XLIX) By Any Means Necessary

New York City, New York

He was back at the restaurant they ate at last night.

It was packed and there was a line-up to get to the hostess stand.

"Do you have reservations?" the woman asked without looking up.

"I ate here last night and sat at that table," Cal Lightman told her, waiting until he caught her attention before pointing to the table. "I need to know who the waiter was..."

The girl gave him a quizzical look. "Excuse me...but why?"

And suddenly Cal spotted him in the restaurant, making him forget about the hostess. He waited until he left the table he was serving and then Cal dashed into the dining room, intercepting the waiter before he entered the kitchen. "You remember me?" Cal asked. "I was here last night with a woman and two other men. I had the steak. Or I should say...tried to have it."

One quick glance and the waiter turned away. "Look...I'm sorry but I don't. Last night was really busy."

Liar.

Cal flashed him a Lightman Group ID card, barely long enough to give him a chance to look at it. "I work with the CIA," he lied. "I need to talk to you for a moment."

The man swallowed. Fear. "Uh...can it wait? It's really busy right now."

Cal smiled. "It's always really busy here, isn't it?" He led him outside. "Couple of minutes of your time, that's all I need."

Like a good sheep, the man complied.

"Follow me," Cal insisted, leading him away from the restaurant's front door and into an alley in the rear.

He could see the growing discomfort on the man's face. "What is this about?"

"My friend was drugged last night." Cal said it slowly to see the man's reaction. There was no surprise on the man's face and that told him everything he needed to know. "It knocked her out and then it made her sick. Really sick."

"I'm...I'm sorry."

Cal stared him down. Intimidation 101. "Why? Why would you be sorry? Unless...you had a hand in it?"

"No..." he answered, too quickly. "I meant, like, when someone dies...you say you're sorry, right? That's all I was trying to say. I'm sorry your friend was sick."

Cal didn't have time for these games. He grabbed the waiter by his collar and shoved him against the wall, so hard and so fast that the guy didn't know what hit him.

"What the..." he coughed.

"I know you know something about who tampered with my friend's drink last night. I don't think you're smart enough to be part of this grand plot yourself...but that someone made you do it. I suggest you tell me who it was."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I wish you'd stop lying to me.

Cal punched the guy in his skinny stomach, so hard that he took his breath away.

"You can make it easy. Or you can make it hard for yourself," he told him. "Your choice. But you are gonna tell me."

"I don't know..." he sobbed.

You're the most pathetic guy I've ever had to threaten.

One more punch into his stomach. Cal didn't think he'd be able to handle much more.

The waiter was crying now. "He...he threatened my mother," he told him as he slid down the brick wall, crouching on the ground of the alley now.

Cal kneeled down to look at his face. "Who did?"

"The guy...the guy who made me dump the vial in her drink."

"What guy?"

"I don't know! I swear to god...I'd never seen him before. He was sitting at the bar...came in after the four of you sat down. He...he took me aside. Told me what he'd do to my mother..." He was sobbing harder now. "If...if I didn't do it. He said...he'd slit her throat. He knew where she lived. Knew her name..."

Cal watched the man's face as he spilled his story. Finally he was telling the truth.

"Are there cameras in the restaurant that face the bar?"

The waiter wiped his face. "What?"

"Cameras that might have caught the guy?"

"No...no cameras. "

Cal wished the waiter wasn't telling the truth this time.

"I'm sorry..." he repeated.

Cal wanted to tell him that he was a coward. Wanted to punch him again but it would have been such a hypocritical move, knowing that he was about to do the same thing. Was about to let himself be blackmailed too.

And in my case the victim will die.

Cal felt the bitter taste of bile rising in his throat.

They weren't so different, him and the cowardly waiter. And all this fishing expedition did was confirm that Foster was drugged at the restaurant. Nothing else.

Cal left him there, clutching his mid-section in the back-alley.


New York Marriott East Side

It was when she discarded her clothes to step into the bathtub that it occurred to her that the men's shirt she was wearing wasn't her own. That she'd worn a red dress to the restaurant the night before and that she wasn't the one who took it off.

Cal undressed me last night.

The water hit her face at the same time as the realization did. A flash of guilt hit her then too, not because of what he'd gone through with her last night. She'd have done the same for him if the tables were turned. Cal was her best friend and she trusted him with her life.

She felt guilty because the thought of him undressing her didn't bother her at all. Because part of her wished she'd been awake when he did.

Gillian turned up the heat, forcing the thoughts from her mind as she bit her lower lip. And then she sat down, because she really didn't have the energy to stand. Still felt like she'd been hit by a truck. She let the hot rays of water cascade over her, wishing it were as easy to wash away this entire mess of a case.

Gillian thought back to last night and it made her shiver, in spite of the boiling hot water that poured over her.

She'd looked forward to the dinner all day. After a long day of travelling and working without so much as a break, she'd dressed up for it, looked at the menu online with eager excitement, while Cal mocked her for it. Riled her for her habit of gushing over five-star restaurants.

And she didn't even make it as far as the food. All she remembered was the unbearable heaviness that hit her after that first glass of wine. Remembered being unable to think clearly and that it took a monumental effort just to sit upright at the table and form a coherent sentence.

Vaguely remembered Cal leaving the restaurant with her. Pushing her into a taxi.

What if he hadn't left with me? Would the taxi driver have dropped me off at a hospital? Or at a street corner? Would that have been my death sentence?

Thinking back to it made her realize how shockingly easy it had been for someone to take control of her life.

It made her cry and she knew that was an after-effect of the drugs too. That these things messed with your brain chemistry and elicited the kind of emotions that overwhelmed you. Sadness, melancholy, depression, helplessness, fear.

Gillian got up with unsteady legs and slowed washed her hair, letting the water mix with her tears.

Get a grip. You're going to be okay. Worst is over.

Stepping out of the shower she wrapped herself in one of the thick, fluffy hotel towels and walked back into the bedroom.

Cal was right when he said that getting some food in would probably help her feel better. But she wasn't ready for it yet.

Gillian dropped the towel on the floor and sank back into the bed, burying herself underneath the thick duvet. At first she couldn't stop shivering because her hair was still wet and she was so damn cold.

But she didn't have the energy to dry her hair either.

Gillian winced when she heard her cell phone ring. She didn't want to answer it. But it could be Cal, needing to tell her something about the case.

Eyes half closed, she picked it up and answered the call.

"Gillian?"

"Alec...?"

"What's going on? I've been trying to reach you all night. I left you messages and then I called Cal and he said you're sick? Is that right?"

"Yeah...I was."

"I was worried. I wish you'd returned my messages."

"I'm sorry...I just...last night I couldn't."

"You okay now?"

"Getting there."

"Good."

"Look Alec, right now I..."

"It's just that...I really needed you last night."

"What?"

"I went to this work function...and some people there, they started doing lines of coke, so I left the room and I called you. I...just, I really needed to talk to you last night and you didn't pick up."

She knew what coming next. That he'd tell her did coke last night 'cause she didn't pick up the phone.

I almost overdosed and you were doing drugs?

The absurdity of it all made her want to cry.

"Gill? Are you there?"

I am. But I can't have this conversation. Not now.

And I hate you for asking me to...I hate you...Cal would never...

"Look...I'm sorry, Alec. I really was sick."

"I believe you, it's not that I don't believe you...I just really needed you last night."

"Why didn't you leave the function?"

"I couldn't. Not last night. I want to be honest with you. To tell you. To let you know it's not going to happen again."

Yeah, it will.

"One slip doesn't mean you're relapsing."

"I know."

"Alec..."

"What is it?"

"Can we talk later? I have the worst headache."

"Yeah...of course." The disappointment was so heavy in his voice that it laced her with more guilt. "Get some rest, darling. Hope you feel better. I love you."

"Bye, Alec."

She started crying again after he hung up.


FBI, New York Field Office

Cal stared at the guy sitting in the interrogation room.

He looked so ridiculously normal. Middle-aged, pale-skin, thinning grey-brown hair and slim build. Had Cal seen him on the street he might've guessed accountant. Or librarian.

Not organized-crime informant.

"So you said you need two interviews to determine whether the guy's lying?" Special Agent Nate Messino asked him. He was staring into the interrogation room along with Cal and his partner, Joey Schmidt.

"Yeah," Cal lied. He didn't but he had to buy himself at least one more day to figure out what he was going to do. "Today's just about establishing a baseline."

"A baseline?"

"In order to read someone when they're lying, I first have to figure out what they look like when they're not lying. Will take about an hour or so," he explained.

"You can do that on your own?"

Cal nodded. "Foster's skills are a little different from mine. It's easier for her to pick up vocal inflections without having a baseline to draw from." He was making it up as he went along and they were swallowing it hook, line and sinker.

"How is Foster?" Special Agent Schmidt asked him.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," Cal told him casually.

"You don't know?"

There was something he caught in the man's face that suddenly sent chills up Cal's spine. He might've expected Nate Messino, the guy who had an obvious crush on Foster to ask about her. But not Joey Schmidt, who barely paid her any attention last night.

And he definitely wasn't expecting the sheer terror her caught in Schmidt's face right now.

You're scared. Terrified that I didn't actually take her back to the hotel last night. That maybe I didn't get the message from the mob...

"She mixed her meds with the wine last night," Cal him, not taking his eyes of the man's face now. "Made her feel drowsy. She's got a heart condition. Shouldn't be drinking at all...keep telling her that. But you know how it is.." Cal shrugged his shoulders. "Women. They don't listen."

"She has a...heart condition?"

Gotcha.

"Yeah..." Cal answered casually, hoping his voice didn't give away his shock. Or his sudden, violent desire to punch him in the face. Grateful that neither of them had his skills. Or Foster's.

"Was she...okay when you dropped her off last night?"

"She was pretty out of it. So I just put her to bed."

"You haven't heard from her since?"

Panic. That's what he saw on Schmidt's face now. He might've hidden it from his oblivious partner, Nate, but Cal saw every micro-expression on the man's face and he had to fight back the urge to tackle him right now.

The only reason you're this terrified is because you know why she got sick yesterday.

Special Agent Joey Schmidt was the reason they knew exactly how to drug Foster last night. He was the mole. And now he was panicking. Thinking he might've committed murder. So much so that Cal could literally see him start to sweat.

"Nah...figured she was just gonna sleep it off and since I didn't need her this afternoon anyway, why bother her?" He gave Schmidt a slap on the shoulder. "Besides, I'm not her mother."

"She...didn't look so good last night. Maybe we should call her."

Cal squinted and took a step towards him, tilting his head a little as he looked up at him. The FBI agent was nearly a head taller than Cal.

Not gonna make a difference when I beat the crap out of you.

"Look...I don't have time for this." Cal stuck his hands in his pockets and gave him an annoyed look. Impressed with his own acting skills. "Can we stop talking about my partner and start this interrogation? Haven't got all day."


New York Marriott East Side

Cal knocked first but then didn't wait long before he used one of Foster's keys to enter her hotel room.

She was sitting on the couch in her room, legs curled up underneath her, watching TV.

A smile lit up her face when she saw him. "I thought I put up the 'do not disturb' sign."

"Funny." He plopped himself down next to her, put his feet on the coffee table and rested a hand on her thigh. "Take it you're feeling better."

She nodded and turned off the TV. "I am."

Cal looked at her. Truth was she still looked like death warmed over. He could still see the discomfort written on her face. "You keep any food down?"

"I had two aspirin and half a granola bar from the mini-bar basket."

He smirked. "Breakfast of champions."

"How did it go at the FBI office?" she wanted to know.

Cal pushed himself back off the couch. "Let's talk about it over dinner."

Foster frowned. "I don't think I can..."

"Don't wanna discuss it here," he told her and held out his hand. "We won't go far," he promised her. "Saw a little place that you'll like a block from here."

"Cal?"

"Come on," he reached for her hand and pulled her up. "One block. You can do it."


Later

Gillian watched him eat, or rather, devour, his bowl of ramen, deftly using the chopsticks to put the noodles and pork on his spoon, before dipping the entire thing back into the miso broth and slurping it up. She watched him do it a few times in sequence, entranced by the fluidity of it all. Until Cal put down the spoon and looked up at her.

"Stop watching me and eat your own food," he chided her.

Gillian toyed with the noodles in her bowl. It was the most harmless dish she could have ordered. Noodles with chicken in a clear broth but even so she still had a hard time with it. Had only managed a few bites because the nausea was still there, threatening to send her running to the bathroom. And throwing up here didn't hold a lot of appeal.

"I am," she mumbled, twirling the noodles through the broth with her own chopsticks.

"No, you're not. It's all still there in the bowl."

"Stop nagging."

"You gotta get keep some food down, luv. Don't want you collapsing on me twice in two days. My back can't handle it."

Gillian narrowed her eyes. "Thanks."

His face was serious. "Half the bowl. Don't wimp out on me now."

"Okay, okay..." He had a point. She was ridiculously light-headed and the ten-minute walk to the Japanese noodle house, where they were sitting in a private booth now, had wiped her out. She did need to start keeping some food down. Wasn't going to start feeling better until she did.

"Are you going to tell me what happened at the FBI office?"

"After we eat," he mumbled, his mouth full.

Gillian sighed and drank some of the broth. She wasn't going to win this one.

Fifteen minutes later she did manage to finish more than half the bowl, to Cal's approval.

"That's my girl."

"Tell me what happened with the FBI."

"I interviewed Franco."

"And?"

"He's telling the truth."

Gillian gave her half finished bowl of noodles a little push away from her. That truth made her feel sick again.

"He wants to confess to half a dozen things he saw in the mob, including first degree murder, and he wants out," Cal added.

"We can't tell the FBI he's lying, Cal."

"We also can't tell them he's telling the truth until we've got a back-up plan."

"I won't...condemn this guy to a certain death just because they're threatening me. I can't..." she tried to explain. She'd broken the law more than once in the last six years working with Lightman. Had lied to clients and left the scene of a crime but this...this wasn't the same. This was killing a man.

I couldn't live with myself if we go through with this.

"Threatening you?" Cal put his elbows on the table and leaned in towards her. "They almost killed you last night! These guys aren't spewing empty threats, Gill."

Gillian swallowed. "It doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" he looked at her incredulously. "Are you kidding me?"

"Cal," she groaned. "That's not what I mean. I'm not trying to be some hero here. Trust me, I'm selfish enough to put my life before Franco's...and this whole thing terrifies me, but I can't do this. I can't condemn another man to die because I'm scared. And I am scared."

Cal sighed, his features softening. "Found out something else at the field office today," he told her.

"What?"

"Joey Schmidt is the mob's inside man."

"What? Special Agent Schmidt who had dinner with us last night? Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Got some reactions from him that I wasn't expecting...so I tested him. He's dirty, Gill, and he was scared shitless that he might've killed you last night."

It made her livid, to think that Schmidt was sitting at their table last night, making small talk with them, while he knew exactly what was about to happen.

"If you know for sure, then let's come clean about it all. Let's tell the FBI what happened and tell them what we know. "

"If we were going to come clean about this, we should've done it when it happened. Or as soon as I realized it was Schmidt. Doing it now won't give us a hell of a lot of credibility."

"We were scared and had to consider everything. It's the truth."

"Schmidt will deny it and if he fights our accusation you know our science won't hold up in court."

"But it's good enough for the FBI to use it to determine whether Franco's telling the truth?"

"The FBI already thinks Franco's telling the truth, they just want our science as insurance, " Cal reminded her.

A young Asian server came to take what was left of their food from the table, interrupting their conversation when he handed Cal the bill.

"What other option do we have, besides telling them the truth?"

He fiddled with his paper napkin. "We tell them Franco's lying. While you remind yourself that this guy's an ex-mobster with blood on his hands, one who's leaving a life of crime only out of self-preservation. "

This time she was the one who leaned in towards him. "No."

"At least think about it for five bloody minutes, would you?"

"No."

Not doing that. Because I might even consider it then. Because I'm really not that brave.

Cal sighed and Gillian could see the anger and frustration on his face now, not sure whether it was it directed at herself or at their situation.

His hazel-grey eyes met hers. Pensive. "Fine then. You tell me how we're going to get out of this and keep both of you alive."