UC: UnderCover
Any Ol' Reason Will Do
Disclaimer: Frank and Monica, and the rest of the UC team, don't belong to me. Joanna Donovan, on the other hand, does. I have no trouble with people borrowing her, just please return her intact and give credit where credit is due. Thank you!
It was a spur of the moment thing. . .they just wrapped up a case that supposedly couldn't be solved. But solved it was, and tonight, Emily Chen was back in the loving arms of her parents. That was reason enough to celebrate. . .but Monica Davis was afforded two very rare glimpses of her boss. The first came when he told her about 'Giovanna,' the woman who soothed his soul. The other came when Emily hugged and kissed him.
For a brief moment, Monica saw past the mask to a husband and father. Donovan actually smiled at the little girl, his eyes lighting up. Emily was quite delighted, and gave him another hug and kiss. Monica pretended to turn away, to check something out. . .but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Donovan tilt the little girl sideways and pretend to gnaw at the side of her neck, a smooth movement which spoke of much practice.
This unexpected look at the real Frank Donovan left Monica in a strange mood. She didn't want to share it with the others yet. . .in a way, she felt as though she intruded when she watched Donovan with Emily. And for the first time, she wondered about this incident with Giovanna which led to Donovan benching himself, not because it was a mystery, but because she wondered what could make a man shut down to that degree.
And so, she came here. She needed to think about how she would proceed with the insights she was provided, wanted to be alone. Here, she could get a nice little booth, where no one paid attention to her. And then she saw them. . .a young couple who entered the restaurant about thirty minutes after Monica. Not too young. . .around Monica's own age, and very much in love. Anyone who paid attention to them for five minutes could see that.
They were a charming couple. . .at least from the back. Monica couldn't see the face of the man, but she could see the woman. She was in her late twenties or early thirties. Pretty in an understated way. Not the kind of woman who drew second or third looks, but the sort of woman whom most people found themselves trusting on a purely instinctive level. The direct, calm gaze, which for some reason put Monica in mind of her boss.
*Quit thinking about Donovan,* she ordered herself, *you promised that you would back off until he was ready. You've already made more headway in one single day than we have in the past few months.* Well, there was the way he comforted her during the prison riots, but that was something else entirely. And the expression in his eyes when he told her about Giovanna. . . Monica saw something there. He wasn't ready to tell them everything, and she wouldn't push.
Instead, she turned her attention back to the couple. Why were they out tonight? They were both dressed up. . .the man in black, and the woman in red. Interesting contrasts, if nothing else. Was it her birthday or his. . .perhaps an anniversary, or was he asking her to marry him? No. . .it wasn't the latter. The woman's body language spoke of a long-time intimacy. These two were together for a long time. Maybe high school or college sweethearts?
Ever since she could remember, Monica did this. . .watched people when she was in public places. That was one reason she always loved going to the mall. And that was what eventually led her to profiling. Observing from a distance, studying someone who didn't know they were being studied. Just as she was doing right now, though these were different from her usual suspects, as the saying went. Still, it kept her in practice. And she enjoyed this, enjoying using her skills away from work. There wasn't the pressure, the knowledge that lives depended on what conclusions she drew. Especially the lives of her own team members.
She caught a glimpse of the man, briefly, when the pair walked in. He stood a few inches over six feet, towering over the woman, and had short, somewhat spiky black hair. While Monica couldn't see his face, she did notice his body language as he took his lady's coat. This was a man who loved his woman very much. She smiled again, looking away from the couple before the woman could feel Monica's eyes on her.
She thought of the possibilities. It wasn't Valentine's Day. . .thank God. Cody and Jake drove her nuts on that holiday. . .she was actually grateful for Donovan's stoicism on that day. They were closer to St Patrick's Day. Cody joked about decorating Donovan's office entirely in green. Monica shuddered to think about what would happen if Donovan failed to wear green that day, and Cody attempted to pinch him. Cody might not survive that prank.
The profiler grinned. After the call today, it would be worth the price of admission to see how long it took Cody to annoy Giovanna. Monica's thoughts were interrupted when a slow, sensual piece began to play. Her brow furrowed. . .why did this piece sound so familiar? And then it hit her. She heard it playing in Donovan's office early one morning, before he realized she was in. Monica shook her head, amazed. Though not nearly as amazed as she was when the mystery man took the hand of his lady and led her onto the dance floor.
She was tiny beside him. . .maybe a foot shorter than he was. Monica almost laughed, seeing that she kicked off her black patent pumps and put her stockinged feet atop the man's shoes. Her lack of shoes made her look even smaller, and for a moment, she did seem terribly young as well. Like she was a little girl, dancing with her father. Monica closed her eyes briefly, as she remembered dancing in just that way with her father when she was a little girl. However, there was nothing remotely father-daughter about this pair.
The woman smiled up at the man, a smile which almost took Monica's breath away. She looked away, suddenly feeling as she did when she watched Donovan with Emily. No, this was worse. . .now, she felt like she was a voyeur, never mind that she was in a public place. No one else was watching the couple. They gave the pair a few glances, and smiles. . .some rolled their eyes. But they went back to eating, and Monica wondered why she couldn't seem to look away.
What was so special about those two? It wasn't as if she never saw a loving, happy couple before. . .or was it? She tried to think, tried to remember the last time she saw two people who made no secret of their love for each other. They weren't all over each other, like a pair of teenagers. But for those wise enough and experienced enough to know what they were seeing, the love shared by this couple was in plain view.
Maybe it was the mystery man. . .Monica still couldn't see his face, and yet, he seemed oddly familiar to her. Maybe that was why she kept watching them, because he did seem so familiar to her, and she wanted to see why he did. If she saw his face. . .and Monica's breath left her lungs in a rush. Because as he swung around, his lady almost slipping off his shoes in the process, Monica *did* see the face of the mystery man.
It was her boss. It was Donovan. Monica shook her head numbly, barely able to believe what she was seeing. Frank Donovan, the man whom Cody referred to as a robot, was gazing down at his wife with a sweet, tender smile, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter at whatever she was saying. His wife. Where did Monica get that? She wasn't sure. . .but she knew that was his wife. More than that, she knew that this was Giovanna.
She wondered, too, why she was so surprised. . .after seeing Donovan's face today, first when Cody questioned him about Giovanna, and later when they rescued Emily. Why was she so surprised to see that loving expression on his face now? No, that wasn't loving. . .that was pure adoration. And for her own part, Giovanna clearly adored him as well. It shone from her eyes, adoration and a lingering surprise that this man was hers.
Donovan's words returned to her. . .he made a mistake which almost cost Giovanna her life, and so much more. He called her something else. . .something which Monica learned meant, 'solace of my soul.' While Cody said the woman on the phone seemed to have a faint accent, Monica had a feeling that Giovanna's name was actually 'Joanna.' The profiler knew that there were blonde Italians, just as there were dark-haired Germans and Swedes.
But Giovanna looked Irish. Monica learned, quite by accident, that Donovan spoke Italian fluently. Giovanna *was* the Italian equivalent of Joanna. It would make sense for him to call his wife by a different name. . .perhaps to protect her. What exactly. . .what kind of mistake did he make that almost cost Giovanna/Joanna her life? Monica knew that it involved the rest of Donovan's team at the time, he told her that much.
And that would make sense. He was slowly losing his protective armor around them. But if a member of his team once made a mistake, a mistake which almost cost him his wife, he wouldn't be in a great hurry to trust again.
Beyond that, she didn't know. But seeing the couple now, Monica understood that Donovan would tell them about his secrets when he was ready. Not a moment sooner, and Monica vowed she would keep this secret as well. It was a curious feeling, to realize you were protective of your boss, but Monica was quickly realizing that Frank Donovan was far more human than he let on.
His style was different from Keller's, but that didn't mean he cared any less. Their safety was a top priority with them. . .that was always the case. She saw that a half dozen. There was his gentleness with her during the prison riots, of course. His intervention with Jake during the case involving with the corrupt cops, and during that case, there was also his prompt informing Jake that his HIV tests came back negative. Yes. He cared a great deal.
Perhaps he cared even more than Keller, though Monica shied away from that. She was afraid such a thought was disloyal to her late boss. But a thought isn't so easily banished, and she remembered how hard Donovan was on Jake in the beginning. Hard, and determined to ensure Jake's survival. Still unnerved by that thought, Monica concentrated on the couple now dancing. Did they have children? If they did, how did Donovan feel during the Teddy C case, when the issue of the criminals' children was brought up? Did he think of his own?
More questions and no answers. Unwilling to attract the attention of her boss or his wife, Monica turned her attention to her steak. She had a lot to think about. And while she did *some* undercover work, Monica didn't have the undercover training that Alex and Jake had. So, she really wasn't sure she could keep it a secret from Donovan the following day. On the other hand, if she didn't say anything about it, the chances were good that he wouldn't either.
And so she ate, and considered what she learned. She did her very best not to pay attention to the couple as they danced, then ate. However, Monica was unable to stop herself from looking at the table one last time as she got up to pay her bill. Donovan was listening intently to something his wife was telling him, his expression showing faint incredulity and a great deal of amusement. His wife's hands were moving in the air, illustrating something she was saying. Telling him a story about something which happened to her at work, perhaps? Or maybe a story about their children?
Monica smiled then, pleased that Donovan had this bit of normalcy. Until she saw him smile like that, it never occurred to her that their work took its toll on him. And now, she saw the price exacted from him. Yes, she was glad he had his Giovanna, his solace. She paid her bill, thanking the waitress and the hostess, then went into the ladies' room. Inside a stall, she heard the door open again, and a soft voice humming.
Someone sounded happy. Monica felt the barest pang, that she didn't have any one in her life. Under different circumstances. . .very different circumstances. . .she would have been tempted to make a play for Donovan. If he wasn't married, if he wasn't her boss, if their work wasn't so hellish on relationships. Under those circumstances, she would have been powerfully attracted to him, but he was her boss, and these conditions *were* hell on relationships. She had only to look at Alex to know that.
Monica was the first to leave her own stall. She could no longer hear the other woman singing under her breath. . .the flushing water prevented that, but she still had the bittersweet feeling caused by the singing. The bittersweetness died away as the door to that stall opened, revealing the lady with Donovan. She gave Monica a shy smile, though her gaze remained direct. The profiler decided to accept the opening she was given.
"Hi," Monica said with a smile, "it's a gorgeous night, isn't it?" Not particularly imaginative, but that was hardly the point. It made the woman's smile brighten, and Monica continued, "I like to come here after a good day at work. . .it's a reason for celebration. Treating myself, you know?" The woman slipped to her side, and now Monica could see that she was a little older than Monica originally thought. Maybe thirty-one or thirty- two. There were strands of silver in the dark brown hair, silver interlaced with reddish highlights.
"I think we're celebrating tonight, though my husband won't tell me what we're celebrating. Mind you, we don't need a reason to go out to dinner. My husband's mother lives with us, and she babysits our two daughters without a word. Actually, I shouldn't say that. . .she usually *begs* us to go out, so she can watch the girls, and spoil them rotten," the young woman replied, and Monica detected hints of a Southern accent. She wondered how hard it was for the brunette to cultivate that Italian accent Cody heard that afternoon.
"It must be nice, to be married to someone who takes you out to dinner just because," Monica observed. The resulting smile from her companion could have lit up the entire city of Chicago during a blackout, and the other young woman nodded. Monica continued, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not trying to be rude, but you're from the South, aren't you?" When the woman nodded, the smile dimming not at all, the profiler asked, "What part?"
"Charleston, South Carolina. We moved to Chicago about nine months ago, and I still haven't totally lost my accent. Not that I'm tryin' real hard. I do know why my husband took me out tonight. He's a cop, and they just wrapped a really hard case. A missin' child. Those are always hard for him, 'specially since the little girl who was taken is 'round the same age as our older daughter," the young woman replied. Monica's heart felt like it was about to stop. Emily Chen was the same age as Donovan's own daughter? That. . .explained a lot.
"That must have been rough for him. Did they get the little girl back?" Monica asked, pretending that she didn't know about the case in question. Giovanna nodded with that bright smile, and Monica said, "Thank God for that! No wonder your husband was in a mood to take you out to dinner! That must have really scared him." *Okay, Monica, you're close to going overboard. Back off before you make her suspicious.*
"It did. It really did. He's always been protective of us. . .but he's become more so since our younger daughter was born several months ago. I'm afraid I scared him pretty badly," the woman said. Monica didn't ask, especially not with the faraway look in her companion's eyes. She was also afraid that she was getting ready to cross some lines that Donovan wasn't ready for her to cross.
On the other hand, it would have been equally suspicious if Monica *didn't* ask. The profiler considered her next question very carefully, then said, "I've read about cases where criminals go after the cops who put them away. . .sometimes, even the family of the cop. Is that what happened to you?" The woman slowly released a breath, and Monica added, "Sorry. Nosy. Bad habit. . .you don't have to answer if you don't want."
The young woman's smile returned as she answered wryly, "I'm a college professor, ma'am. I'm used to answerin' questions. And I don't mind answerin' questions, as long as it's not from a reporter." Monica laughed, though she mentally tucked that observation away, and the brunette added, "And, not exactly. A colleague of my husband's turned traitor, and we got caught in the crossfire. She. . .we thought she was our friend. We were wrong. My husband has never forgiven himself for that, no matter how many times I tell him it's not his fault."
Now Monica felt out and out dizzy. Another agent almost killed her? No wonder Donovan was in no hurry to let down his guard with them! She said numbly, "That must have been frightening, for all of you." Frightening? Monica had a sudden, potent image of Donovan on his knees, cradling his wife in his arms, her blood soaking his flesh and his clothes. She shuddered, and shook her head to rid herself of that horrifying image.
"It was. I think it changed all of us, in one way or another," the young woman replied. She smiled and said, "Sorry to talk and run, but my husband's waitin' for me, and I really don't want to worry him. Given his job, he'd be afraid that he would have to negotiate with some kidnapper for my release. . .that's his worst nightmare. It was nice talkin' with you." She smiled again, lightly touching Monica's arm, then slipped from the bathroom.
Monica sat down hard. She couldn't tell the others. It didn't matter that they would never hurt Donovan's wife. That was beside the point. He had to tell them about his wife and daughters on his own time. Given the betrayal which almost killed his wife and daughter, Monica found she couldn't blame her boss for keeping them at arms length. She was surprised by the sudden, vindicative hope that the traitor who almost killed Giovanna Donovan was dead. She hoped that woman could never hurt another person.
. . .
It was a million in one chance, but Frank Donovan knew it was just a matter of time before he encountered one of his team in a social setting. He was glad that it was Monica. If anyone could understand his desire to keep Joanna and the girls a secret, it would be her. He actually saw her when he entered the restaurant with his wife. She was sitting alone at her table, her dark eyes shifting about the room as if she was profiling those around her.
Of course, Joanna's term for it was 'people watching.' As his wife left the ladies room, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, saying softly, "Shall we go, my love?" She smiled up at him, and for a moment, Frank found it hard to breathe. Old memories were stirred up today, not only during the search for Emily Chen, but when Monica questioned him about Giovanna. She probably realized that 'Giovanna' was a false name. . .especially now. . .but he also knew she wouldn't push it.
"I'm ready. . .just waiting for the most beautiful woman in the restaurant," he said with a smile. Turnabout was fair play, and she made him blush that afternoon. Joanna blushed now, and she ducked her head. Frank laughed softly. He led her from the restaurant, taking every opportunity to touch her. As he always did. As they walked to the car together, he told her in a conversational tone, "I know the woman you were talking to in the powder room." Joanna paused from buckling herself into the car and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Frank continued, "Monica Davis." Just the name, because that was all that was necessary.
Now both of Joanna's dark brows shot up, straight into her hairline, and she asked, "Monica Davis? Your profiler? A member of your team? That Monica Davis? I won't ask how you knew I was talking to her." Frank nodded, checking the heat settings, and Joanna murmured, "Well, that certain explains a lot. Including why she reacted to a few things I said. I think she's figured out that I'm your wife, and a few other things along with that."
Frank didn't doubt it, and Joanna continued after a moment, "So. How are you gonna handle this? I mean, I'm grateful that it's Monica. From what I've heard from and about Cody, I'm not sure he could keep his mouth shut." Frank started to answer, then remembered Cody's phone call this afternoon, while Frank was with Joanna. . .and quickly swallowed what he was about to say. Joanna added, "You know, just from what I heard this afternoon, he reminds me of some of my students. The ones who run their mouths just to cover the silence."
"I can see I'll need to be more careful around you, love," Frank said wryly, shifting into reverse. Joanna wasn't shivering as badly now, and unfortunately, he couldn't warm her personally. He'd have to let the heater do that for him. Joanna just grinned at him, her hazel eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. Frank returned her grin, quietly relieved once more just to see her smile, and the way her smile warmed her face.
"Nah. You know me better than that. I can make up my own mind about a person. I like Monica. She's nice. Not pushy. You know me. Can't stand pushy people. Bossy people, I'm used to," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. Frank didn't answer. He knew better. Joanna sighed, adding, "Damn, you spoil all my fun. Like I said, I'm used to bossy people. I think I'd worry about you if you weren't bossy."
"I'm not bossy. . .not with you," Frank countered, smiling as the old argument was revived. He checked his rearview mirror. All clear. From the time they were ten years old, she would accuse him of being bossy. Of course, even as a ten year old, Frank saw that tendency as a desire to protect Joanna. His wife just gave him another sidelong glance, and Frank laughed outright. He added, "I'm not. I just like to look out for you."
Joanna just sighed, murmuring, "Well, I think I should email Clarissa and warn her what she's getting into when she marries Antoine. . .and she will marry him. It's just a question of time with those two. He's just as bossy as you are. . .bossy, and a lot more volatile. Not that this is a bad thing, at least not for Clarissa. It'll make him even more protective of her." Frank just rolled his eyes as he came to a stop at the edge of the highway.
"Do you ever stop trying to matchmake, mi amor?" he asked. Joanna glared at him, and Frank laughed again. She wasn't a matchmaker. But they knew Frank's cousin Antoine was head over heels for his friend Clarissa, and she felt the same way. During a recent conversation between the two cousins, Antoine admitted that his relationship with Clarissa changed from friends to lovers. Definitely in the 'too much information' file, but Frank knew that Antoine would confide in him before he would in Antoine's judgmental older brother Giancarlo.
"I am not matchmaking," Joanna answered primly, "I just want Antoine to be happy, and I know Clarissa makes him happy. I think your aunt would have liked her for that alone." She paused, then asked, "How long before he'll give up his profession for her, do you think?" Frank shook his head. . .not because he didn't think it would happen, but because he honestly didn't know. Antoine was unpredictable. . .always was, even when they were children.
"It could be tomorrow, it could be months from now. I don't know. You're right. He loves her, and he would give it up for her. Timing? I think that will depend on her," Frank replied. He started to say something more, but Joanna put her hand on his thigh. He sucked in a breath at the strategic placing. It wasn't an accident. Joanna was giving him a very direct message, and Frank had no intention of ignoring that message. He added, "We'll talk about Antoine another time. Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Don't ask foolish questions, Francis Sebastian Xavier," she reprimanded, using all three names. Normally a bad sign, it was also her way of getting his attention. Not necessary this time, considering she already *had* his attention. She added with a half smile, "And if I were really a matchmaker, I'd be wracking my brains to find someone for Monica." Frank just glanced at his wife, horrified, and she laughed.
"Like I said. . .if I was a matchmaker. Monica's a lovely woman, and very nice. I'm sure she could find a man on her own. . .if she wants one. Or woman, if that's the way it goes," Joanna added. Frank was so glad he wasn't drinking anything when his wife said that. Although, by now, he should have expected the things she came up with. Some, he knew, she picked up from her students. Most of her sexually derived remarks, in particular, though some of those, she learned from his fellow agents in the past. Joanna observed, laughing, "Just when you thought it was no longer possible for me to surprise you. . ."
"I know better than that, Joanna Angelica," Frank answered. Not for the first time, he had to wonder what Joanna's late parents were thinking, naming her 'Angelica,' even as a middle name. Sure, he knew that they were naming her after Gregory Masters' mother Angeline, but why not 'Angeline,' which was a beautiful name? Joanna was no angel. . . fortunately. Frank wasn't sure he could have loved her as much as he did if she was an angel.
"Oh, you're no fun," Joanna pouted. Frank flashed her his most devilish grin. Payback for putting her hand on his thigh earlier while he was driving. And it worked. She glared at him, muttering, "You're cheating. How do you know I won't ravish you in the car?" Frank merely looked through the front of his windshield by way of an answer. This time, he was rewarded with a mouthful of curses she must have learned from his mother.
"Because you don't want us getting into a wreck," Frank answered. That won him even more curses and Frank just laughed. He drew to a stop at a red light and leaned over to kiss her. He wanted her to know what tonight would be like. A gentle tap on his thigh returned his attention to the light, which was getting ready to change to green. He broke off the kiss and eased forward as the light changed, murmuring, "One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you do that." Joanna just laughed, thoroughly pleased with herself. Of course.
"It's not something I learned from Mama Marina, if that's what you're wondering," Joanna replied with an impish grin. Frank rolled his eyes. He knew better than that. While his mother did pass her knowledge as a strega onto Joanna, since she had no daughters by blood, he also knew that his mother was a wisewoman. She would regard knowing when the light was about to change as a simple parlor trick. Joanna added more seriously, "Honestly, darlin,' I just keep my eye on the opposing light. When it turns yellow. . ."
Frank wasn't sure if he liked that idea, but he could hardly argue that it was better than the alternative. Blaring horns tended to irritate him. Joanna added, a questioning tone in her voice, "Frank? You did take me out tonight, to celebrate getting that little girl back to her family, didn't you?" The agent didn't answer. In part because he wasn't sure what to say, how to answer the question.
At last, he replied, "Yes, that's part of it. But I swore to myself after I almost lost you that I wouldn't take you for granted any more. That I would take you out to dinner, and out dancing, that I would take you to the movies, or whatever you wanted to do, so long as I had the energy. Yes, I was grateful and relieved that we returned that little girl safely to her family. But more than anything else, I took you out tonight because I wanted to."
"Any ol' reason will do?" Joanna asked with a half-smile and Frank nodded. Yes. Any reason in the world would do. Just becase, any occasion he could come up with. Even if he had to make something up. This time, she leaned over and lightly kissed him, a gentle kiss at the line of his jaw. She pulled back and smiled at him. He smiled back. For her smile. For the lungs that continued to draw breath. For his wife. Any reason in the world would do.
Any Ol' Reason Will Do
Disclaimer: Frank and Monica, and the rest of the UC team, don't belong to me. Joanna Donovan, on the other hand, does. I have no trouble with people borrowing her, just please return her intact and give credit where credit is due. Thank you!
It was a spur of the moment thing. . .they just wrapped up a case that supposedly couldn't be solved. But solved it was, and tonight, Emily Chen was back in the loving arms of her parents. That was reason enough to celebrate. . .but Monica Davis was afforded two very rare glimpses of her boss. The first came when he told her about 'Giovanna,' the woman who soothed his soul. The other came when Emily hugged and kissed him.
For a brief moment, Monica saw past the mask to a husband and father. Donovan actually smiled at the little girl, his eyes lighting up. Emily was quite delighted, and gave him another hug and kiss. Monica pretended to turn away, to check something out. . .but out of the corner of her eye, she saw Donovan tilt the little girl sideways and pretend to gnaw at the side of her neck, a smooth movement which spoke of much practice.
This unexpected look at the real Frank Donovan left Monica in a strange mood. She didn't want to share it with the others yet. . .in a way, she felt as though she intruded when she watched Donovan with Emily. And for the first time, she wondered about this incident with Giovanna which led to Donovan benching himself, not because it was a mystery, but because she wondered what could make a man shut down to that degree.
And so, she came here. She needed to think about how she would proceed with the insights she was provided, wanted to be alone. Here, she could get a nice little booth, where no one paid attention to her. And then she saw them. . .a young couple who entered the restaurant about thirty minutes after Monica. Not too young. . .around Monica's own age, and very much in love. Anyone who paid attention to them for five minutes could see that.
They were a charming couple. . .at least from the back. Monica couldn't see the face of the man, but she could see the woman. She was in her late twenties or early thirties. Pretty in an understated way. Not the kind of woman who drew second or third looks, but the sort of woman whom most people found themselves trusting on a purely instinctive level. The direct, calm gaze, which for some reason put Monica in mind of her boss.
*Quit thinking about Donovan,* she ordered herself, *you promised that you would back off until he was ready. You've already made more headway in one single day than we have in the past few months.* Well, there was the way he comforted her during the prison riots, but that was something else entirely. And the expression in his eyes when he told her about Giovanna. . . Monica saw something there. He wasn't ready to tell them everything, and she wouldn't push.
Instead, she turned her attention back to the couple. Why were they out tonight? They were both dressed up. . .the man in black, and the woman in red. Interesting contrasts, if nothing else. Was it her birthday or his. . .perhaps an anniversary, or was he asking her to marry him? No. . .it wasn't the latter. The woman's body language spoke of a long-time intimacy. These two were together for a long time. Maybe high school or college sweethearts?
Ever since she could remember, Monica did this. . .watched people when she was in public places. That was one reason she always loved going to the mall. And that was what eventually led her to profiling. Observing from a distance, studying someone who didn't know they were being studied. Just as she was doing right now, though these were different from her usual suspects, as the saying went. Still, it kept her in practice. And she enjoyed this, enjoying using her skills away from work. There wasn't the pressure, the knowledge that lives depended on what conclusions she drew. Especially the lives of her own team members.
She caught a glimpse of the man, briefly, when the pair walked in. He stood a few inches over six feet, towering over the woman, and had short, somewhat spiky black hair. While Monica couldn't see his face, she did notice his body language as he took his lady's coat. This was a man who loved his woman very much. She smiled again, looking away from the couple before the woman could feel Monica's eyes on her.
She thought of the possibilities. It wasn't Valentine's Day. . .thank God. Cody and Jake drove her nuts on that holiday. . .she was actually grateful for Donovan's stoicism on that day. They were closer to St Patrick's Day. Cody joked about decorating Donovan's office entirely in green. Monica shuddered to think about what would happen if Donovan failed to wear green that day, and Cody attempted to pinch him. Cody might not survive that prank.
The profiler grinned. After the call today, it would be worth the price of admission to see how long it took Cody to annoy Giovanna. Monica's thoughts were interrupted when a slow, sensual piece began to play. Her brow furrowed. . .why did this piece sound so familiar? And then it hit her. She heard it playing in Donovan's office early one morning, before he realized she was in. Monica shook her head, amazed. Though not nearly as amazed as she was when the mystery man took the hand of his lady and led her onto the dance floor.
She was tiny beside him. . .maybe a foot shorter than he was. Monica almost laughed, seeing that she kicked off her black patent pumps and put her stockinged feet atop the man's shoes. Her lack of shoes made her look even smaller, and for a moment, she did seem terribly young as well. Like she was a little girl, dancing with her father. Monica closed her eyes briefly, as she remembered dancing in just that way with her father when she was a little girl. However, there was nothing remotely father-daughter about this pair.
The woman smiled up at the man, a smile which almost took Monica's breath away. She looked away, suddenly feeling as she did when she watched Donovan with Emily. No, this was worse. . .now, she felt like she was a voyeur, never mind that she was in a public place. No one else was watching the couple. They gave the pair a few glances, and smiles. . .some rolled their eyes. But they went back to eating, and Monica wondered why she couldn't seem to look away.
What was so special about those two? It wasn't as if she never saw a loving, happy couple before. . .or was it? She tried to think, tried to remember the last time she saw two people who made no secret of their love for each other. They weren't all over each other, like a pair of teenagers. But for those wise enough and experienced enough to know what they were seeing, the love shared by this couple was in plain view.
Maybe it was the mystery man. . .Monica still couldn't see his face, and yet, he seemed oddly familiar to her. Maybe that was why she kept watching them, because he did seem so familiar to her, and she wanted to see why he did. If she saw his face. . .and Monica's breath left her lungs in a rush. Because as he swung around, his lady almost slipping off his shoes in the process, Monica *did* see the face of the mystery man.
It was her boss. It was Donovan. Monica shook her head numbly, barely able to believe what she was seeing. Frank Donovan, the man whom Cody referred to as a robot, was gazing down at his wife with a sweet, tender smile, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter at whatever she was saying. His wife. Where did Monica get that? She wasn't sure. . .but she knew that was his wife. More than that, she knew that this was Giovanna.
She wondered, too, why she was so surprised. . .after seeing Donovan's face today, first when Cody questioned him about Giovanna, and later when they rescued Emily. Why was she so surprised to see that loving expression on his face now? No, that wasn't loving. . .that was pure adoration. And for her own part, Giovanna clearly adored him as well. It shone from her eyes, adoration and a lingering surprise that this man was hers.
Donovan's words returned to her. . .he made a mistake which almost cost Giovanna her life, and so much more. He called her something else. . .something which Monica learned meant, 'solace of my soul.' While Cody said the woman on the phone seemed to have a faint accent, Monica had a feeling that Giovanna's name was actually 'Joanna.' The profiler knew that there were blonde Italians, just as there were dark-haired Germans and Swedes.
But Giovanna looked Irish. Monica learned, quite by accident, that Donovan spoke Italian fluently. Giovanna *was* the Italian equivalent of Joanna. It would make sense for him to call his wife by a different name. . .perhaps to protect her. What exactly. . .what kind of mistake did he make that almost cost Giovanna/Joanna her life? Monica knew that it involved the rest of Donovan's team at the time, he told her that much.
And that would make sense. He was slowly losing his protective armor around them. But if a member of his team once made a mistake, a mistake which almost cost him his wife, he wouldn't be in a great hurry to trust again.
Beyond that, she didn't know. But seeing the couple now, Monica understood that Donovan would tell them about his secrets when he was ready. Not a moment sooner, and Monica vowed she would keep this secret as well. It was a curious feeling, to realize you were protective of your boss, but Monica was quickly realizing that Frank Donovan was far more human than he let on.
His style was different from Keller's, but that didn't mean he cared any less. Their safety was a top priority with them. . .that was always the case. She saw that a half dozen. There was his gentleness with her during the prison riots, of course. His intervention with Jake during the case involving with the corrupt cops, and during that case, there was also his prompt informing Jake that his HIV tests came back negative. Yes. He cared a great deal.
Perhaps he cared even more than Keller, though Monica shied away from that. She was afraid such a thought was disloyal to her late boss. But a thought isn't so easily banished, and she remembered how hard Donovan was on Jake in the beginning. Hard, and determined to ensure Jake's survival. Still unnerved by that thought, Monica concentrated on the couple now dancing. Did they have children? If they did, how did Donovan feel during the Teddy C case, when the issue of the criminals' children was brought up? Did he think of his own?
More questions and no answers. Unwilling to attract the attention of her boss or his wife, Monica turned her attention to her steak. She had a lot to think about. And while she did *some* undercover work, Monica didn't have the undercover training that Alex and Jake had. So, she really wasn't sure she could keep it a secret from Donovan the following day. On the other hand, if she didn't say anything about it, the chances were good that he wouldn't either.
And so she ate, and considered what she learned. She did her very best not to pay attention to the couple as they danced, then ate. However, Monica was unable to stop herself from looking at the table one last time as she got up to pay her bill. Donovan was listening intently to something his wife was telling him, his expression showing faint incredulity and a great deal of amusement. His wife's hands were moving in the air, illustrating something she was saying. Telling him a story about something which happened to her at work, perhaps? Or maybe a story about their children?
Monica smiled then, pleased that Donovan had this bit of normalcy. Until she saw him smile like that, it never occurred to her that their work took its toll on him. And now, she saw the price exacted from him. Yes, she was glad he had his Giovanna, his solace. She paid her bill, thanking the waitress and the hostess, then went into the ladies' room. Inside a stall, she heard the door open again, and a soft voice humming.
Someone sounded happy. Monica felt the barest pang, that she didn't have any one in her life. Under different circumstances. . .very different circumstances. . .she would have been tempted to make a play for Donovan. If he wasn't married, if he wasn't her boss, if their work wasn't so hellish on relationships. Under those circumstances, she would have been powerfully attracted to him, but he was her boss, and these conditions *were* hell on relationships. She had only to look at Alex to know that.
Monica was the first to leave her own stall. She could no longer hear the other woman singing under her breath. . .the flushing water prevented that, but she still had the bittersweet feeling caused by the singing. The bittersweetness died away as the door to that stall opened, revealing the lady with Donovan. She gave Monica a shy smile, though her gaze remained direct. The profiler decided to accept the opening she was given.
"Hi," Monica said with a smile, "it's a gorgeous night, isn't it?" Not particularly imaginative, but that was hardly the point. It made the woman's smile brighten, and Monica continued, "I like to come here after a good day at work. . .it's a reason for celebration. Treating myself, you know?" The woman slipped to her side, and now Monica could see that she was a little older than Monica originally thought. Maybe thirty-one or thirty- two. There were strands of silver in the dark brown hair, silver interlaced with reddish highlights.
"I think we're celebrating tonight, though my husband won't tell me what we're celebrating. Mind you, we don't need a reason to go out to dinner. My husband's mother lives with us, and she babysits our two daughters without a word. Actually, I shouldn't say that. . .she usually *begs* us to go out, so she can watch the girls, and spoil them rotten," the young woman replied, and Monica detected hints of a Southern accent. She wondered how hard it was for the brunette to cultivate that Italian accent Cody heard that afternoon.
"It must be nice, to be married to someone who takes you out to dinner just because," Monica observed. The resulting smile from her companion could have lit up the entire city of Chicago during a blackout, and the other young woman nodded. Monica continued, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not trying to be rude, but you're from the South, aren't you?" When the woman nodded, the smile dimming not at all, the profiler asked, "What part?"
"Charleston, South Carolina. We moved to Chicago about nine months ago, and I still haven't totally lost my accent. Not that I'm tryin' real hard. I do know why my husband took me out tonight. He's a cop, and they just wrapped a really hard case. A missin' child. Those are always hard for him, 'specially since the little girl who was taken is 'round the same age as our older daughter," the young woman replied. Monica's heart felt like it was about to stop. Emily Chen was the same age as Donovan's own daughter? That. . .explained a lot.
"That must have been rough for him. Did they get the little girl back?" Monica asked, pretending that she didn't know about the case in question. Giovanna nodded with that bright smile, and Monica said, "Thank God for that! No wonder your husband was in a mood to take you out to dinner! That must have really scared him." *Okay, Monica, you're close to going overboard. Back off before you make her suspicious.*
"It did. It really did. He's always been protective of us. . .but he's become more so since our younger daughter was born several months ago. I'm afraid I scared him pretty badly," the woman said. Monica didn't ask, especially not with the faraway look in her companion's eyes. She was also afraid that she was getting ready to cross some lines that Donovan wasn't ready for her to cross.
On the other hand, it would have been equally suspicious if Monica *didn't* ask. The profiler considered her next question very carefully, then said, "I've read about cases where criminals go after the cops who put them away. . .sometimes, even the family of the cop. Is that what happened to you?" The woman slowly released a breath, and Monica added, "Sorry. Nosy. Bad habit. . .you don't have to answer if you don't want."
The young woman's smile returned as she answered wryly, "I'm a college professor, ma'am. I'm used to answerin' questions. And I don't mind answerin' questions, as long as it's not from a reporter." Monica laughed, though she mentally tucked that observation away, and the brunette added, "And, not exactly. A colleague of my husband's turned traitor, and we got caught in the crossfire. She. . .we thought she was our friend. We were wrong. My husband has never forgiven himself for that, no matter how many times I tell him it's not his fault."
Now Monica felt out and out dizzy. Another agent almost killed her? No wonder Donovan was in no hurry to let down his guard with them! She said numbly, "That must have been frightening, for all of you." Frightening? Monica had a sudden, potent image of Donovan on his knees, cradling his wife in his arms, her blood soaking his flesh and his clothes. She shuddered, and shook her head to rid herself of that horrifying image.
"It was. I think it changed all of us, in one way or another," the young woman replied. She smiled and said, "Sorry to talk and run, but my husband's waitin' for me, and I really don't want to worry him. Given his job, he'd be afraid that he would have to negotiate with some kidnapper for my release. . .that's his worst nightmare. It was nice talkin' with you." She smiled again, lightly touching Monica's arm, then slipped from the bathroom.
Monica sat down hard. She couldn't tell the others. It didn't matter that they would never hurt Donovan's wife. That was beside the point. He had to tell them about his wife and daughters on his own time. Given the betrayal which almost killed his wife and daughter, Monica found she couldn't blame her boss for keeping them at arms length. She was surprised by the sudden, vindicative hope that the traitor who almost killed Giovanna Donovan was dead. She hoped that woman could never hurt another person.
. . .
It was a million in one chance, but Frank Donovan knew it was just a matter of time before he encountered one of his team in a social setting. He was glad that it was Monica. If anyone could understand his desire to keep Joanna and the girls a secret, it would be her. He actually saw her when he entered the restaurant with his wife. She was sitting alone at her table, her dark eyes shifting about the room as if she was profiling those around her.
Of course, Joanna's term for it was 'people watching.' As his wife left the ladies room, she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, saying softly, "Shall we go, my love?" She smiled up at him, and for a moment, Frank found it hard to breathe. Old memories were stirred up today, not only during the search for Emily Chen, but when Monica questioned him about Giovanna. She probably realized that 'Giovanna' was a false name. . .especially now. . .but he also knew she wouldn't push it.
"I'm ready. . .just waiting for the most beautiful woman in the restaurant," he said with a smile. Turnabout was fair play, and she made him blush that afternoon. Joanna blushed now, and she ducked her head. Frank laughed softly. He led her from the restaurant, taking every opportunity to touch her. As he always did. As they walked to the car together, he told her in a conversational tone, "I know the woman you were talking to in the powder room." Joanna paused from buckling herself into the car and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Frank continued, "Monica Davis." Just the name, because that was all that was necessary.
Now both of Joanna's dark brows shot up, straight into her hairline, and she asked, "Monica Davis? Your profiler? A member of your team? That Monica Davis? I won't ask how you knew I was talking to her." Frank nodded, checking the heat settings, and Joanna murmured, "Well, that certain explains a lot. Including why she reacted to a few things I said. I think she's figured out that I'm your wife, and a few other things along with that."
Frank didn't doubt it, and Joanna continued after a moment, "So. How are you gonna handle this? I mean, I'm grateful that it's Monica. From what I've heard from and about Cody, I'm not sure he could keep his mouth shut." Frank started to answer, then remembered Cody's phone call this afternoon, while Frank was with Joanna. . .and quickly swallowed what he was about to say. Joanna added, "You know, just from what I heard this afternoon, he reminds me of some of my students. The ones who run their mouths just to cover the silence."
"I can see I'll need to be more careful around you, love," Frank said wryly, shifting into reverse. Joanna wasn't shivering as badly now, and unfortunately, he couldn't warm her personally. He'd have to let the heater do that for him. Joanna just grinned at him, her hazel eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter. Frank returned her grin, quietly relieved once more just to see her smile, and the way her smile warmed her face.
"Nah. You know me better than that. I can make up my own mind about a person. I like Monica. She's nice. Not pushy. You know me. Can't stand pushy people. Bossy people, I'm used to," she said, giving him a sidelong glance. Frank didn't answer. He knew better. Joanna sighed, adding, "Damn, you spoil all my fun. Like I said, I'm used to bossy people. I think I'd worry about you if you weren't bossy."
"I'm not bossy. . .not with you," Frank countered, smiling as the old argument was revived. He checked his rearview mirror. All clear. From the time they were ten years old, she would accuse him of being bossy. Of course, even as a ten year old, Frank saw that tendency as a desire to protect Joanna. His wife just gave him another sidelong glance, and Frank laughed outright. He added, "I'm not. I just like to look out for you."
Joanna just sighed, murmuring, "Well, I think I should email Clarissa and warn her what she's getting into when she marries Antoine. . .and she will marry him. It's just a question of time with those two. He's just as bossy as you are. . .bossy, and a lot more volatile. Not that this is a bad thing, at least not for Clarissa. It'll make him even more protective of her." Frank just rolled his eyes as he came to a stop at the edge of the highway.
"Do you ever stop trying to matchmake, mi amor?" he asked. Joanna glared at him, and Frank laughed again. She wasn't a matchmaker. But they knew Frank's cousin Antoine was head over heels for his friend Clarissa, and she felt the same way. During a recent conversation between the two cousins, Antoine admitted that his relationship with Clarissa changed from friends to lovers. Definitely in the 'too much information' file, but Frank knew that Antoine would confide in him before he would in Antoine's judgmental older brother Giancarlo.
"I am not matchmaking," Joanna answered primly, "I just want Antoine to be happy, and I know Clarissa makes him happy. I think your aunt would have liked her for that alone." She paused, then asked, "How long before he'll give up his profession for her, do you think?" Frank shook his head. . .not because he didn't think it would happen, but because he honestly didn't know. Antoine was unpredictable. . .always was, even when they were children.
"It could be tomorrow, it could be months from now. I don't know. You're right. He loves her, and he would give it up for her. Timing? I think that will depend on her," Frank replied. He started to say something more, but Joanna put her hand on his thigh. He sucked in a breath at the strategic placing. It wasn't an accident. Joanna was giving him a very direct message, and Frank had no intention of ignoring that message. He added, "We'll talk about Antoine another time. Did you enjoy yourself?"
"Don't ask foolish questions, Francis Sebastian Xavier," she reprimanded, using all three names. Normally a bad sign, it was also her way of getting his attention. Not necessary this time, considering she already *had* his attention. She added with a half smile, "And if I were really a matchmaker, I'd be wracking my brains to find someone for Monica." Frank just glanced at his wife, horrified, and she laughed.
"Like I said. . .if I was a matchmaker. Monica's a lovely woman, and very nice. I'm sure she could find a man on her own. . .if she wants one. Or woman, if that's the way it goes," Joanna added. Frank was so glad he wasn't drinking anything when his wife said that. Although, by now, he should have expected the things she came up with. Some, he knew, she picked up from her students. Most of her sexually derived remarks, in particular, though some of those, she learned from his fellow agents in the past. Joanna observed, laughing, "Just when you thought it was no longer possible for me to surprise you. . ."
"I know better than that, Joanna Angelica," Frank answered. Not for the first time, he had to wonder what Joanna's late parents were thinking, naming her 'Angelica,' even as a middle name. Sure, he knew that they were naming her after Gregory Masters' mother Angeline, but why not 'Angeline,' which was a beautiful name? Joanna was no angel. . . fortunately. Frank wasn't sure he could have loved her as much as he did if she was an angel.
"Oh, you're no fun," Joanna pouted. Frank flashed her his most devilish grin. Payback for putting her hand on his thigh earlier while he was driving. And it worked. She glared at him, muttering, "You're cheating. How do you know I won't ravish you in the car?" Frank merely looked through the front of his windshield by way of an answer. This time, he was rewarded with a mouthful of curses she must have learned from his mother.
"Because you don't want us getting into a wreck," Frank answered. That won him even more curses and Frank just laughed. He drew to a stop at a red light and leaned over to kiss her. He wanted her to know what tonight would be like. A gentle tap on his thigh returned his attention to the light, which was getting ready to change to green. He broke off the kiss and eased forward as the light changed, murmuring, "One of these days, you'll have to tell me how you do that." Joanna just laughed, thoroughly pleased with herself. Of course.
"It's not something I learned from Mama Marina, if that's what you're wondering," Joanna replied with an impish grin. Frank rolled his eyes. He knew better than that. While his mother did pass her knowledge as a strega onto Joanna, since she had no daughters by blood, he also knew that his mother was a wisewoman. She would regard knowing when the light was about to change as a simple parlor trick. Joanna added more seriously, "Honestly, darlin,' I just keep my eye on the opposing light. When it turns yellow. . ."
Frank wasn't sure if he liked that idea, but he could hardly argue that it was better than the alternative. Blaring horns tended to irritate him. Joanna added, a questioning tone in her voice, "Frank? You did take me out tonight, to celebrate getting that little girl back to her family, didn't you?" The agent didn't answer. In part because he wasn't sure what to say, how to answer the question.
At last, he replied, "Yes, that's part of it. But I swore to myself after I almost lost you that I wouldn't take you for granted any more. That I would take you out to dinner, and out dancing, that I would take you to the movies, or whatever you wanted to do, so long as I had the energy. Yes, I was grateful and relieved that we returned that little girl safely to her family. But more than anything else, I took you out tonight because I wanted to."
"Any ol' reason will do?" Joanna asked with a half-smile and Frank nodded. Yes. Any reason in the world would do. Just becase, any occasion he could come up with. Even if he had to make something up. This time, she leaned over and lightly kissed him, a gentle kiss at the line of his jaw. She pulled back and smiled at him. He smiled back. For her smile. For the lungs that continued to draw breath. For his wife. Any reason in the world would do.