The Choice, chapter 3
"How was your day?" Nick asked as Sara came through the front door, looking exhausted.
"Harrowing," Sara replied dubiously, and Nick chuckled as he handed her a drink. "I rode with Edna all day today, and listened as she very carefully skirted around the gay issue for hours. At first, I thought, Edna's older, she's probably a mother figure to some of the officers, I could see where a younger officer, particularly a female, might come to confide in Edna. I think if she had any idea of what was happening, though, she would have told me," Sara admitted confidently. She continued, exasperated. "Instead, she grilled me about my dates in the last ten years of my life."
"I discovered something interesting as well, though far less fascinating than the topic of Sapphic love," Nick waggled his eyebrows. "It took some serious digging, but I found that Good Captain Yessen has a leather fetish, as well as six documented cases of police brutality. All cases found in his favor, but it is interesting never-the-less."
At Sara's surprised expression, he hastily added, "I'm looking into it."
"You and Caldwell?"
"Actually, surveillance, just me. I'll be home around eleven. Caldwell is coming over later to brief you on Maxwell."
"Joy," Sara's sarcasm was evident.
"Hey, now, you've got nothing to worry about," Nick said, as he walked back towards the kitchen.
"I'm not worried," Sara assured him. "Just something about the guy. Too...friendly," she finally surmised, but that wasn't it either, really. Unsettling was the only word leaping to mind, but she couldn't say that to Nick. "His brother is such a nice guy," she called as Nick disappeared into the den.
"I heard you talking to Edna about him," Nick hollered back. He was only gone for a minute more before he came out of the den looking very edible. Black pants, a tight black t-shirt and a black ballcap to complete the ensemble.
"Are you doing your surveillance as Batman?" Sara asked, snarky.
Nick smirked at her as he plopped down in the armchair to lace up his boots. "I left dinner in the oven for you," he mentioned. Sara looked over, not surprised. Nick usually had dinner ready for her when she got back to the apartment every night. Nick came over to her when he was done and Sara stiffened when he braced his hands on the back of the couch, one on either side of her. She relaxed somewhat when he planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead. Briefly Nick wondered if she would slap him silly if he were to duck a little lower and give her a kiss she wouldn't soon forget.
Backing up, he righted himself and grabbed the keys to the rental car off of the bar. Sara was still a little speechless as he closed the door behind him. Sighing, she rose from the couch and went to inspect her dinner in the oven. It looked like a hot open-faced turkey sandwich, and Sara saw the little note that Nick had written lying on the counter proclaiming it to be 'tofurkey.'
Sighing, she sat down at the kitchen table and had just bitten into her sandwich when she heard the knock at the door. She let Officer Caldwell in, and then went directly back to her dinner. He sat across from her at the kitchen table, and was holding transcripts of the conversations she'd had that Monday with Max.
"Officer Maxwell is on the threshold of being removed from active duty," he began without greeting. "In the months since her partner's LOA, she has become moody and irritable with the other officers, and insubordinate with her CO."
"She lost her partner," Sara pointed out.
"Her partner didn't die," Caldwell responded, bewildered.
"An LOA can make someone feel just as isolated," Sara argued.
"My concern is not whether Officer Maxwell is discharged or not. My concern is whether she launches a full-scale private investigation, compromising our case."
"If her CO understood what has happened to her, he would know how to speak with her!" Sara responded angrily.
"I don't know how things are in the City of Las Vegas, but we do not baby our Police Force, Detective."
"It's not about condescension, it's about compassion!"
"Arguing is fruitless. I am in charge of this investigation, and I am assigning you to a victim interview, tonight. Officer Maxwell has, for all intents and purposes, made you. You are to go in, extract from her what information you can, and determine who comprises her circle of contacts, how wide it is, et cetera and so forth."
A ringtone blared through the air, and Caldwell reached for the phone clipped to his belt. He turned in his chair sideways, ignoring Sara as he flipped the phone open and put it up to his ear. "Captain Caldwell," he barked. "Tonight. Sark is already out there. Good. No." He flipped his phone closed and turned back to Sara, who was staring at him, open-mouthed.
"You're the IA Captain," she said, numbly, needlessly.
"Guilty," he smiled.
"Of course," Sara looked down at her sandwich. Of course he was the Captain of IA, she was stupid not to have known. As if they would leave one of the most potentially damaging cases Reno had seen in years to a rookie. Which made her wonder all the more why they had chosen her. Sure, she had volunteered, sort of, but she had no formal experience as a detective, and Nick only had a little more. She was never the first on the scene; she rarely even drew her gun. Really, hiring out to Colorado or California would have been almost equally as close, and possibly much more effective. She snapped out of her little reverie when she realized Caldwell was staring at her.
"Officer Maxwell should be at home tonight, her husband works the night shift, and her son is at soccer practice until ten," he was all business once more.
Sara narrowed her eyes, "how do you know all of that?"
"It's my job to know," he replied, his face expressionless. He handed her the file and picked up his briefcase from the floor, leaving the apartment swiftly, with nary a goodbye.
Sara climbed up the small set of rickety wooden stairs up to an equally questionable porch. She reached out to knock on the large wooden door, and saw Max's face peek briefly from underneath the cheerful yellow curtains. Max's face was hard when she opened the door.
"Detective," she deferred, standing in the doorway.
"May I come in?" Sara asked boldly, flashing Max what she hoped was a reassuring smile. Max didn't smile back. Instead, she took several steps back and allowed Sara to slip past into the foyer. Sara looked around in awe at the inundation of bright pink kitsch on the walls. It was like a nauseating wonderland of schmaltz. "You have a lovely home," Sara said brightly, casting a glance towards the living room, which thankfully, looked less like a craft mall.
Max allowed her to meander in and take a seat on the couch. Max sat across from her and belatedly offered her a drink, but Sara declined.
"Listen, Max. I was a little concerned when we talked on Monday," Sara started, knowing this wasn't the way to win Max's trust, but not knowing what else to say. Where was Nick when you needed him? Where was Catherine, with all their charm, and wit and their way with words?
"What do you care?" she replied, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. She placed another one behind her ear for later.
"You say you know why I've come to Reno," Sara offered simply, her expression revealing nothing.
"I don't know anything about anything. I just think," Max blew out a long, thin cord of smoke. Sara sensed Max wanted to confide in her. She also considered plucking the cigarette out from behind Max's ear and lighting up.
"Well, at the very least I wanted to speak with you about your partner's LOA. You seem very concerned with the situation."
"What 'situation'?" Max challenged explosively. "My partner was raped, Sark. Raped and left for dead. I consider that a whole hell of a lot more than a situation."
"Agreed," Sara leaned forward, her eyes shining with vehemence, eager to volley with Max. "Why didn't she report the situation to her CO? Or a detective? Or IA?"
Max stopped what was gearing up to be a powerful diatribe to suspiciously ask "IA? Why would she report it to IA?"
"She could have told someone.," Sara bit her lip, knowing she had said too much. Max seemed to accept her explanation, however, and a hurt look crossed her face.
"I don't know," Max looked helpless for the first time since Sara had met her.
"She didn't tell you why she wouldn't go to the police?"
"She wouldn't tell me anything. She called me to meet her at the hospital, she was crying, distraught, confused. Then by the time I got there, she was just as calm as the ticking of a clock. She told me she was sorry to pull me out of bed," Max laughed bitterly. "As if I wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth and back for her, and her for me."
"She told the hospital staff that it was consensual sex. At what point did she tell you it was rape?"
"Not until she took her LOA, went back home," Max used the back of her hand to wipe away hot, furious tears. "And those old dykes, making fun of her, saying she just wasn't cut out for the Force, it liked to kill me. As if Edna and those girls could even conceive of the love I feel for Isabel," Max stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette.
"The love of a best friend," Sara choked out, compassionately.
Max looked up in surprise to see Sara also emotional.
"The best friend I've ever had," Max agreed.
"Max, I want to help. I will help," Sara leaned forward, her voice tight. "I need you to help me help Isabel."
"I don't know what I can do to help you," Max's defenses were back up.
"I need to know what you know. What information you've gathered," Sara was baldly honest, and she could see the wheels turning, Max considering her proposal.
"I don't have much," Max finally offered. "No suspects, really. It could be anyone."
"But you don't think so," Sara read carefully. "Isabel has given you clues, hasn't she?"
"I have reason to believe it's internal," Max was still cautious. "I've been eliminating suspects." Max rose and went to the antique desk that was pressed against the wall in the far corner and pulled out several sheets of well-worn notepaper. "I've looked over these lists a thousand times or more. The names with dates or times and places have alibis that have been confirmed." She reached behind her ear and pulled out the cigarette and then lit up. She eased herself back into her armchair.
"Thank you, Max," Sara stood and shook the older woman's hand, making a promise with her eyes that would have sounded empty spoken.
"You know, about ten years ago, my daughter Lollie ran away from home. She was missing six days before the police found her body," Max said hollowly, still sitting. "She was only fifteen, and I thought I would die...I didn't, and eventually I quit thinking about Lollie every minute of every day," she let out a long stream of smoke. "All this stuff, coming up, I've been thinking about her a lot lately. It feels like I've lost her again."
"I can't save your daughter's life. But I promise, I will do everything I can to save Isabel's," Sara swore. Max nodded and continued to sit in her chair and smoke as Sara let herself out.
Sara was already in bed, bordering on drowsy, when Nick slipped in with his towel to take a shower. He didn't dally, and he was tiptoeing out when Sara very softly said his name.
"Shh, I'm done, go back to sleep," Nick muttered as he reached the door.
"I wasn't asleep," Sara sat up and beckoned him over. He dropped his dirty clothes into the armchair by the door and came over to the bed, sitting on the edge gingerly. "Did you get anything?"
"A night at home, alone with the missus. He came home, ate dinner, as far as I could tell, watched some television and went to sleep. No visitors, no late night rendezvous."
"I got some good leads," Sara's dark eyes were shining and Nick felt the almost unbearable urge to tuck back the errant strands of hair from her forehead and brush his lips against hers. "I went to see Max, and I got some useful information, I think."
"You went in alone, without back-up?" Nick asked, disbelieving.
"I don't think an interview with Max qualified as a mission needing back-up, but yes," Sara replied dryly.
"I'm here to protect you, Sara," Nick reminded her softly.
"Well, take it up with Caldwell. He's the one who sent me over there without you. Did you know he was a Captain?"
"Yes," Nick's voice was tight, and Sara could see his teeth were clenched. She reached out and ran a light finger along his jaw, and he immediately relaxed. The air grew thick as he gazed at her with a tenderness that threatened to embarrass her. The moment stretched long as he stared at her, his eyes searching her face. She took a deep breath as he leaned forward on the bed towards her. Sara's eyelids fluttered shut, and she parted her lips, sure he was going to kiss her, and not wanting to resist him for another second. Her breath caught in her throat, and she held it for an endless second, feeling his warm breath across her lips and wanting this, wanting him in a way that she couldn't explain. A soft whimper spilled from her mouth, agonizing, but she couldn't lean forward to seal the contact.
He must have thought better of it, because a second later he moved away. Sara's eyes snapped open, disappointed, and she could see he was struggling with himself, and she wanted so badly to call him back. In the end, she didn't, and Nick bade her a soft goodnight as he left the room. She flopped backwards onto the pillow and let out a soft groan of frustration.
Why was he rejecting her? Pushing her away, the way Hank had, the way Grissom had. She didn't know how much more her heart could handle. She'd never considered herself one to even care about love and now, she couldn't stop thinking about it. What was it about her that was pushing Nick away, pushing everyone away? It was bad enough that men usually avoided relationships, commitment. What was it about her, why was it so hideous a prospect, sleeping with her, that men had to push her down before running away?
Tears, unbidden, unwelcome, leapt to her eyes, and she brushed them away angrily.
'You're not here to fall in love with Nick, you idiot,' she berated herself. She'd do well to remember that. This case wasn't about playing house with Nick; it was about catching a rapist. Even knowing that didn't stop the trickle of tears down her cheeks, which soaked into her pillow as she sobbed herself to sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED...at a later date.