Oliver sprinted toward his house, fear driving strength into legs that felt heavy after a night of little sleep. He heard Tommy yell, "What are you doing?" from somewhere behind him, but didn't stop to answer. The thought of getting to Felicity a minute too late propelled him. She's brilliant, he told himself. She might be outgunned, but she's got the edge in intelligence. Still, he knew that at some point physics would triumph. No matter how smart Felicity was, she couldn't think away a well-aimed arrow.
He raced through the front door and down the hall to the basement stairs, then descended into the cool space under the house. He knew exactly where it was, even though he hadn't looked at it in years. He saw too many reminders every day to forget about its existence; his grandfather's photo, the money he hid from QC's books to the pay the Bratva, his sister's empty room in the mansion. They were all souvenirs from the Star City Archer.
The trunk was half-hidden behind a cluster of furniture covered in white sheets. He ran to it and flung open the lid, dispersing a layer of dust into the air. And there it was; Jonas's legacy. He stared at it for a few seconds before reaching in and picking up the bow. It was unstrung, of course, because that was the proper way to store a bow when you weren't going to use it for a long time. His grandfather had pounded that into his ten-year-old head every time he took him shooting. Those archery lessons were another part of Jonas Queen's legacy.
"Straighten that left arm, Oliver, but don't lock the elbow."
"It is straight, Grandpa."
"It could be straighter. Look at my position."
Oliver gave his grandfather cursory glance and barely resisted rolling his eyes. In his opinion, Grandpa looked ridiculous. A slightly stooped, grey-haired man holding a weapon that was too archaic to use in movies or video games. He didn't understand why they had to waste time on this. His friends didn't. Their grandfathers just took them out for ice cream.
"Am I sensing some attitude from you, young man?"
Oliver wasn't going to back down. "I don't like this. It's boring. I don't understand why I have to do it."
"I told you, Oliver. It's good to have a serious hobby, especially when it's time for college applications. I got into California State because I was competing at the national level in archery."
College? At the age of ten, Oliver considered college to be a million years away.
"Don't you like doing things with your grandpa?" Jonas continued. "There's a lot of boys who don't get to see their grandparents more than a couple of times a year. You and me, we get to do this twice a week."
Oh, to be like other boys, Oliver thought. Just once. To be picked up after school by a parent instead of a chauffeur. To have pizza delivered to the door. To go to the skateboard park without a bodyguard lurking nearby.
As if he could read Oliver's mind, Grandpa rested a hand on his shoulder. "I promise, when you make three bullseyes from twenty-five yards, we'll stop and you can call Tommy."
"Really?"
"Really."
That seemed fair. Oliver nodded. "Okay."
"Good. Now raise the bow. Three fingers on the string. Draw back under your chin."
Oliver did as commanded, then let the arrow fly. It wasn't a bad shot, about four inches off the center of the target. Not good enough to qualify as a bullseye though.
"You're thinking too much, Oliver. Don't hesitate so long. Make it one, fluid motion. Raise the bow, draw the string, aim and fire."
To demonstrate, Jonas Queen lifted his bow and shot an arrow. The entire motion took less than a second, and the arrow struck right into the middle of the bullseye - not in the twenty-five yard target that Oliver was aiming for, but in the target fifty yards away.
"You make it look easy, Grandpa."
"It is easy. All it takes is practice."
It wasn't until a dozen years later that Oliver understood how much practice Jonas had really had with the bow. Not until Anatoly and the Bratva told him about the Star City Archer and Jonas's bargain.
Oliver sifted through the contents of the trunk and pulled out the bow stringer. Then he grabbed several strings. They were old, but his grandfather hadn't been so traditional that he'd refused to use man-made materials that wouldn't dry out. The strings appeared serviceable - strong and flexible. Good enough, Oliver thought. If he couldn't get the job done in two or three shots, then he and Felicity would probably both be dead.
He began stringing the bow. Oliver had quit practicing archery when he was fourteen, the day his grandfather died. His heart was pounding now and his hands weren't steady; still, the steps for stringing came back to him as easily as if he were tying his shoe. Muscle memory. He wondered if shooting an arrow would be just as easy. Then he wondered what it would be like to aim at a human being and not a target.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Oliver turned to see Tommy watching him. He didn't reply; just finished stringing the bow and then began collecting arrows from the trunk. He saw that most of them were damaged, with broken or missing feathers. Shit. He discarded those, knowing they wouldn't fly straight, then searched desperately for more.
"Fine," Tommy said. "I'll answer my own question since you're not talking. It looks like you're going after Susan with your grandfather's bow."
Oliver located another set of arrows. "Very good, Tommy. Got it in one."
"Why?"
"Why the fuck do you think? Felicity has gone to see Susan with no idea that she's the Archer. She's walking into a trap. And before you tell me that she's a cop and can handle it, I know for certain that her weapon is damn near useless against a bow and arrow. It doesn't have the range. We found that out yesterday."
"What? How?"
"Felicity and I ran into the New Archer in the Glades. I fired her police stunner and the stream didn't go much farther than fifteen yards." He picked through the arrows and found a number that were undamaged. Eight arrows. Should be enough.
Tommy's brow furrowed. "You ran into the Archer? So, what did you do? You're standing here; clearly the two of you managed to get away."
Oliver gave a bitter laugh. "We ran, that's what we did. And we didn't get away entirely. I was shot in the back - it's why I didn't come home yesterday. We went to Felicity's place to take care of it and I stayed the night."
"The Archer shot...you?" Tommy's eyes widened. "How badly are you hurt?"
Oliver waved a hand. "I was hit in the shoulder blade but it wasn't deep. It hurts, that's all. I'll get over it."
Tommy shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. If Susan is the Archer, then she knows she shot you. Why has she been calling?"
"I don't think she intended to hit me. I think she was aiming at Felicity and I got in the way. She wants to know how badly she's wounded me." Oliver resumed digging through the trunk. The quiver's got to be in here, too. He located it at the bottom.
"This is a bad idea," Tommy said, all traces of his usual sarcasm gone. "I understand that you're attracted to your cop and you want to help her. But if she sees you firing arrows, even to save her life, it's going to lead to a long list of questions. And I don't think she'll like the answers. You'll lose her anyway."
"Maybe," Oliver agreed tersely, putting the arrows into the quiver. "But at least she'll be alive. And she already knows about Jonas and the deal with the Bratva. I told her last night."
"You...what?" Tommy sank limply in one of the sheet-covered chairs.
"I told her."
"Everything?"
"Pretty much."
Tommy ran his hand over his face. "Are you nuts? You confessed to doing something illegal - to a cop?"
"We...um," Oliver hesitated. "We got close yesterday."
"You slept with her," Tommy stated matter-of-factly.
"Yes. And I know you'll mock me for saying this, but it was special. I think I'm in love with her. I remembered what you said about trying to have a relationship when I wasn't being completely honest. So, I told her."
"Great," Tommy muttered. "This is thing you choose to listen to me about?"
Oliver clenched his jaw. "I've got to go now, Tommy. We can talk about it later." He started for the stairs but then paused. Returning to the trunk, he pulled out Jonas's green leather jacket and shrugged it on. The fit was better than he expected. Jonas had been tall, too. He pulled the hood over his head and slung the quiver across his back.
Tommy put up a hand as if to stop him. "Oliver-"
"I'll see you soon, Tommy."
He ran up the steps and headed for the garage. Two minutes later, he was racing down the drive on his motorcycle.
Felicity stepped into Channel Thirty-two's spotless elevator with Susan Williams at her side.
"I get the feeling you don't like me," Williams said, as they descended toward the underground parking.
Seriously? We're having this conversation? Felicity nearly rolled her eyes. "I'm a cop. And you just confessed to being an accessory to murder. What did you expect? Flowers and stuffed bunny rabbits?"
Williams shook her head, an amused smile on her face. Now that she'd owned up to her role in Isabel's death, she seemed reconciled to what came next. "No," she said mildly. "But I think this is about more than your case. I think this is personal."
Felicity thought about Ramirez; about the way he'd looked at his daughter and his fear that she would be taken away from him. It still made her blood boil. "Your stunt could have ruined a man's life," she said. "Ramirez has his act together. He's doing nothing to hurt people and he's got a kid. Don't you have any remorse about setting him up?"
The elevator stopped with a ding. "Not a lot," Williams conceded, as the door slid open. "I'll admit, I didn't know he was on the straight and narrow when I planted the calls. As you said earlier, it was a mistake on my part. But he was a criminal once. I assume he'll be a criminal again when he faces a setback in life. It's what typically happens."
Holy shit, Felicity thought. You're worse than I imagined. What on earth did Oliver see in you?
They stepped out of the elevator.
"It's why I admire the Star City Archer," Williams continued. "He did what needed to be done. He didn't get hung up on the details." She pointed to a shiny black sedan a couple of rows away. "That's mine. The Mercedes."
Figures.
They began walking toward the car.
"But, back to my original point, I still think your dislike is about more than the case," Williams said. As they reached the sedan, she added, "Hang on while I stick my messenger bag in the trunk."
Felicity stepped to the passenger door and looked toward the rear of the Mercedes as Williams flipped open the lid. The shiny surface of the car rose, obscuring the reporter's body. There wasn't a spec of dirt on it. Felicity wondered if Williams got it washed every day.
The reporter tugged the bag off her shoulder and dropped it into the trunk. "I think," she went on, "that this is about Oliver."
On the word, Oliver, there was a change in Williams's voice. It was subtle, but there was an injection of anger that triggered Felicity's cop reflexes. She instinctively reached for her weapon and saw, when the reporter stepped away from the trunk, that Williams was holding a bow. And in the fraction of a second it took Felicity to put the story together, Williams nocked an arrow.
Oh fuck. She's the New Archer.
Felicity didn't hesitate. She yanked her stunner out of the holster and fired. But Williams didn't hesitate either. She darted back behind the cover of the raised trunk lid just as Felicity squeezed the trigger. The stream from the weapon caught the edge of the reporter's hip, causing her to gasp and stumble. But she didn't go down. Instead, there was the sound of the bow creaking as Williams drew back the string.
Exposed, Felicity crouched and flung her body toward the car next to Williams's, rolling underneath it and scrambling to come out the other side. She hunkered down next to the vehicle, using it as a shield. Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket and jabbed the screen to call SCPD Dispatch. To her dismay, nothing happened.
"Are you trying to phone for backup?" Williams said in a tight voice. The shot to the hip hadn't disabled her, but Felicity could tell that it was causing her pain. "We're three stories below ground here. Cell reception is pretty poor."
Felicity didn't reply. She noted a text from Rory that had come in earlier: We think Williams is the Archer.
No kidding.
Felicity shoved the phone back in her pocket and considered her options. At the moment their situation was a stalemate, with neither woman having a good angle for a shot. But they couldn't stay crouched behind their cars forever. Someone was going to have to make a move, and Felicity was damned if she was going to allow Williams to be the one to walk out of here. It was her duty to take the woman into custody.
She counted to three in her head, then stood and fired a stream over the top of the car at the reporter, trying to force Williams to move out from behind the sedan. The stream bounced uselessly off the lid of the Mercedes' trunk and Williams stayed put.
Fuck.
She ducked back down.
Get her talking, Felicity told herself. Distract her, upset her; anything to get her to move.
She pressed her lips together, considering Williams's weak spots. Then she called out, "Why do you think this is about Oliver?"
From behind the trunk of the Mercedes, Williams laughed harshly. "I'm not stupid, Detective. I saw the two of you holding hands at the hockey game. Hell, Inside Star City posted the picture for all the world to see. Oliver looked...mesmerized." She paused and her voice hardened. "I won't be made a fool of. Oliver doesn't always know what's good for him, but he's going to see that he and I are meant for each other. We make sense. I can be a true partner to him; something the Rochev bitch couldn't be - and something you can't be either. What have you got to offer him?"
Oh, for God's sake. "Are you kidding me?" Felicity said the words aloud. "That's what this is about? You killed a woman because you thought she was stealing your boyfriend? That's a cheap motive."
Williams didn't respond, but Felicity could swear that the silence felt angrier.
"And all in the hope that Oliver was eventually going to see that the two of you were meant for each other?" she continued, putting derisive emphasis on the word, eventually. "What were you going to do until he decided you were the one - if he ever decided that? Kill each woman he went out with?"
"Don't try to manipulate me, Detective," Williams replied. "Of course I wasn't going to kill everyone. Most women understood - like McKenna Hall. When he stopped seeing her she let him go gracefully. But Isabel didn't get it. She kept after him. So, she had to be dealt with. And he had to see that she was no good."
You're bonkers, lady. Why don't you step out from behind that car and we'll get you the help you need.
"And what's your excuse for shooting at me?" Felicity asked. "It's not like I pursued Oliver. I only met the man a few days ago."
"That's true," Williams agreed, her voice beginning to sound shrill, "you didn't pursue him. But he pursued you. When he saw you at the hockey game, he didn't want to sleep with me that night. He brushed me off as if the past few months hadn't happened. I always assumed Oliver appreciated women who are elegant and successful. But apparently a cop who grew up without a family and wears clothes off the bargain rack appeals to him."
For a second Felicity felt her own anger rising. Then she swallowed it. "How do you know I grew up without a family?"
Williams laughed again. "McKenna Hall, of course. For a woman who owns a security business, she can have a very loose tongue. I had coffee with her yesterday morning and showed her Inside Star City. She knew exactly who you are and told me all about your career with the SCPD. She also told me that you live in the Glades."
Which explained, Felicity thought, why they'd encountered Williams in the alley near her apartment. She recalled her various theories when she was trying to construct the story of Isabel's murder; the drug deal, the Bratva, even revenge against Anatoly. And instead it simply came down to a jealous woman.
Jesus.
A jealous woman who still hadn't moved from behind the Mercedes. Felicity was going to have to push harder.
"You have to know that you've lost Oliver now," she called out. "You have no chance with him. You shot him in the back."
There was a pause. "Was he badly hurt?" Williams asked, her voice suddenly softer.
"He'll recover. But he'll never forgive you."
Another pause. Then Williams said, all softness gone, "Oh, I don't know. If I kill you, he doesn't need to know who shot him."
"He already knows," Felicity lied. "He spent the night at my apartment and I told him before I came here. He's mine now, Susan. You've lost."
"You bitch!" And with a shriek, Williams moved.
For the second time in as many days, Oliver twisted the throttle of his motorcycle to speed through the streets of Star City. The Ducati had a little less power than the BMW but it was light and agile, allowing him to maneuver easily through the sparse traffic. He noted Rory's car as he passed it on the way to channel Thirty-two and wondered if the cop recognized him.
One of us is going to get there quickly, Detective.
He decided to head for the underground parking. He knew from experience that phone reception was lousy down at Susan's level, and it seemed a logical place to search since calls to the reporter and to Felicity hadn't gone through. He turned off the street to fly through the gates, then took the winding ramp down two flights before stopping. Leaving the bike, he used the stairs to descend one more level. Then he cautiously cracked open the door.
He heard Susan's voice immediately.
"I always assumed Oliver appreciated women who are elegant and successful. But apparently a cop who grew up without a family and wears clothes off the bargain rack appeals to him." She sounded angry and a little out of control.
And to his relief, he heard Felicity answer, "How do you know I grew up without a family?"
She's alive. And she sounds steady - not injured. Oh, thank God.
He opened the door wider and peered cautiously into the garage. He couldn't see either woman from his location, so he tugged the hood to Jonas's jacket more securely over his head and stepped out among the parked cars. Keeping his bow in his left hand, he crouched and began moving in the direction of the voices. For a moment he wondered if this was going to be like Felicity's meeting with Anatoly - where he'd raced to get to her in a panic only to discover that everything was fine. As he listened, however, it was clear that the detective was very much in danger. Both women were tense, and Susan sounded angry and a little unhinged. It was evident that Felicity was pushing her, provoking the reporter using his name. Oliver knew from childhood experience that you could be angry and still shoot an arrow.
He continued to approach, his rubber-soled shoes silent on the concrete. And then he spotted them; each taking cover behind a car, separated by less than twenty feet. Susan was holding her bow with an arrow already nocked. Felicity was hunkered down next to her car, her stunner in her hand. Neither one of them noticed him.
"He's mine now, Susan. You've lost."
"You bitch!"
And Susan was moving out from behind her car, beginning to raise the bow. Oliver didn't try to analyze the geometry to determine whether Felicity could shoot Susan before Susan shot her. There was too much at stake to take the time. He straightened up and bellowed, "Stop!"
And to his amazement, it worked. Both women turned and looked in his direction.
Susan spoke first. "You?" She sounded confused. "But you're dead. I researched you...you've been gone for decades."
She thinks I'm the Star City Archer. Oliver had no idea if she was delusional or merely overcome by the situation. But if she truly believed he was the Archer, he could use that.
"I've been away because I wasn't needed," he replied, deepening his voice. "But I'm back now because someone has been killing in my name. You've been killing in my name. It needs to stop."
Susan shook her head. "No - you can't be him. It's not possible." But she seemed uncertain.
Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Felicity edging slowly around her parked car, trying to get behind Susan. He fought to keep the reporter's attention on him.
"You said you researched the Archer. Isn't this his bow?" He raised it.
Susan stared and nodded slowly. "Yes."
"And his jacket?"
"Yes. Are you his son?" she whispered.
Close enough. "I'm his legacy," he replied. "A legacy you're tarnishing by using a bow to kill."
"No...no...I'm honoring the legacy," Susan said, her voice almost plaintive. "Isabel Rochev was a criminal. She used drugs. She needed to be taken care of."
Felicity was still moving. Oliver made himself keep looking at Susan; made himself keep talking.
"If Isabel hurt anyone," he stated in a firm voice, "she hurt herself with her drug use. And she did a lot for the city. She did not deserve to die."
"'She did a lot for the city?'" Susan repeated, flinching as if he had hit her. She narrowed her eyes. "Who the hell are you? You can't be related to the Archer. He would know that she had to die. You're a fake." She raised her bow, drawing back the string. Oliver inhaled deeply and lifted his own weapon.
And then the bow clattered out of Susan's hand and she dropped to the ground, unconscious.
Keeping her stunner raised, Felicity walked up to Susan and knelt beside her to check her pulse. "She'll be all right," she said calmly. "Heartbeat is steady. I used just enough juice to knock her out. She'll feel like she's got a horrible hangover when she comes to, but that'll be it." She returned her weapon to its holster and pulled a pair of handcuffs off her belt. "You took a hell of a chance, Oliver."
"You knew it was me?"
She grinned as she cuffed Susan's hands behind her back. "With that jaw poking out from under the hood? Who else could it be?" Then she shrugged as she stood up. "Plus, you're still wearing the same jeans and shoes that you had on at my place."
He pushed the hood off his head, relief making his hand shake a little. "You took a hell of a chance yourself, provoking her like that."
"I needed to make something happen. I was worried an innocent bystander was going to come along and get caught in the crossfire." She lifted her chin. "When did you figure it out?"
"That Susan is the New Archer?" When she nodded, he continued, "Your pal Rory told me that Isabel's droid has footage of Susan planting the drugs in her apartment. I remembered Susan's story about hunting with her family and we put two and two together."
"We? Meaning you and Rory?"
"Yes."
"So where is he?"
"Oh, he's on his way. He insisted that I get out of his car and let him handle it on his own - so I did. I passed him on the way here."
To his surprise, she gave a light chuckle.
"You're not angry?" he asked.
"I probably will be later - and I'm going to have a few questions for you. At the moment, I'm happy to have caught Isabel's killer." She looked down at Susan and shook her head. "All my fancy theories about why Isabel was murdered, and in the end it was a jealous woman hoping to get rid of the competition. She thought Isabel was trying to get you back."
He shook his head. "Isabel never had me in the first place." When she didn't reply, he added, "You, on the other hand..."
There was a long pause. She lifted her eyebrows. "Yes?"
"I heard what you said a few minutes ago. I know you were trying to get Susan to react, but I thought there might have been a grain of truth when you told Susan that I was yours."
She stared at him, her cheeks slightly pink. "I wouldn't read too much into it, Oliver. Like you said, I was trying to get Williams to react."
He tilted his head to the side. "C'mon, Felicity. We told each other we'd be honest, remember? That goes for you as well as for me. Are you really going to stand there and say that you feel nothing for me?"
She pressed her lips together as if trying to keep the words from escaping. Then the corners of her mouth lifted slightly. "Fine. I'll admit that I like you, Oliver. You're not the rich, entitled jerk that I thought you would be."
"Thank you. I'll try not to let such high praise go to my head."
"You're also good in bed," she added, glancing briefly away before meeting his eyes once more. "Very good."
"You should try me when I don't have an arrow wound."
She blushed and said nothing. He hoped that meant she was thinking about taking him up on the offer. After a moment, he asked, "So, what now?"
"Now?" She waved a hand. "Now I suggest you get out of here before Rory arrives and sees you in that getup. He would be mad enough that you beat him here. I don't think you want to explain why you have the Star City Archer's jacket and bow."
"Good point. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to take Williams to headquarters." She glanced down at the motionless reporter. "We'll have a doctor check her out, then I'll see if I can get her to formally confess to Isabel's murder after she's been Mirandized and is in interrogation. That should make the DA's office very happy - save them the work of a long, drawn-out trial."
"Can I help?" He knew he shouldn't have offered, but he couldn't help himself.
She opened her mouth to say, no, but then paused. He almost smiled when her forehead developed the little furrow that told him she was weighing a decision.
"Yes," she said slowly, "I think you might be able to help with the confession. Go home and change. It's going to take me a couple of hours to clear her through medical and call the DA. Can you plan to meet me at SCPD headquarters then?"
"Sure." He was so surprised he would have agreed to almost anything.
"Thanks."
"No problem."
He reluctantly turned to go, pulling the hood back up over his head. He was almost to the stairwell when he heard her say, "Oliver?"
He spun around to face her eagerly. "Yes?"
"Did you remember to lock your motorcycle this time?"
A/N: Almost finished. A couple more chapters to go.