"Bright's crazy, skinny ass didn't do it." JT glared at the report he had been reading through the last ten minutes. Every word only added to the fury on a slow simmer in his gut. "Just no way he did it."
He refused to believe Bright murdered that piece of garbage in cold blood. It didn't fit with who Bright was. Not that Dani seemed to agree.
"DNA says otherwise."
JT shot a mildly reproving look at her. "You telling me you believe Bright killed this Eddie in cold blood?"
Dani looked up from the laptop she had been watching hospital security footage on. Stress lines at the corner of her mouth and eyes were JT's only clue as to her inner turmoil. Dani wanted to believe Bright was innocent but her trust issues and her desire for objectivity made it difficult for her too.
"Bright had a motive." She ignored his scoff. "He went to the hospital despite everyone telling him not too." She turned back to the computer. "It's his blood and hair on Eddie's body."
"Guy is a former FBI agent." JT folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat. "Don't think he'd be so careless as to leave behind anything that'd link him to a murder."
"He was emotionally distraught," Dani said. "Not thinking clearly or rationally."
"Sounds like Bright being Bright there." Guy idled at emotionally distraught in JT's mind. "Still don't think he'd be so careless as to leave behind any trace evidence that'd link him to a murder."
"Yeah, well, he did."
"Then why are there no scratches to corroborate the blood we found under Eddie's nails then?"
"I don't know why Bright has no scratches on him. I can't explain it." Dani turned her head to stare at the white board with narrowed eyes. "Not yet."
"You believe Bright killed Eddie." JT couldn't mask his surprise or his irritation. "You actually believe his scrawny ass murdered this guy."
"DNA doesn't lie, JT."
"No, it don't, but we both know it can be fabricated. Planted. Seen it happen before."
"This wasn't fabricated and it wasn't planted." Dani's lips pursed. "Bright was angry, he wanted to know why Eddie killed Eve, and he decided to get revenge for her. Case closed."
That's what she thinks, JT thought as the phone rang in Gil's office. This case will only be closed when we prove Bright didn't do it.
"You were willing to give the guy a chance to prove himself, to become part of the team before Gil told us how he called the police on his pops." JT cocked his head to the side. "But you believe he killed Eddie?"
"Facts say he did it."
"Yeah." JT unfolded his arms and pushed to his feet. "Faith says he didn't."
"You believe Bright's theory he's being framed then?"
"I believe Bright, yeah." JT grabbed his mug and headed for the door. "Guy might be a pain in the ass," and that's a huge understatement, he added silently, "but he's pretty much right when it comes to this stuff."
"Say he is right and he's being framed." A frown formed between Dani's eyes. "Why? What does framing him for Eddie's murder accomplish?"
"Keeps his scrawny ass from interfering in whatever game this Endicott is playing for one." JT ambled towards the door. "Bright can't profile or investigate if he's behind bars." He held up his mug. "I need a refill. You want anything?"
"I'm good, thanks."
"Back in ten then."
Hopefully, with some idea of how to pull Bright's ass from the fire.
Otherwise, the kid was gonna be joining his old man in prison.
And that, in JT's opinion, was the last thing that Malcolm Bright needed.
…
"Were you serious about wanting to redecorate the loft?"
Malcolm hadn't meant to ask that question. Not in the middle of them organizing a list of things to accomplish in the next few hours, anyway. He just couldn't get his brain to wrap around what he needed it too.
Not until he knew for sure if Sorcha was serious about redecorating the loft.
"What?" Sorcha looked up from the notepad she had been jotting notes on, a frown between her eyes, and her lips pursed in concentration. "I'm sorry, I was busy adding what you just said to the list. What did you ask me?"
There was no doubt in Malcolm's mind that Sorcha heard him. She was simply pretending she hadn't to avoid answering his question.
A defense mechanism, he reasoned as he traced circles on the inside of her right knee with the tip of his finger. Prevaricating. Trying to deflect his attention away from the question he put to her to avoid having to make herself vulnerable again.
Not that he intended to let the question slide.
This time, anyway.
He had fallen for that ploy many times in the past without even realizing it.
I let myself fall for it, he corrected as Sorcha shifted the notepad in her lap so she could continue writing on it.
Malcolm freely admitted he could be oblivious to the feelings of others. He tended to forget about or ignore the thoughts and emotions of others while working a case. Or involved in a crisis of my own, he added, grimacing slightly.
Sorcha had been right when she said he acted like an ass.
He did.
Frequently.
Dani was the latest example of his being an ass to a friend. She opened up to him about burying her dad at sixteen because that's what friends did but he couldn't reciprocate.
He couldn't tell Dani he was the one who stabbed his father in order to lure out the Carousel Killer.
Not because he didn't trust her but because he needed to protect his mother at any and all costs.
I never apologized to Edrisa for what I said to her in Dev's apartment, either. He went to the morgue after realizing something had been off in their phone conversation, not because he intended to apologize for having unintentionally hurt her while they deliberated over how to save Dev's life. Once Leanne had been subdued he hadn't the heart to tell Edrisa his words hadn't been meant for her. He simply hadn't wanted to hurt her a second time. I should do something for her, he decided as Sorcha let out a soft sigh. Show her my appreciation for her continued friendship and loyalty.
For now, he focused on the woman pretending interest in the things she had written down.
The one trying to feign how she hadn't heard his question when he knew perfectly well she had.
Well, two can play this game.
Only, he planned to win.
"I asked if you're serious about wanting to remodel the loft?"
"Oh, that."
Airily, dismissively, as if the question bore no significance whatsoever.
Malcolm wasn't falling for it.
"Yes, that." His lips quirked. "Are you serious about it?"
"It was just something Ainsley suggested."
"Yes, I know it was. Now, were you serious about it?"
"It was merely a way of opening a line of dialogue between us." Sorcha reached for the cup of coffee she set on the floor before they started making notes about what they needed to do. "A negotiation tactic if you will."
"Did you mean it, though?" he pressed. "Do you want to redecorate the loft?"
"Mal—"
"Prevaricating."
Her brow furrowed. "Am not."
"Are too." He squeezed her knee. "Now, answer the question."
"I did."
"No, you said it was something Ainsley suggested as a way of opening a line of dialogue between us."
"Which is all it was."
"Sorch..."
"What?" Innocent as she took a sip of coffee. Cool as a cucumber as she lowered the cup. Malcolm didn't buy it for one minute. "She did suggest redecorating the loft as a way of opening a line of dialogue between us."
She's being difficult now, Malcolm groused as he stared into her dark eyes. Evading the answer by saying the one she gave is the answer.
Part of him suspected this was payback for all the times he had been difficult.
A taste of his own medicine.
He didn't especially like it and let her know so with a look.
Not that Sorcha was impressed by it.
Malcolm heaved a frustrated sigh.
"Do you want to redecorate the loft?" He stopped her before she could repeat her earlier answer. "Tell me the truth this time."
"I have been telling you the truth."
"No, you've been telling me a part of the truth." He sent her an imploring look. "I want you to tell me the other half of it now."
He thought she was gonna refuse when her face scrunched up in that way it did whenever she was about to say no.
"Yes, okay?" She set her cup back on the floor with a disgruntled sigh. "I want to redecorate the loft. Add things that are me. Make it as much mine as yours. Like our apartment at school was."
Malcolm remembered the apartment they shared their final year at Harvard. The bits and pieces of each other that had been all over the place.
The afghan Sorcha crocheted in undergraduate year over the back of the couch they bought at a yard sale.
The drapes her mom sewed covering the front window.
The bed they built from the wood pallets they talked a guy at the dock into giving them.
Pictures of family, places they had gone, things they had seen on the walls, shelves, nightstands.
Books and other odds and ends stashed wherever there was space in the cabinets they bought.
The cat-post they bought after Harvey decided to stay with them in a corner of the bedroom.
It created a place of comfort and security.
A home.
Something his mother's house stopped being after his father's arrest.
A place he only experienced when he'd go stay with Gil and Jackie.
Somewhere his loft no longer felt after the intimate pictures taken of him and Sorcha by Robert Harwood's partner, Tammy Lynn had been seen by his supposed friends.
It could be a home again, he realized, belly tightening with a mixture of hope and anticipation. If we work at it.
Slowly, and steadily.
"We have more stuff now than we did back then."
Sorcha hummed a laugh.
"I have less clothes than you do."
"You have more shoes than me."
A grin tugged at her lips. "I have less shoes than your mother, though."
"That you do." Malcolm chuckled softly. "And not all stilettos, thankfully."
"Yeah, your mom is deadly with a stiletto."
"Just ask my television."
"Mal." Sorcha again reached for her coffee. "Admitting what I want doesn't mean you have to give it to me. It's just an opening for us to talk. Really talk," she stressed before he could interrupt her. "And not just half-ass it like we have been."
"I want to make the loft our home." His eyes met hers. "I want you to come home."
"Well." Sorcha finished the last of her coffee and returned the cup to the floor. "The first thing we got to do is figure out this mess you're in. But to do that..."
"We need to talk with Edrisa."
"Right."
"I can get my ankle monitor off..." A frown feathered his brow. "Sneaking in to talk with Edrisa without Gil or the rest of the team finding out is going to be the problem."
"Not if I cause a scene that keeps them distracted."
A grin tugged at Malcolm's lips as he considered what kind of scene she could cause. "Think you can distract them for ten minutes?"
"Mal." Sorcha's smile was smug. "I can keep them busy for as long as you need."
"Ten minutes is all I need."
"Go get your bag then." She slid her legs off his lap. "We only have a few hours before orders will come down to arrest you."
And the clock is quickly counting down, Malcolm realized as he headed upstairs to get what he needed.
A/N: Hello, all! Hope this finds you well!