The Choice, chapter 5
Notes: I hope this light rating isn't offending anyone. Let me know, though. Will eventually be an "R" rating. And I don't usually do celeb props, but I have to. If you haven't gone out to buy the new Dido CD, DO IT. It is excellent, she's just as beautiful and jaunty as ever and I relate to every song so well. LOVE IT.
Sara sighed and cracked her neck as she came through the front door, slamming it behind her with some force. Dropping her big red bag on the floor next to it, she stomped in, rolling her eyes when she saw the note on the counter. This was the sixth night in a row that she had come home to find Nick had already slipped out. Her dinner was in the warm oven, waiting for her, but she was so angry she didn't think that she could eat it.
It had been almost a full week since her stakeout with Nick, almost a week since he had thoughtlessly rejected her once again. She had specifically requested that he come to Reno, knowing they were friends, knowing he would do anything for her—and she'd managed to fuck it up. She didn't know if she was angrier with him, or with herself.
He would go running before she woke up, and by the time she got home from work, he was gone, usually to do surveillance on one of their suspects. He'd usually be gone until well after she was in bed and asleep. He'd managed to avoid her completely for six days in a row. She contemplated waiting up for him, as long as it took, confronting him as soon as he came through the front door. But was it even worth it? It was frustrating, infuriating...
She knew he listened to her as she went about her daily business, and she kept her earpiece on constantly, hoping that he would say something, anything. But there had been nothing.
They'd been so close, several times. At least now she knew it wasn't from a lack of attraction. There was plenty of that. How she'd wanted to call him back. Oh, Nick...I feel it, too. But she hadn't, she hadn't said anything. They had been a breath away, and she just kept letting him go.
She finally got hungry enough, and retrieved her plate from the oven. She sat Indian-style on the couch and began to dig into a huge portion of spaghetti. She was sitting on the couch watching 'Friends' when someone knocked.
Going to the door revealed Captain Caldwell, looking rakish in a royal blue dress shirt and a gray tie that highlighted his almost-opaque eyes.
"Captain," she stammered, feeling embarrassed about her jeans and the spaghetti sauce on the front of her shirt.
"Officer Sark," his voice was as silky as his tie.
"What...What are you doing here?"
"Case files, seven o'clock?" he looked at his Rolex.
Sara winced, she'd completely forgotten she'd agreed to meet with him.
"Shit, sure, come in...let me just...change my shirt," Sara stepped back to allow Caldwell to enter, then pulled the door to the bedroom to as she began rifling through the drawers for a clean shirt. She finally found a semi-unwrinkled button-down that looked decent, so she put it on and took a quick look at her hair. Deciding nothing was to be done about it, she pulled it up into a messy ponytail and turned off the bathroom light.
Caldwell was standing uncomfortably in the living room, holding the file folders that contained all his case notes.
"So, the case?"
Sara took a deep breath and began to sit, but Caldwell jumped in with, "why don't we go have a drink?"
Sara's eyebrows rose dubiously, and Caldwell continued.
"If you have no objections, I know of a couple of places where we could go to be alone."
Sara's eyebrows met her hairline.
"To review the files, of course."
"What if someone sees us?" she asked.
"These are private places," he assured her smoothly.
"If you're sure it won't blow my cover," she accepted his unspoken challenge.
"A couple of cops, out for a drink. Nothing cover-blowing about it," his smile was full of teeth, and Sara smiled back. Nothing wrong with going out for a drink. Nothing wrong with it at all.
Sara's buzz was killed almost as soon as she walked through the front door of the apartment. She quietly took her shoes off at the door, a glance at her Timex told her it was after midnight. She tiptoed across the living room carpet, only to be startled by the sound of Nick's voice.
"Where have you been?"
"For the love of God!" Sara almost screamed as she whirled around. "Nick!" Her voice was breathy as she held a hand to her chest, as if that would still her rapidly beating heart. Nick was sitting silently in the dark, in the armchair safely tucked in the shadows of the corner
"Where...have...you...been?" Nick enunciated each word carefully, as he leaned forward in his chair.
"What do you care?" Sara spat before she thought about it.
"What do I care?" Nick's laugh was bitter. "I care that you could have jeopardized the case. I care that you could have your cover. I care that I don't know where you've been for the last six hours."
"Is that like every other night when you don't know where I am?" Sara retorted, the alcohol making her brave.
Nick grimaced. "I always know where you are."
"Could have fooled me," she muttered.
"So what if you had been hurt, Sara? What if you had been killed? You want to risk your life, this case, for a little revenge?"
"Don't flatter yourself!" Sara yelled, angry now.
"And out with Captain Caldwell," his voice was now low and dangerous.
"He asked me out for a drink. We talked about the case," Sara felt the absurd need to defend herself, but knew it was the effects of alcohol on her body chemistry, and couldn't help but throwing out, "and it's more attention than I've gotten from you in a week!"
"You're not here to find a boyfriend, Sara!" Nick shouted back, standing up and stomping over to where she swayed, unsteadily.
"You bastard," Sara swung out at him, with every intention of just giving him a punch in the arm, but considering her slowed response time, he had her fist pinned against the wall beside her head in a flash.
"No, but I can be. As the senior officer, I can technically pull rank. And I will if I have to," he whispered very softly.
"You ass!" she cried again, struggling against the restraint. He loosened his hold of her. "You going to forbid me to see Caldwell? He's our handler!" she pointed out.
"Yes, he is. And a dangerous guy. Did you know that Caldwell was Robbery/Homicide before he was IA? He had sixteen complaints for misuse of force, most unsubstantiated, some went away, and one witness even disappeared before trial. Now nothing ever came of that, but it's not a man you just go out for a drink with, Sara."
"What do you care?" she said again, still pinned to the wall, but not fighting it.
"I care," Nick's eyes were hard and stubborn in the dull darkness of the room.
Sara realized, even through her alcohol-addled mind, how close he was to her, how good he smelled.
"I didn't know," she said softly. "You won't tell me, and you won't see me."
Nick immediately let her go. "Now is not the time for this," he said.
"Really, Nick? When is the time? Who says you get to be the boss of us?"
"Sara," he leaned in closely. "There is no us. Now go to bed."
Sara groaned loudly, ungraciously, as he left her standing there in front of her bedroom door. She stumbled into the bathroom and disrobed very unceremoniously before flopping onto the bed.
The next morning, Sara woke up to find her head pounding. She wanted to throw up, but couldn't find the energy to pick herself up off the bed to go do it. The knock at the bedroom door sounded impossibly loud to her ears. She sat up, groggily, and pulled the sheet up under her arms before calling out "come in."
Nick faltered at the door, seeing her there, obviously nude under the thin sheet. She rubbed her eyes, knowing her mascara was probably all over her face. He stepped forward and handed her a cup of steaming coffee and a plate with a couple of fried eggs on it. She ate hungrily, not speaking. She washed down about half of the cup of coffee before she spoke.
"I'm sorry, Nick."
"Don't apologize," his voice was firm, but gentle.
"I want to. I was wrong," she admitted, looking down at the empty plate.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like crap. You?"
"This, uh, isn't a social call. If you're sober, we have work to do."
"What?" Sara frowned.
"Caldwell called me earlier. He wants us at Officer Maxwell's home as soon as possible."
"Max, why?"
Nick leaned forward and cupped Sara's face in her hands, holding back. She grabbed on to his forearms, searching his face.
"Her husband called it in, Sara," his voice was soft.
"No," she argued, shaking her head.
"There was nothing more that could be done," he continued.
"No! No!" she violently trembled.
"We have to go now, process the scene," he held onto her, but she broke free and with utter disregard for her state of undress, jumped up from the bed and ran for the bathroom. Nick could hear her throwing up, and he closed his eyes.
He listened as she heaved and heaved, and then started the shower. She was out in three minutes flat, and Nick left the room as she got dressed. Four minutes after that, she was in the passenger seat of the car next to him, clutching her bag for dear life and leaning forward without her seat belt on. She silently urged him forward, faster, faster.
He arrived at Max's home and stopped on the corner. He made her put in her earpiece, so by the time they pulled up to the house, she fairly bolted out of the car. He drove a half of a block and parked. Willing Sara to turn on her microphone, he realized a second later that she had. He sat back to listen, wondering if she would be okay.
Three hours later, Sara trudged over to the car where Nick was still sitting, reviewing the case file again. She got in, and Nick shot a concerned look at her, but she couldn't speak. She immediately leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, swallowing hard at the images flashing before her eyes.
Nick's heart clenched painfully. He wanted to take her into his arms, so badly, to kiss and touch her and erase the memories of what she'd just had to endure. He wanted to hold her until she fell asleep. He didn't know that they could cross that line as friends. He knew they couldn't. Sara had already been so hurt by his stilted advances, his bumbling and uncertainty. If she'd been one of the dazzling distractions he usually dated, he wouldn't have hesitated in charming her, bedding her, and then letting her go.
But this was Sara. Funny, real, abrupt, naturally beautiful Sara, who wasn't afraid to argue with him, tease him, frequently torment him... He couldn't wine and dine Sara. He couldn't just bed Sara. It had to be all or nothing, and he was feeling completely out of his element, not to mention fairly inadequate. Sure, Sara had dated that idiot Hank, but she'd been in love with Grissom.
He couldn't think about this now, he needed to be there for Sara, as a source of comfort and reliability, not some horny jerk looking to get in to her pants. As soon as they got back to the apartment, Sara sat down at the dining room table.
"Let's go over the case," she looked up at Nick with determination.
"Sara...we don't have to do this now," he came to the table.
"No, I want to. I need to," she assured him, smiling softly at his concerned look. "I'll be okay. Come on."
Nick let out a long sigh, nodded, and brought his file folders over to the table. Sara handed him the packet of photos that had been developed and delivered back to the investigators before they'd left Max's.
Nick opened the packet, and felt sickened as he looked through the pictures. Max had been tied, spread-eagle, and Nick found the items strewn about the room covered with blood perplexing, considering she'd been strangled. He furrowed his brow and reviewed them again. He looked up at Sara, who'd gone stark white.
"Object rape," she too, looked sick and Nick shoved the photos back into the folder.
"C'mon, we'll do this tomorrow."
"Nick, really..."
"Sara, no. I don't want to do this now, and I know you don't."
"I can't just sit here and do nothing," Sara argued.
"You can't burn out, either. Come on, Sara, let's go somewhere and just decompress."
Sara shut her folder, pushed them across the table away from her. "If we don't do this, what are we going to talk about? I'm tired of this game we are playing, Nick. If you don't want to...it's fine, but I'm just so tired of the way it's been."
"Sara," Nick's voice was discouraged. "It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't want to ruin things. And I definitely don't want to hurt you. And I don't want to jeopardize the case over..." Nick closed his eyes in defeat, "whatever this is."
Sara softened, stood and went over to the couch, and beckoned him over. He came over and sat down, still hesitantly. As he sat back, she leaned forward, ever so slightly.
"Let's just be friends," she bit her lip, and then curled in next to him, her head on his shoulder companionably. Nick wasn't sure how long they sat there, or how long he'd been asleep, but when he jerked awake, Sara was asleep, and her arm was wrapped around his middle. He eased back, leaned back, pulling her with him, laying flat on his back and pulling Sara on top of him, curled in the crevice between him and the couch. It didn't take him long to fall back in to sleep.
When he woke again, it was to the sound of knocking. Sara, always on alert, was already awake and halfway to the door. Nick sat up, and rubbed his tired eyes.
"Captain Caldwell," Sara muttered before opening the door. Captain Caldwell entered, business like, and went directly over to sit down at the table, his expression solemn. Nick and Sara joined him, sitting on opposite sides of the table. The tension between the trio was thick, and Nick was sure it wasn't just about the tragedy that they had come together to discuss.
"Any suspects?" Sara finally broke the silence.
"No," Caldwell reported. "Her husband and son have been ruled out as suspects and witnesses. Husband was at work, son was over at a friend's house."
"What about Officer Hancock? Maxwell was with him not five days ago," Nick pointed out.
"We are bringing him in for questioning later this afternoon."
"Did he break in?" Nick asked, quietly.
"No signs of forced entry," Sara replied, remembering the scene. "She would have had to let the suspect in. Which means it had to be someone she trusted."
"Or someone she deferred to," Nick sent a confrontational look to Caldwell, but Caldwell ignored him. Sara, too, chose not to acknowledge his snide remark.
"There is a possibility this was not another attack by the Reno Rapist. There is always the possibility this is a random home invasion," Caldwell said.
"Too coincidental," Sara dismissed. "Max was caught right in the thick of this. If it wasn't the Reno Rapist, then..." her voice suddenly wavered, and a dawning realization came to her eyes.
"What?" Nick immediately sensed the change. "What?"
"What haven't we thought about yet? We are eliminating the male officers of the Force one by one, ruling them out as suspects for dates on one or another of the attacks."
"And?" Caldwell asked dryly.
"Partners," Nick sighed. "We haven't considered this is more than one guy."
"This..." Caldwell gestured at the photos, "takes privacy. Serial killers by nature are loners. Profiling is not an exact science, but partnering is so rare."
"Leopold and Loeb," Sara mused thoughtfully.
Caldwell stopped himself from rolling his eyes. "Rare, not impossible," he emphasized.
"Who has not been eliminated as a suspect?"
"Only Hancock, Captain Barclay, Behr and Yates," Nick read from his list.
"So think about it, we're running down these guys, clearing their names based on one date and time. We're going to have to start from the beginning."
"To discredit the theory of partners even more," Caldwell interjected, "is that rape as a crime is not cold and calculated like murder often is. Rape is about rage, which means if there are partners, they'd be wanting to commit these crimes together."
"That's true," Sara deflated somewhat.
"Maxwell was murdered," Nick stated flatly. "Which would have to mean his MO is changing, or...we're looking for a copycat maybe?" he sounded doubtful, even to himself.
"The victims aren't talking," Sara argued. "If they're not talking to us, they're not talking to anyone. For a copycat crime, suspects would be narrowed to the IA officers, Department Captains, and the chief. And the hospital staff that serviced the victims," she threw in.
"I don't understand this!" Nick hit his fist on the table, frustrated. "His MO has changed. If killing them was so easy for him, why wasn't he doing it all along? This just doesn't feel like escalation to me. This feels like six sigs and an aberration."
"Caldwell is right, rape is a crime of rage, it's about the instillation of terror. Terror during the act, and long after it's over," Nick recognized Sara's voice of experience. "Killing is simple, less pain, less mind control," her detached tone was chilling. Caldwell didn't notice.
"Secondly, I don't think his MO had changed, either. Max posed a very specific, significant threat to him, which I perpetuated by asking her for help."
"Maxwell's murder was damage control," Nick acknowledged. "And you're next."
"Not necessarily," Sara responded. "Think about it: he's developed the perfect crime. He rapes them, humiliates and terrorizes them, and then does something, something to keep the victims from testifying or even reporting the crime."
"Murder draws more attention," Nick conceded. "We don't have a victim that can speak, but we have physical evidence to do that."
"Exactly. This guy won't murder again unless he has to. We're not close enough to him at this point to justify the risk. He knows we're clueless."
"And this guy has a problem with strong, independent women, which may mean he had antagonistic relationships with spouses, siblings, children. Misogynists are rarely closeted," Nick grew more excited.
Caldwell immediately peed on his fire. "As fascinating as profiling is, I think our time would be better spent not analyzing the crimes, but with good old-fashioned police work."
"We're CSI's, Captain Caldwell, analyzing the crime is what we do," Sara smiled without her eyes.
"Let's get personnel files," Nick continued, excited. "Let's look at officers who are divorced, or single. Caldwell?"
"It could take several days to pull personnel files for the entire Force," Caldwell finally said, gathering his things. "Sark, I would like you to observe Hancock's interview. We're pulling him in at five, after his shift. I'll pick you up," his teeth were annoyingly white, Nick thought.
"What about me?" Sara asked, looking up at the two alpha males, who were watching each other carefully.
"Surveillance on Officer Yates. I have Reinhardt watching him now. Relieve him at six. Sark can join you when we're done with Hancock."
Sara and Nick gave each other a significant look, which Caldwell ignored. He went to the door, and let himself out.
TO BE CONTINUED…in a little while.