Disclaimer: Thank you to Janet Evanovich for creating wonderful characters and letting us play. Not mine.
A/N: Happy Halloween! Here's a fun treat for you! Thank you so much for your reviews and encouragement. It feeds my creative soul.
Many thanks again to misty23y for her diligent editing. She's been especially wonderful paying attention to the details as I get my head screwed on right again.
Chapter 35
Date/Time Stamp: Wednesday, 19 SEP 1200-1445
Stephanie POV
In what feels like only a second later, Carlos is gently urging me to wake. I blink away the haze of deep sleep, my vision slowly focusing on mocha latte skin, deep brown eyes and the small smile only I get to see. I give a small smile in return before closing my eyes again and groaning.
Carlos chuckles underneath me. "Babe," he says while rubbing my arms and kissing my forehead. "Dr. Anderson will be here in two hours. I want to give you time to eat, and I'd like to have an opportunity to talk before she arrives."
I suppress another groan. My greatest desire at the moment is to continue sleeping in a cocoon of Carlos and me. However, I know he wouldn't ask it of me if it wasn't important. I blink my eyes open again and shift to sit up, stretching my aching limbs as I do so. "Let's do it," I say. Carlos stands and holds his hand out to me, and I gratefully take it as I rise after him.
I want to show Carlos I am determined to do better and to be a stronger more mature person. He's accepted and embraced me despite every curveball I've thrown at him. It would appear my first reckoning ground is lunch. Someone has thoughtfully prepared what I deduct is the Cuban version of minestrone. It has a slight kick, and the warm vegetable broth is soothing to my sore throat. Carlos joins me, and we eat in quiet company. I finish the modest bowl, and I see his smile of appreciation. "Thank you," I say quietly. "That hit the spot."
"Would you like anything else?" he asks.
I ask for tea, and we rise together. Carlos fills and sets the tea kettle on the stove. As we wait for the water to boil, he shows me the ins and outs of where things are in the kitchen. When the tea bag is seeping, aromatically filling the air with scents of chamomile, ginger, and lemon, I move towards Carlos, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting the side of my head on his chest. I am not going to complain, but this cold combined with the past few days has me dead on my feet, and I feel drained emotionally. His warmth and presence feel like a lifeline in the rough waters I've been navigating.
After a long minute, I break the embrace. Looking up, I say, "I love you. I'm glad to be here with you, but I'm going to take a moment for myself. Where should I meet you for the conversation you need to have?"
"Querida, te quiero. Do you know where my office is?" he says gently.
I nod yes, take my tea and make my way to the master bedroom. I'm freezing, probably a result of the fever, and I pad into the closet for Carlos's hoodie. I use the restroom, and seeing the 360-degree madness of my hair, pull it into a loose ponytail. I still look terrible, but the effort has me feeling more mentally prepared. I pull the hood up and make my way down the hall, warming my hands on the mug.
I meet Bobby in the kitchen, and he joins me on my trek. "How're you feeling, Bomber?" he asks kindly.
I feel like this is another old Stephanie, new Stephanie moment, and I'm proud again of the progress I'm making to be more mature. Previously, I would have brushed Bobby off, not considering that I was hurting myself by preventing care and hurting Bobby by blocking his attempts at friendship and causing unnecessary worry. This time, I give honesty its due.
"Thank you for coming down here, Bobby. I'm learning a lot about who my friends and support network are. I'm glad you're here and that you care about me," I start. I feel his eyes boring into me in surprise. "I feel run-down. I'm grateful Dr. Anderson is coming here today, and I intend to rest once these meetings are complete."
We enter Carlos's office, and I stop in the doorway to take it in. On the far end is a massive mahogany desk, that, while having clean and simple dimensions, manages to look strong and subtly elegant. The wall behind the desk is floor to ceiling books, with occasional pictures and mementos placed on the shelves. There are people I recognize, such as Julie and the Core Team, and others I don't, but, based on the physical resemblance to Carlos, I assume are family.
There is a black leather couch against the opposing wall with additional bookshelves. The picture above the sofa is a striking oil painting of a boat fighting through rough seas, but with clear, calm weather breaking out behind it. There is a long, rectangular window paralleling the ceiling on the wall opposite the door that shows glimpses of the garden outside. Framing Carlos' desk is two additional plush leather chairs that match the room exactly. It's a professional yet intimate space.
Carlos is working on his computer and looks up as we take a seat. Bobby shifts his eyes between Carlos and myself, saying, "If it's alright with both of you, I'd like to do another set of vitals." Carlos looks at me, and I surmise he is relieved as I give my consent. Bobby is efficient, and I'm not surprised when he says the fever has risen. He looks directly at Carlos, "Please make this short, and I suggest an abbreviated visit with Dr. Anderson. Steph needs rest." Carlos nods once, and Bobby passes a couple of pills my way before leaving.
Carlos stands and directs both of us to the couch. We sit facing each other, and he takes my hands before beginning, "Babe, you've stated you want to be involved in decision making, and as such, there are a couple of things I need to discuss with you. Late yesterday I was notified that someone once again broke into your apartment. The damage is extensive. Most of your property is either soiled with excrement, smashed, or slashed. Spray paint messages around the room repeat the word 'snitch.' Bobby saved whatever was salvageable and brought it here with him. Rangeman conducted the initial forensics before calling in TPD to open a joint investigation between both the Trenton PD and Rangeman. I'm sorry. I know how much you value your space, and how hard you worked to earn those belongings."
Tears smart my eyes in spite of myself. I've suffered extensive property loss before, and it is never any less painful. While many things are just that, things, some stuff begins to have memories built around it, becomes an instant favorite or ultimately can't be replaced. I was willing to separate with most of it, but I wanted to make that choice, not have someone make it for me. It's the violation behind the loss that hurts the most, and this violation was intended to hurt me.
"Do you have any leads?" I ask, and my voice is shaky with emotion.
"Nothing conclusive, but based on several escalating voice messages you've received from Morelli, he is our primary suspect," Carlos says, empathy clear on his face.
"Anything else?" I follow-up, wanting to get all the bad news over with at once.
Carlos sets his jaw, then continues, "The Chief is investigating the betting at the station. Based on interviews so far, it appears as though Morelli was the ringleader in the continual betting against you, something he denies. I'll be speaking with Juniak tomorrow morning, but I expect the investigation to be complete by Friday."
My jaw drops open, and I'm too shocked to say anything for a second. I knew Morelli hated my job, that he wanted me to quit, but that he actively worked against my success by hindering my relationship with the police department and tarnishing my reputation is an unexpected betrayal. I close my mouth and sigh heavily. I guess that tiger never changed his stripes after all; it just took me a while to see them.
Carlos squeezes my hands. I'm sure relaying this information is weighing on him as well, and I again appreciate his companionship. "Okay, what else?" I press.
"I'm going to tell you the next piece of information now so that you don't hear about it in some other manner. Since we began surveillance, Morelli has been documented having sexual relations with multiple women," Carlos says, his eyes never leaving mine.
I consider immediately pressing him for the who, what, when, but then I realize, I don't want to know. At least not right now. It's enough to know how insincere his pathetic attempts to woo me back are. This conversation is serving as a painful reminder that when I lived in denial land, I prevented myself from seeing the world as it was, and the person I hurt was myself. I press my lips together and nod my head, indicating Carlos should continue.
"Tank and Bobby canvassed nearly half the restrooms in the Burg, and Tank finished the task last night. They documented and destroyed eight messages left by Morelli." Carlos pauses, and I assume he sees the words in his mind. "I'm again sorry, Babe, that you had to see and deal with that. No one should ever treat someone else that way," Carlos continues, his voice rich with emotion.
I shrug and look away. "Sometimes I think everyone sees me that way," I quietly confess.
Carlos gently places a hand under my chin and redirects my gaze. "I don't, and no one here does," he says seriously.
"I know, but I'm still learning," I say humbly. "How's Rex?"
Carlos nearly rolls his eyes, and it's possibly the most astounding moment of the conversation. "Rex is being spoiled as the Rangeman mascot, safe in the building. Your mother was opposed to us taking him, your father indifferent, and your Grandmother stepped up, enlisting Tank and Bobby in, her words, Operation Rescue Rex. She snuck Rex out the bathroom window and still managed to cop a feel on Tank," he finishes with a grimace.
I giggle, and Carlos kisses my forehead. When he pulls back, his face is serious again. "I'd like to enact what Rangeman calls hangman protocol," he says, explaining the general outline of the plan. It's good, but I can see how to make it stronger. I'm ready for Morelli to fall. It looks like I'll be doing a little more confessing today, but at least this time it's for the better.
"Could you please have the guys come in here?" I ask, moving to the chair closest to Carlos's desk. He looks at me quizzically, but within a minute everyone is gathered. "Hector, will you please log into the Rangeman servers from your account?"
No one is attempting to hide their curiosity anymore. Carlos turns the monitor and pushes the keyboard and mouse towards Hector. As he logs in, I begin to explain. "As you know, I've been a bit more paranoid and security conscious these past few months. While I knew you would do anything I asked, especially in regards to beefing up security at my apartment, I wasn't ready to let on what was going on in my life. In an attempt at curing my insomnia, I began reading the most boring things I could think of, including every item of junk mail sent to my apartment. While at Rangeman, I tend to spend a fair amount of time in the server rooms or technology office visiting Hector, and I picked up some of the tech manuals, instructions, and policies. I borrowed some of the smallest security cameras from the equipment room and installed them myself," I say, seeing curiosity turning to surprise.
I turn my gaze to Hector with an apologetic expression. "I needed someplace to have the data stored, but the manuals only include procedures within Rangeman's network. I figured out your password by watching your keystrokes and hid a file on the server. I'm sorry for hacking your network," I say sheepishly. Hector grinned in admiration, and if I'm not mistaken, pride.
"Beautiful, are you telling us you used sleepless nights as an opportunity to learn network security? And then you used it against us?" Lester asks in astonishment while Bobby chuckles under his breath.
"You never disappoint, Babe," Carlos says.
I shrug, slightly embarrassed at the whole thing, and give Hector the file address. Seconds later we are watching a color video in high definition of Morelli pissing on my bed. He has a duffle bag with him, and he puts on gloves before opening bag after bag of dog poop, the individual kind people use to collect and dispose of animal waste near parks. I pale as he opens my underwear drawer, picks up a pair of panties and uses it as a rag to smear the shit like finger paint across my home. I'm fixated on the underwear, my horror causing my throat to tighten and my core becomes numb. They are blue. I feel my shame and sense of deep violation increase as I realize it's the panties I was wearing the last time we had sex. Morelli picks up a vase from my dresser and violently throws it across the room, continuing with the picture frames beside it. He strides out of the room and returns with a kitchen knife, slashing my clothes at random. I see him pull a spray can out of the duffle bag, and I force myself to meet Carlos' eye. He pauses the video. I take a deep breath to steady myself, but my stomach remains tightly clenched.
"Morelli, as you know, has Bob, and there are a few community poop pails at the neighborhood park between his house and Mooch's. His brother, Anthony, has a German Shepherd, and Mooch has a pit bull. It's likely, should doggy DNA be necessary, that there's a match implicating at least one of them. I think this should give you what you need to execute your plan," I say in as straightforward a tone as I can before I stand and leaving the room. I need air, and I need to lay down.
I stop outside the door to place my hand against the wall for support. For the sake of moving the conversation along productively, I set my feelings aside, but I can feel the dam threatening to break again. My vision is tunneling, and I take a deep breath to steady myself. "Babe, are you okay?" I hear Carlos ask. I shake my head no. I don't even want to pretend I can handle this on my own, and it's an incredible relief to know I don't have to anymore. Strong arms pick me up, and I feel instantly safer and loved. I grip Carlos' shirt as the tears begin the fall.
He carries us to our bed and continues to hold me as he rests against the headboard, murmuring to me in Spanish. I find my thoughts beginning to settle in the security of the moment, but the order in which they fall is chaotic. "You're not mad, are you?" I weep out, needing to hear the answer I already know. "I know stealing the cameras and installing them on the network was deceitful of me and an abuse of my employment with you. I'm sorry."
Carlos kisses my curls, holding it as he breathes against my hair. "No, Quierda, not at all. I'm proud of you for protecting yourself. The video you collected is the evidence we needed to convict Morelli. If you feel unsafe, however, please talk to me. I'm always willing to help," he says gently.
"I know, I'm sorry. I will in the future," I say contritely. "I don't understand why Morelli did what he did to my apartment. I mean, on the one hand, he says he wants me back, but his actions show an outright hatred of me, even loathing. I don't know what I did to make him feel that way about me, and I don't understand why he can get away such behavior over and over again without anyone calling him on his bullshit."
"Babe, his days of getting away with shit are coming to a close, thanks to you," Carlos says before kissing my forehead once again.
I curl my body into him more tightly, and he pulls up the blanket while keeping the other arm secure on my torso. I quietly cry, releasing the loss, betrayal, and anger of the afternoon, letting it go instead of holding it in. I gradually calm, and as I begin to fall asleep, Carlos kisses me again while nudging me slightly. "Quierda, Dr. Anderson will be here in 15 minutes. Are you up to talking with her, even for a short while?" he gently asks.
I yawn. "Yes, but not for an hour. You were right to bring up the news from home before our meeting. Please, be there with me? I want to lean on you," I say quietly. Carlos envelops me in his embrace.
"Of course," he says in a deep voice. "Thank you for asking."
We relocate to the couch in Carlos's office as Bobby escorts in Dr. Anderson. She turns one of the desk chairs to sit and face us.
"Hello, Stephanie. I'm sorry you aren't feeling well, but I'm glad we were able to find a way to meet. I understand it's been an eventful 24 hours. Is there anything you would like to talk about?" she begins in her tone of professional compassion.
I lay out the details in broad strokes, but I take the time to pause and express how I feel. I'm only beginning to absorb the impact of Carlos' updates from Trenton. I zero in on my relief the bathroom messages are gone as well as my deep sense of betrayal and loss at Joe's actions, from leading the station betting to sleeping around so prolifically when he says he wants me back to the attack at my home. I feel violated in every sense, and I doubt my judgment. Dr. Anderson asks open-ended questions, but I can tell she is working to show me my feelings are valid and that Joe's actions aren't my responsibility. I also explain how her diagnosis feels like a heavy label, but that I am willing to embrace the work it takes to heal. We keep the session to a half an hour, but by the end, I feel my perspectives sharpening and overall more in control.
"I recommend that as you continue to process all of this to write it down in a journal. Many patients find that the process of organizing their thoughts into writing and then reviewing it later helps them heal and gain a new understanding. Please rest, and take care of yourself, Stephanie," Dr. Anderson kindly orders before standing. Carlos stands with me, my silent rock through the entire session, and I hold his hand.
"Thank you, I will," I reply.
Carlos and I return to the bedroom. I take a trip through the restroom, and when I return, there is tea, a bottle of water and a fruit salad with a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant waiting for me, beautifully assembled on a tray, resting on the nightstand. "Where would you like to eat?" Carlos asks.
I point to the patio, and I sit in one of two chairs near the circular café table. The sun is beginning to set, and the view is cathartic. I eat in silence, appreciating Carlos's presence. I finish, stand and stop in front of him, who immediately stands to embrace me. I breathe in the faint smell of Bulgari and pure Carlos, and I exhale my remaining stress away for the moment. "Thank you for being here, and thank you for being you. I love you, and I appreciate everything you are doing to help me," I say into his chest.
"No price, Babe," he says, kissing my curls, and I savor the tingle that follows all the way down to my toes. "I love you, too."
I take his hand and lead us to the bed. "Stick a fork in me; I'm done," I declare, collapsing into the bed. I get comfortable, burying myself in the fluffy blanket. "It's early for you. I'm sure you have things you need to do. I promise to find you if I need anything."
"I'm never too busy for you, Babe," he says, curling up next to me in the bed.
I drift asleep instantly.