A/N: woah nelly. This I think is my largest chapter yet. Wow. The feedback
has been phenomenal everyone, thank you all very much.
First off, this is a very heavy Sam chapter, and yes it does BRIEFLY touch
on the affair. But way back when, about the time that my feeble mind
conceived of this little puppy, I had planned on incorporating the affair
more for the purpose of describing her character than anything. So, no
matter what happens, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Well, enjoy
and don't get to sleepy. Oh and for the sake of this story, Sam is about
31.
And, I have taken gigantic liberties with our leading lady.
~~~
The building had a well dressed doorman standing guard outside and inside, a desk clerk who checked for IDs and the like. Samantha confidently strode over to the clerk, who appeared to be about 25, and gave him a radiant smile.
"Samantha Spade I presume?" he asked. Her smile quickly faded.
"Yes," she uttered, puzzled. She couldn't manage more than nod as he handed her a small envelope made of thick parchment paper.
"Dr. Raymond lives on the sixth floor, number 15. Henry can take you up the elevator," he said while motioning to another gentleman standing beside the door.
Shaking her head, she replied, "No thanks, that won't be necessary. If you could, I'd appreciate if you could direct me to the stairs."
"Certainly. The stairs are around the corner on the left," he motioned with his hands. She smiled in gratitude and walked in the direction of the stairs.
Once she rounded the corner, she pressed herself against the cool marble wall. Leaning her head against a column, she tried to get her breathing under control. She realized the magnitude of the situation she was in, and was aware that she would most likely be fired. But the thought of that man walking around another day, completely free, made her nauseous and risking her career was worth it.
Remembering the parchment envelope in her hand, she brought it up slowly and looked at the front. It had a calligraphic 'S' written on the front in an ink the color of mahogany. She glanced around cautiously and opened the envelope, breaking the seal with her fingers. Emptying its contents in her hand, a key fell out along with a small card that read, "Hope you enjoy."
Ignoring the goosebumps that had accumulated on her arms, she placed the key and card back in their envelope and tucked it safely away in her pocket. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off from the wall and walked towards the large marble staircase.
With each step and each landing she encountered, her heart beat faster and her goal became clearer. It felt as though she'd found her purpose in life, a new sense of clarity was passing over her as she climbed up the fifth flight of stairs. It was strange actually, because she knew he'd be waiting for her, ready to drop a bomb.
She felt a vibration on the side of her hip. Her phone was on, and she felt it vibrate occasionally, but she never chose to answer it. She contemplated tossing it aside along with her earplug on her way; however, her remaining common sense dissuaded her from proceeding. Finally, she'd reached the sixth floor. Closing her eyes and hoping she'd come out all right in the end, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the carpeted hallway.
Each step was taken carefully, not too hasty or uncalculated. She had a plan and she was going to stick to it. She neared the end of the hallway and heard a strange noise around the corner. Drawing her gun, Sam braced her back against the wall and held her weapon in both hands.
She counted silently to three then turned the corner abruptly. A small boy, no older than four years old looked up at the strange woman pointing something at him. As she realized that he might become afraid, she quickly holstered her gun and drew her jacket around herself. Already interested in trying to demolish the imaginary war camp he'd built in the hallway, the boy paid her no mind as she walked carefully around him and his fortress.
Coming in contact with a real human before trying to kill someone was not the encouragement she needed. Especially one who wore a bowl cut and Sesame Street sneakers. Swallowing any fear or doubt, she walked towards apartment 15.
Sam paused at the door, notes from a piano trickled out of his apartment. Unable to place the song, she looked in her pocket for the envelope that held the key. She took another sideways glance down the hallway and watched as the boy began taking his toys inside his apartment. She pulled her gun out once again and prepared to insert the key in the lock.
The door itself was unlocked, left ever so slightly ajar. The music still carried out of the apartment, dark and leisurely. She took another deep breath, revenge pushing her forward. She lightly tapped the door with her foot, her gun drawn and ready to fire. Peering inside, Raymond could not be seen at first glance. She looked down at her feet that were planted on the threshold of his apartment, unwilling to go further. The apartment was large and maintained a contemporary feel to it. Seeing as she was in what appeared to be the living area, she noted that the furniture was sparse and hardly looked comfortable. She followed the sound of the piano to a room on her left.
The apartment went in both directions, on the left of her it was divided by a floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcase that stretched almost three-fourths of the way across the room, with an opening in the middle. While the right side had large, fully equipped kitchen with the lights turned low. Instead of staying near the door, she took a few steps into his apartment and stopped when she heard the music cease. Footsteps approached her, echoing off of the wooden floor.
"Hello Samantha, I've been waiting for you," said Dr. Raymond, smiling congenially. He stood at the top of two steps that led to the living area, holding a glass of wine. Samantha's gun was drawn entirely, all she needed was to squeeze the trigger and her work would be done. Unfortunately, the phone on her hip vibrated again, the real world calling her to remember her place. Her focus broken, she quickly changed her mind and started backing towards the door, pulling out her badge.
"Jonathan Raymond, you are under arrest for the sexual assault of Melanie Myers," she said while flipping her badge open. She was not going to let him win. Resorting to her profession instead of acting out her anger was the right thing to do. Even though every bone in her body wanted her to aim and take him down.
He smiled at her gesture then placed his glass on the nearest table chuckling to himself. He reached down and grabbed a remote, holding it up and pointed it at his CD player. Frank Sinatra's voice filled the apartment while the two stood and waited for the other to make a move.
Almost 46, Jonathan Raymond was a lean, handsome man. He was above average height and had gray hair taking over his once dirty blond head. Sam watched cautiously as he placed the remote back on the table and grabbed his glass once again, taking a large sip. He almost blended in with his dark apartment, wearing all black, even a partially buttoned black dress shirt.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked, obviously ignoring what she'd just said. "Come now Samantha, please, sit down and relax. I dare say you're a bit tired."
"I would like nothing more than for you to comply with my orders and come with me," she said with much restraint.
"How about this," he said, swirling the dark liquid in his glass around casually. "You give me, oh say ten minutes of your time, and I do what ever you want," he looked up at her with a strong, even look.
"I don't do negotiations Jonathan. The police will be here soon anyway. How about you make it easier on yourself and come with me," she replied defiantly.
He ignored her last statement and walked over to his refrigerated wine cabinet pulling out a recently opened bottle of 1997 Bordeaux. She noted that he walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. Got to love souvenirs. He took a glass off of the shelf and held it up to the dim light, checking for cleanliness. He filled the glass half way, then returned the bottle back into the refrigerator. He turned to find the gun pointed at him once again.
"Sit down with me for five minutes. Have some wine and I will come with you. Simple as that," he said bluntly, so easy it was obviously untrue.
As Sam tried to decide, Raymond began walking to her, in no way afraid of the gun. His eyes kept their penetrating stare the entire time as approached, not wavering in the least. With one finger he confidently pushed down on the barrel of her gun and held out the glass of wine. Not knowing what she was doing, she took it and followed as he motioned towards the stiff looking couch.
By the time she was sitting, she realized that the front door had been closed and locked and he was sitting across from her, playing with a coaster. How she managed to blank out, she didn't know. Feeling for her gun, she lightly sighed as she found it right beside her, still loaded.
"Now, where were we?" he asked nonchalantly.
"We were at you coming with me," she said firmly.
"Did you enjoy your afternoon?" he asked.
"Yes, it was quite pleasant outside," she returned. He observed her demeanor as she noticed the centerpiece on his living room table. It was a glass vase that had obviously been glued back together.
"Do you like it? I couldn't find all the pieces, but it still holds up," he said, rubbing his head slightly in what appeared to be a scarred area. "It took seven stitches to sew up that lovely little mark you left."
"If you'd like, I could always repeat the gesture," she said crossly. She would have too, if only he was closer.
"That won't be necessary," he said. He stood up suddenly and began pacing, walking around with the coaster still in his hand. "You have become quite the manipulator Samantha. I must say, I'm quite proud."
Sam remained silent. She was prepared for the psychoanalysis. If at all possible, she was going to completely phase him out.
"I know what you're doing Samantha, trust me it won't work," he said knowingly. He walked behind the couch on which she was sitting and dropped down right beside her ear and spoke in a low voice.
"You've been a bad, bad girl Samantha. I know what you've been doing." He stood up again and walked back around. "How long did it take you to date again after you left? Three, four years? I'm quite surprised though, it must have been hard for you. Constantly turning down those offers of weekend attention. Looking back you must have regretted some of it."
"Is there a point to this Jonathan, make it, because your minutes are ticking away," she stated with a hint of impatience in her voice.
"When was the first time you had sex again? Was it with that hotshot pilot? Or how about the good old, 'friend from back home.' You must have been pretty tender. I bet you cried afterwards," he said as he took a seat in the chair closest to her. "But you liked the feeling didn't you? The control you had over those men. You've probably lost count there have been so many. Bringing a whole new meaning to promiscuity, eh?"
Brushing off his comment, she turned back on him.
"What about you? What did you like so much about taking those women? You could have easily gotten one by normal standards; I don't see why raping them ever became an option."
"I guess it's for the same reason you enjoy controlling men the way you do. It's quite addictive, the high you get afterwards, the feeling of invincibility. We're more alike than you think, you and I," he said, with a prompt bite of the lip.
She stood up immediately, bristling from his comment. "Never compare us. I am nothing like you. You are a conniving, manipulative bastard. Not once have I done anything to even resemble the life you've led." She stood now, arms at her sides, her posture clearly on the defensive. Only now did she realize she was giving him what he wanted.
"Really? We both have used our bodies to get what we want," he paused, then changed the subject abruptly. "Have you ever been in love Samantha? I believe you have. I too have been in love. See we aren't that much different."
"Love exists on many different levels, I doubt ours were the same," she replied much more calmly, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.
"Yes, I believe mine was much more - passionate. Let's think though. I can't really recall that many men with whom you've actually had a meaningful relationship with. You are all about the lust and satisfaction. Ah, wait. The lawyer, Kyle Brooks," he said with intended satisfaction. "What ever happened to him?"
The fact that he knew about the pilot was disturbing enough, but Kyle was getting too personal - even for him.
"The lawyer is none of your concern Dr. Raymond."
"You were with him for over a year weren't you? What happened? Did he cheat on you? I know how you feel about cheating men, but when it happens to you it's a completely different story."
She felt the anger rising within her. Her face was growing flushed, her self control dwindling.
"Kyle was a wonderful. He did nothing wrong."
"Did you do something to push him away?"
"NO! Yes, I don't know," why was she confessing to him. She hated this.
"Were you afraid? Committing to someone for your entire life would be quite intimidating. You love sex way too much to have one man until you are old. Divorces are wonderful. But who says you can't have an affair right? Is that what you did? Did you cheat on him?"
"I never cheated on him!" she yelled.
"What happened then? Was it work, was it commitment, was it love itself? What went wrong?"
"His sister developed Huntington's disease. She lived in Alabama and he wanted to move down there to be closer to her," she said quietly.
"And you didn't want to leave your job. You'd come so far, worked so hard. Leaving would be quite difficult. He accused you of not being there when he really needed you."
She was seeing their argument right in front of her eyes. They were at her apartment, his hair was disheveled and he hadn't slept in days. He'd just told her that he'd quit his job and was leaving the next week. He hadn't even talked with her first. They were already on round two of arguing.
"He just expected me to pick up my life because he was having a family emergency. You don't just quit the bureau. He didn't understand," she said, pacing back and forth.
"How selfish of him, the man that you loved so much, to expect you to be with him when he needed you most," he said in his best devil's advocate voice. "IT'S ONLY A JOB SAM!" he yelled. "When are you going to learn that you can't go to bed with your work, that it won't make you breakfast in the morning or hold your hand when the world is crumbling around you?"
"I don't know Jonathan. I doubt I ever will. I have you to thank for that. Why should I trust men, when all they do is screw me over?"
"What, like your boss?" she stopped dead in her tracks. "Honey you screwed yourself there. I always wanted to know what it felt like to be the one who wasn't trapped by the marriage or the kids. What did it feel like, knowing that he'd be leaving your bed, to go to hers?"
"Stop it," she said softly.
"Knowing that those hands that slid over your thighs, glided up your back, unbuttoned your shirt, had only done the same thing the night before during make-up sex."
Images of them tangled up in bed - sweaty and breathless - flashed through her mind. She blinked away the visions.
"Stop it!" her voice was louder. Frank started crooning 'My Way' as silence filled the room once again.
"I can't imagine you becoming attached to a man like that. It must have been the whole experience, that adrenaline coursing through your veins, knowing that what you were doing was wrong. I mean you were probably doing other men on the side as well, but apparently you were more attached than you thought."
"There wasn't any attachment," she lied. "Like you said, he was just one of the many."
"How long did that affair go on with Jack? I bet you'd have to bring extra makeup with you to work so you could cover up tell tale signs that you'd just screwed each other before work. Would he ever order you Chinese? I know how much you love to eat take-out right after you've finished a romp in the sack."
She shot him a look of fire.
"Or was he the guilty type that got dressed soon after and bolted? I bet he'd wait until you got in the shower then left, hated to deal with confrontation didn't he? You obviously couldn't say anything at work, and when he came by again a couple nights later, you were ready for another round," he leaned back in the chair and placed his feet on the table with contentment.
"Jack Malone is a good man. If you are going to attack someone, let it be me. Stay away from him," she said with defiance. Sam stared out his window, chewing on the tip of her thumbnail while trying her best to push his words out of her mind.
"The lawyer who you didn't love enough to follow, is now happily married, with a six-month-old girl. Get this, her name is - Samantha. The fireman you dated a couple years ago and broke up with out of the blue, is married as well and has twin boys. The first man you ever dumped, when you began to thrive upon the feeling you got when you watched his sorry face crumple up, well, he lives with his mother, but at least he isn't alone. I'm detecting a pattern here," he said with a sing-songish voice. "Of course there are the few that cheated on you, or slapped you around a little, but you never were the best judge of character either."
"The boss you most recently screwed, the 'relationship' you never had that was based completely on lust, guess what? He's still with his wife and children as well," his verbal assault was getting more vicious with each second. "Well, you're good for something I guess. Helping men realize what they never wanted in a woman."
"In the end, Samantha, you are what you hate. No matter how you look at it, you will be a worthless, selfish, used up slut," he punctuated the last word, giving a bit more emphasis than he intended. He waited a moment for his words to sink in before pounding her more, taking her down with each word.
"Men don't leave their wives for a whore. Men don't marry a woman who's had sex with more men than she has fingers and toes. You will end up afraid and alone. Just. Like. Me."
Fighting the tears, Sam turned on him as she remembered one thing.
"What about Tatiana? Do you remember her Jonathan? I saw her about a year ago," her voice was shaky, she was pulling out one of the only cards she had up her sleeve. Raymond stood up as well, smirking. "She didn't mention you though, although I bet she wondered what you'd been up to. Of course, I couldn't offer her anything. Women don't marry men who screw their students either," she shot back.
"Nice Samantha, smooth. Really," he turned and placed a hand on his hip. Sam glanced over at him and did a double take. There were bulges on his lower back, three to be exact.
"Did she send me kind regards? She was one helluva woman. Shame she had to go and move to the other side of the world," he saw Sam placing a hand on her gun and looked down at his shirt. Smiling, he began to undo the three remaining buttons.
"Don't worry Sam, if were going to die, we'd be dead already. I figure we have at least another twenty minutes or so," he said while turning around slowly. Strapped to his back with duct tape were three packs of C4.
Sam backed up against the counter to the kitchen, mentally kicking herself for her carelessness. Jack should be getting here by now. Where were the cops? Leave NYPD to save you. Right.
"Don't be rash Jonathan, come on. You don't need to do this, this can be resolved peacefully," she said calmly.
"Did you see a little boy in the hallway Samantha? It's his birthday today. They should be opening presents soon. He loves teddy bears. Absolutely adores them," his voice grew harsh and cold.
Realizing that he'd put the detonator in the bear she shook her head in disbelief.
"You wouldn't."
"Do you know how hard it was to figure out how to get you to come to me? I was lucky her missing person's report even fell in your department," he said while taking the last sip his glass could offer. "Melanie was great fun though. I really enjoyed her. It was much easier than I thought it would be. She's a lot weaker than you are."
Realization slowly dawning on her features, she couldn't hide the shock that crossed her face. The case, the whole case had been created to get her back. He couldn't just drop by for coffee, no. He had to make it difficult. She drew her gun quickly and held it at eye level.
"Samantha put that down. If you don't want to die, then get the hell out of here. I fully intended to keep you, but seeing how much you've already destroyed yourself, I'm surprised you aren't asking to stay and get it over with."
"Shut up you prick. Can't you disarm it?"
"Even if I did, the two other places where I planted the C4 are impossible to reach at this point in time," he said.
~~~~
Jack pulled up to the building, he and Danny quickly getting out of the car. "Where are the cops? Didn't you call them?"
"Yeah, back at the insurance building," said Danny as they entered the building, flashing their badges at the doorman.
"We need the location of Dr. Raymond please," said Jack hastily.
The young desk clerk scanned their Ids then looked at them briefly.
"I'm sorry, no one by that name lives here," he said smugly.
Danny reached across the counter and grabbed his collar.
"Listen you moron, you can and will be arrested for obstructing a criminal investigation. Do not - " he stopped at the sound of gun fire.
"What floor is he on?" said Jack once again.
"Six. Room 15." Danny placed the man back on the ground and followed Jack to the elevator. He pulled out his phone to check on the police. He didn't like where this was headed at all.
~~~
"That was a great CD player too," said Raymond as he examined the gunshot piercing it through the 'off' button.
"Well, if you wouldn't put Vivaldi's Violin Concerto #6 in there when I'm around, I guess you'll be just fine. Who has sex to classical music anyway?" she asked, waving her gun around. "Where are the explosives located?" she asked with a stern voice.
"Samantha, go next door and ask for my present. Marco probably won't be happy, but if you wave the gun around, you might make some headway."
"You don't have a kill switch or anything?" he shook his head. "Are you linked with any other apartments or is it just this one?"
"It is nice to share isn't it?"
She frowned and shook her head. "If you wanted me, then why didn't you just come and get me? Killing other people isn't the way to get this done. My death isn't going to solve anything. As you said, no one cares about a whore," she said walking closer to him, her heels making light clicks on the floor.
"We all love a little differently Agent Spade. Sometimes, it's a bit more passionate than you might expect. Poor Clayton, he's as crazy as I am. He just isn't smart enough to make anything happen. It's funny what happens when two men love the same woman. An uncommon bond forms between them."
"Where is he? Did he leave already?"
"I suggest you retrieve that bear before you start thinking about Clayton," he said carefully.
Sam kept her gun trained on him as she backed towards the door, slowly unlocking it with her free hand. Before she could get her hand on the knob, a knock startled her from grasping the brass fixture.
The door opened to reveal Jack and Danny, guns drawn, ready to take down whoever waited inside.
"Where have you been?" she asked Danny.
"Oh, you know, we saw a tennis court, couldn't pass up the chance," replied Danny. His smile turned quickly into a frown as he realized that Dr. Raymond was strapped with C4.
"Jack, go next door and ask for the teddy bear," Sam ordered. "The detonator is in the bear."
"I'm not leaving," said Jack firmly. They were going to have a nice long talk when this was over.
"Danny, go. Then wait for the cops downstairs."
"Right."
"Oh and call Viv and tell her what's going on."
Danny exited the open door and left the two agents, guns pointed at a duct tape wearing, C4 toting, psychopath.
TBC. - If anything about C4 is incorrect, well, I must admit, I am not a demolition expert. Anyway. Next chapter will be much more team friendly.
~~~
The building had a well dressed doorman standing guard outside and inside, a desk clerk who checked for IDs and the like. Samantha confidently strode over to the clerk, who appeared to be about 25, and gave him a radiant smile.
"Samantha Spade I presume?" he asked. Her smile quickly faded.
"Yes," she uttered, puzzled. She couldn't manage more than nod as he handed her a small envelope made of thick parchment paper.
"Dr. Raymond lives on the sixth floor, number 15. Henry can take you up the elevator," he said while motioning to another gentleman standing beside the door.
Shaking her head, she replied, "No thanks, that won't be necessary. If you could, I'd appreciate if you could direct me to the stairs."
"Certainly. The stairs are around the corner on the left," he motioned with his hands. She smiled in gratitude and walked in the direction of the stairs.
Once she rounded the corner, she pressed herself against the cool marble wall. Leaning her head against a column, she tried to get her breathing under control. She realized the magnitude of the situation she was in, and was aware that she would most likely be fired. But the thought of that man walking around another day, completely free, made her nauseous and risking her career was worth it.
Remembering the parchment envelope in her hand, she brought it up slowly and looked at the front. It had a calligraphic 'S' written on the front in an ink the color of mahogany. She glanced around cautiously and opened the envelope, breaking the seal with her fingers. Emptying its contents in her hand, a key fell out along with a small card that read, "Hope you enjoy."
Ignoring the goosebumps that had accumulated on her arms, she placed the key and card back in their envelope and tucked it safely away in her pocket. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off from the wall and walked towards the large marble staircase.
With each step and each landing she encountered, her heart beat faster and her goal became clearer. It felt as though she'd found her purpose in life, a new sense of clarity was passing over her as she climbed up the fifth flight of stairs. It was strange actually, because she knew he'd be waiting for her, ready to drop a bomb.
She felt a vibration on the side of her hip. Her phone was on, and she felt it vibrate occasionally, but she never chose to answer it. She contemplated tossing it aside along with her earplug on her way; however, her remaining common sense dissuaded her from proceeding. Finally, she'd reached the sixth floor. Closing her eyes and hoping she'd come out all right in the end, she took a deep breath and stepped onto the carpeted hallway.
Each step was taken carefully, not too hasty or uncalculated. She had a plan and she was going to stick to it. She neared the end of the hallway and heard a strange noise around the corner. Drawing her gun, Sam braced her back against the wall and held her weapon in both hands.
She counted silently to three then turned the corner abruptly. A small boy, no older than four years old looked up at the strange woman pointing something at him. As she realized that he might become afraid, she quickly holstered her gun and drew her jacket around herself. Already interested in trying to demolish the imaginary war camp he'd built in the hallway, the boy paid her no mind as she walked carefully around him and his fortress.
Coming in contact with a real human before trying to kill someone was not the encouragement she needed. Especially one who wore a bowl cut and Sesame Street sneakers. Swallowing any fear or doubt, she walked towards apartment 15.
Sam paused at the door, notes from a piano trickled out of his apartment. Unable to place the song, she looked in her pocket for the envelope that held the key. She took another sideways glance down the hallway and watched as the boy began taking his toys inside his apartment. She pulled her gun out once again and prepared to insert the key in the lock.
The door itself was unlocked, left ever so slightly ajar. The music still carried out of the apartment, dark and leisurely. She took another deep breath, revenge pushing her forward. She lightly tapped the door with her foot, her gun drawn and ready to fire. Peering inside, Raymond could not be seen at first glance. She looked down at her feet that were planted on the threshold of his apartment, unwilling to go further. The apartment was large and maintained a contemporary feel to it. Seeing as she was in what appeared to be the living area, she noted that the furniture was sparse and hardly looked comfortable. She followed the sound of the piano to a room on her left.
The apartment went in both directions, on the left of her it was divided by a floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcase that stretched almost three-fourths of the way across the room, with an opening in the middle. While the right side had large, fully equipped kitchen with the lights turned low. Instead of staying near the door, she took a few steps into his apartment and stopped when she heard the music cease. Footsteps approached her, echoing off of the wooden floor.
"Hello Samantha, I've been waiting for you," said Dr. Raymond, smiling congenially. He stood at the top of two steps that led to the living area, holding a glass of wine. Samantha's gun was drawn entirely, all she needed was to squeeze the trigger and her work would be done. Unfortunately, the phone on her hip vibrated again, the real world calling her to remember her place. Her focus broken, she quickly changed her mind and started backing towards the door, pulling out her badge.
"Jonathan Raymond, you are under arrest for the sexual assault of Melanie Myers," she said while flipping her badge open. She was not going to let him win. Resorting to her profession instead of acting out her anger was the right thing to do. Even though every bone in her body wanted her to aim and take him down.
He smiled at her gesture then placed his glass on the nearest table chuckling to himself. He reached down and grabbed a remote, holding it up and pointed it at his CD player. Frank Sinatra's voice filled the apartment while the two stood and waited for the other to make a move.
Almost 46, Jonathan Raymond was a lean, handsome man. He was above average height and had gray hair taking over his once dirty blond head. Sam watched cautiously as he placed the remote back on the table and grabbed his glass once again, taking a large sip. He almost blended in with his dark apartment, wearing all black, even a partially buttoned black dress shirt.
"Would you like a glass of wine?" he asked, obviously ignoring what she'd just said. "Come now Samantha, please, sit down and relax. I dare say you're a bit tired."
"I would like nothing more than for you to comply with my orders and come with me," she said with much restraint.
"How about this," he said, swirling the dark liquid in his glass around casually. "You give me, oh say ten minutes of your time, and I do what ever you want," he looked up at her with a strong, even look.
"I don't do negotiations Jonathan. The police will be here soon anyway. How about you make it easier on yourself and come with me," she replied defiantly.
He ignored her last statement and walked over to his refrigerated wine cabinet pulling out a recently opened bottle of 1997 Bordeaux. She noted that he walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg. Got to love souvenirs. He took a glass off of the shelf and held it up to the dim light, checking for cleanliness. He filled the glass half way, then returned the bottle back into the refrigerator. He turned to find the gun pointed at him once again.
"Sit down with me for five minutes. Have some wine and I will come with you. Simple as that," he said bluntly, so easy it was obviously untrue.
As Sam tried to decide, Raymond began walking to her, in no way afraid of the gun. His eyes kept their penetrating stare the entire time as approached, not wavering in the least. With one finger he confidently pushed down on the barrel of her gun and held out the glass of wine. Not knowing what she was doing, she took it and followed as he motioned towards the stiff looking couch.
By the time she was sitting, she realized that the front door had been closed and locked and he was sitting across from her, playing with a coaster. How she managed to blank out, she didn't know. Feeling for her gun, she lightly sighed as she found it right beside her, still loaded.
"Now, where were we?" he asked nonchalantly.
"We were at you coming with me," she said firmly.
"Did you enjoy your afternoon?" he asked.
"Yes, it was quite pleasant outside," she returned. He observed her demeanor as she noticed the centerpiece on his living room table. It was a glass vase that had obviously been glued back together.
"Do you like it? I couldn't find all the pieces, but it still holds up," he said, rubbing his head slightly in what appeared to be a scarred area. "It took seven stitches to sew up that lovely little mark you left."
"If you'd like, I could always repeat the gesture," she said crossly. She would have too, if only he was closer.
"That won't be necessary," he said. He stood up suddenly and began pacing, walking around with the coaster still in his hand. "You have become quite the manipulator Samantha. I must say, I'm quite proud."
Sam remained silent. She was prepared for the psychoanalysis. If at all possible, she was going to completely phase him out.
"I know what you're doing Samantha, trust me it won't work," he said knowingly. He walked behind the couch on which she was sitting and dropped down right beside her ear and spoke in a low voice.
"You've been a bad, bad girl Samantha. I know what you've been doing." He stood up again and walked back around. "How long did it take you to date again after you left? Three, four years? I'm quite surprised though, it must have been hard for you. Constantly turning down those offers of weekend attention. Looking back you must have regretted some of it."
"Is there a point to this Jonathan, make it, because your minutes are ticking away," she stated with a hint of impatience in her voice.
"When was the first time you had sex again? Was it with that hotshot pilot? Or how about the good old, 'friend from back home.' You must have been pretty tender. I bet you cried afterwards," he said as he took a seat in the chair closest to her. "But you liked the feeling didn't you? The control you had over those men. You've probably lost count there have been so many. Bringing a whole new meaning to promiscuity, eh?"
Brushing off his comment, she turned back on him.
"What about you? What did you like so much about taking those women? You could have easily gotten one by normal standards; I don't see why raping them ever became an option."
"I guess it's for the same reason you enjoy controlling men the way you do. It's quite addictive, the high you get afterwards, the feeling of invincibility. We're more alike than you think, you and I," he said, with a prompt bite of the lip.
She stood up immediately, bristling from his comment. "Never compare us. I am nothing like you. You are a conniving, manipulative bastard. Not once have I done anything to even resemble the life you've led." She stood now, arms at her sides, her posture clearly on the defensive. Only now did she realize she was giving him what he wanted.
"Really? We both have used our bodies to get what we want," he paused, then changed the subject abruptly. "Have you ever been in love Samantha? I believe you have. I too have been in love. See we aren't that much different."
"Love exists on many different levels, I doubt ours were the same," she replied much more calmly, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.
"Yes, I believe mine was much more - passionate. Let's think though. I can't really recall that many men with whom you've actually had a meaningful relationship with. You are all about the lust and satisfaction. Ah, wait. The lawyer, Kyle Brooks," he said with intended satisfaction. "What ever happened to him?"
The fact that he knew about the pilot was disturbing enough, but Kyle was getting too personal - even for him.
"The lawyer is none of your concern Dr. Raymond."
"You were with him for over a year weren't you? What happened? Did he cheat on you? I know how you feel about cheating men, but when it happens to you it's a completely different story."
She felt the anger rising within her. Her face was growing flushed, her self control dwindling.
"Kyle was a wonderful. He did nothing wrong."
"Did you do something to push him away?"
"NO! Yes, I don't know," why was she confessing to him. She hated this.
"Were you afraid? Committing to someone for your entire life would be quite intimidating. You love sex way too much to have one man until you are old. Divorces are wonderful. But who says you can't have an affair right? Is that what you did? Did you cheat on him?"
"I never cheated on him!" she yelled.
"What happened then? Was it work, was it commitment, was it love itself? What went wrong?"
"His sister developed Huntington's disease. She lived in Alabama and he wanted to move down there to be closer to her," she said quietly.
"And you didn't want to leave your job. You'd come so far, worked so hard. Leaving would be quite difficult. He accused you of not being there when he really needed you."
She was seeing their argument right in front of her eyes. They were at her apartment, his hair was disheveled and he hadn't slept in days. He'd just told her that he'd quit his job and was leaving the next week. He hadn't even talked with her first. They were already on round two of arguing.
"He just expected me to pick up my life because he was having a family emergency. You don't just quit the bureau. He didn't understand," she said, pacing back and forth.
"How selfish of him, the man that you loved so much, to expect you to be with him when he needed you most," he said in his best devil's advocate voice. "IT'S ONLY A JOB SAM!" he yelled. "When are you going to learn that you can't go to bed with your work, that it won't make you breakfast in the morning or hold your hand when the world is crumbling around you?"
"I don't know Jonathan. I doubt I ever will. I have you to thank for that. Why should I trust men, when all they do is screw me over?"
"What, like your boss?" she stopped dead in her tracks. "Honey you screwed yourself there. I always wanted to know what it felt like to be the one who wasn't trapped by the marriage or the kids. What did it feel like, knowing that he'd be leaving your bed, to go to hers?"
"Stop it," she said softly.
"Knowing that those hands that slid over your thighs, glided up your back, unbuttoned your shirt, had only done the same thing the night before during make-up sex."
Images of them tangled up in bed - sweaty and breathless - flashed through her mind. She blinked away the visions.
"Stop it!" her voice was louder. Frank started crooning 'My Way' as silence filled the room once again.
"I can't imagine you becoming attached to a man like that. It must have been the whole experience, that adrenaline coursing through your veins, knowing that what you were doing was wrong. I mean you were probably doing other men on the side as well, but apparently you were more attached than you thought."
"There wasn't any attachment," she lied. "Like you said, he was just one of the many."
"How long did that affair go on with Jack? I bet you'd have to bring extra makeup with you to work so you could cover up tell tale signs that you'd just screwed each other before work. Would he ever order you Chinese? I know how much you love to eat take-out right after you've finished a romp in the sack."
She shot him a look of fire.
"Or was he the guilty type that got dressed soon after and bolted? I bet he'd wait until you got in the shower then left, hated to deal with confrontation didn't he? You obviously couldn't say anything at work, and when he came by again a couple nights later, you were ready for another round," he leaned back in the chair and placed his feet on the table with contentment.
"Jack Malone is a good man. If you are going to attack someone, let it be me. Stay away from him," she said with defiance. Sam stared out his window, chewing on the tip of her thumbnail while trying her best to push his words out of her mind.
"The lawyer who you didn't love enough to follow, is now happily married, with a six-month-old girl. Get this, her name is - Samantha. The fireman you dated a couple years ago and broke up with out of the blue, is married as well and has twin boys. The first man you ever dumped, when you began to thrive upon the feeling you got when you watched his sorry face crumple up, well, he lives with his mother, but at least he isn't alone. I'm detecting a pattern here," he said with a sing-songish voice. "Of course there are the few that cheated on you, or slapped you around a little, but you never were the best judge of character either."
"The boss you most recently screwed, the 'relationship' you never had that was based completely on lust, guess what? He's still with his wife and children as well," his verbal assault was getting more vicious with each second. "Well, you're good for something I guess. Helping men realize what they never wanted in a woman."
"In the end, Samantha, you are what you hate. No matter how you look at it, you will be a worthless, selfish, used up slut," he punctuated the last word, giving a bit more emphasis than he intended. He waited a moment for his words to sink in before pounding her more, taking her down with each word.
"Men don't leave their wives for a whore. Men don't marry a woman who's had sex with more men than she has fingers and toes. You will end up afraid and alone. Just. Like. Me."
Fighting the tears, Sam turned on him as she remembered one thing.
"What about Tatiana? Do you remember her Jonathan? I saw her about a year ago," her voice was shaky, she was pulling out one of the only cards she had up her sleeve. Raymond stood up as well, smirking. "She didn't mention you though, although I bet she wondered what you'd been up to. Of course, I couldn't offer her anything. Women don't marry men who screw their students either," she shot back.
"Nice Samantha, smooth. Really," he turned and placed a hand on his hip. Sam glanced over at him and did a double take. There were bulges on his lower back, three to be exact.
"Did she send me kind regards? She was one helluva woman. Shame she had to go and move to the other side of the world," he saw Sam placing a hand on her gun and looked down at his shirt. Smiling, he began to undo the three remaining buttons.
"Don't worry Sam, if were going to die, we'd be dead already. I figure we have at least another twenty minutes or so," he said while turning around slowly. Strapped to his back with duct tape were three packs of C4.
Sam backed up against the counter to the kitchen, mentally kicking herself for her carelessness. Jack should be getting here by now. Where were the cops? Leave NYPD to save you. Right.
"Don't be rash Jonathan, come on. You don't need to do this, this can be resolved peacefully," she said calmly.
"Did you see a little boy in the hallway Samantha? It's his birthday today. They should be opening presents soon. He loves teddy bears. Absolutely adores them," his voice grew harsh and cold.
Realizing that he'd put the detonator in the bear she shook her head in disbelief.
"You wouldn't."
"Do you know how hard it was to figure out how to get you to come to me? I was lucky her missing person's report even fell in your department," he said while taking the last sip his glass could offer. "Melanie was great fun though. I really enjoyed her. It was much easier than I thought it would be. She's a lot weaker than you are."
Realization slowly dawning on her features, she couldn't hide the shock that crossed her face. The case, the whole case had been created to get her back. He couldn't just drop by for coffee, no. He had to make it difficult. She drew her gun quickly and held it at eye level.
"Samantha put that down. If you don't want to die, then get the hell out of here. I fully intended to keep you, but seeing how much you've already destroyed yourself, I'm surprised you aren't asking to stay and get it over with."
"Shut up you prick. Can't you disarm it?"
"Even if I did, the two other places where I planted the C4 are impossible to reach at this point in time," he said.
~~~~
Jack pulled up to the building, he and Danny quickly getting out of the car. "Where are the cops? Didn't you call them?"
"Yeah, back at the insurance building," said Danny as they entered the building, flashing their badges at the doorman.
"We need the location of Dr. Raymond please," said Jack hastily.
The young desk clerk scanned their Ids then looked at them briefly.
"I'm sorry, no one by that name lives here," he said smugly.
Danny reached across the counter and grabbed his collar.
"Listen you moron, you can and will be arrested for obstructing a criminal investigation. Do not - " he stopped at the sound of gun fire.
"What floor is he on?" said Jack once again.
"Six. Room 15." Danny placed the man back on the ground and followed Jack to the elevator. He pulled out his phone to check on the police. He didn't like where this was headed at all.
~~~
"That was a great CD player too," said Raymond as he examined the gunshot piercing it through the 'off' button.
"Well, if you wouldn't put Vivaldi's Violin Concerto #6 in there when I'm around, I guess you'll be just fine. Who has sex to classical music anyway?" she asked, waving her gun around. "Where are the explosives located?" she asked with a stern voice.
"Samantha, go next door and ask for my present. Marco probably won't be happy, but if you wave the gun around, you might make some headway."
"You don't have a kill switch or anything?" he shook his head. "Are you linked with any other apartments or is it just this one?"
"It is nice to share isn't it?"
She frowned and shook her head. "If you wanted me, then why didn't you just come and get me? Killing other people isn't the way to get this done. My death isn't going to solve anything. As you said, no one cares about a whore," she said walking closer to him, her heels making light clicks on the floor.
"We all love a little differently Agent Spade. Sometimes, it's a bit more passionate than you might expect. Poor Clayton, he's as crazy as I am. He just isn't smart enough to make anything happen. It's funny what happens when two men love the same woman. An uncommon bond forms between them."
"Where is he? Did he leave already?"
"I suggest you retrieve that bear before you start thinking about Clayton," he said carefully.
Sam kept her gun trained on him as she backed towards the door, slowly unlocking it with her free hand. Before she could get her hand on the knob, a knock startled her from grasping the brass fixture.
The door opened to reveal Jack and Danny, guns drawn, ready to take down whoever waited inside.
"Where have you been?" she asked Danny.
"Oh, you know, we saw a tennis court, couldn't pass up the chance," replied Danny. His smile turned quickly into a frown as he realized that Dr. Raymond was strapped with C4.
"Jack, go next door and ask for the teddy bear," Sam ordered. "The detonator is in the bear."
"I'm not leaving," said Jack firmly. They were going to have a nice long talk when this was over.
"Danny, go. Then wait for the cops downstairs."
"Right."
"Oh and call Viv and tell her what's going on."
Danny exited the open door and left the two agents, guns pointed at a duct tape wearing, C4 toting, psychopath.
TBC. - If anything about C4 is incorrect, well, I must admit, I am not a demolition expert. Anyway. Next chapter will be much more team friendly.