federal Marshalls were not going to intimidate him.

"I've said it before, and I'll say it again: No." Fusco's blue eyes blazed hot and dared the agent to contradict him.

"We have reason to believe his life is in danger."

"Is that so? I'd act surprised, but I forgot my 'surprised' face at home this morning," Fusco quipped dryly.

"We need to find your partner. And we need to find Quinn."

"I don't know where she is; I don't know where he is," Fusco replied honestly. He didn't know where Joss was or how she was faring. All he knew was that their mutual friends were taking care of her, and she was safe. For the moment. And he couldn't give two shits about Quinn.

Marshall Peters handed his card over. "If Joss Carter should contact you..."

"She won't. But if she does, I'll call you," Fusco dismissed the pair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to finish filing these reports before my Captain has my ass."

They knew when to take their leave. But the Marshalls would be back. As they turned around, Peters caught Womack staring intently from his office before quickly lowering his eyes.

Yeah, Peters thought to himself, they were going to be revisiting the 8th Precinct before too long.
*****

"Where are we?" Taylor asked as he waited for Paul to unlock the door to the safe-house.

"I didn't ask questions," Paul replied simply and turned the knob. Opening the door, he stepped inside the modestly but adequately furnished living area. Heavy drapes hung to cover the windows. Setting his overnight bag on the island separating the living area from the kitchen, Paul finally took a deep breath.

"So, you don't know why we're here?" Taylor asked in disbelief. "You pull me out of school and take me to the middle of nowhere and you didn't bother to ask?"

Paul closed his eyes and counted to ten. Turning slowly, he faced his son.

"Taylor, I'm not sure what is happening, but it's safer for us to be here. Trust me on that."

Taylor hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder and looked down at his shoes. "It's her fault, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Mom. She got herself into some kind of trouble – again – and we are paying for it."

"I don't know what is going on, Taylor, but I am sure that your mother has it under control," Paul tried to diffuse the moment that threatened to blow up.

"Sure she does. She's always running head long into things without considering the consequences," Taylor fumed. Like having sex with strangers, he thought to himself.

"I'm not sure where this attitude is coming from, son, but I suggest you put a cork in it. Now," Paul warned.

Taylor gave a sarcastic snort. "Really? You're still defending her. Unbelievable."

Paul squared his shoulders. "What does that mean?" he asked. He promised to hold on to his temper, but with each second Taylor kept pressing him, the more he found himself losing control.

"Look, Dad, I don't really want to get into it. I'm going to go to my room." Taylor headed down the short hallway to the door at the end. Opening it, he stepped inside before he closed it with a kick.

Paul balled his fists and counted to ten. He let out his breath. Then he counted again. He felt his heart begin to race and his blood pressure rise. He swallowed, licked his lips, and forced himself to breathe normally.

Get a drink, the little voice in the back of his mind taunted. You know you want one. Give in.

"No," he said out loud. "No." He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his three year medallion for sobriety. He had been through a lot in the past few years, but he would be damned if a teenager was going to make him give up everything. But damn if it wasn't tempting. A drink would be good right about now.

But he was better than that, he told himself as he turned the coin over his fingers and slowly began to relax.

"I don't know how you do it, Joss," he said under his breath. "God help me, I don't know how you do it. But if you make it through this – for Taylor's sake, and mine, too, – I'm going to take you to dinner. After I build an altar to you."