Author's Note: I'd say, 'yes, I know it's about time', but I'm sure anyone following this story will be glad to say it for me. :) Major thanks to everyone who's
left such wonderful feedback. Hope you like this part! g
Chapter Seven
It took only a second for John to realize his mistake -- he'd pulled into the HOV lane before the road signs indicated a turn was allowed. Was it enough to make a *detective* pull him over? No, not unless it was the end of the month and the department quota was low. But it was enough to make a detective look twice. And since it was only the beginning of the month, John would lay odds on having been made by Grayson.
Sam was shaking her head in the passenger seat, giving him a look that on anyone else would've been panic. "Should we try and run?" she asked.
"Do you see me pulling over?" John snapped, even as he mentally evaluated the chances of actually escaping. He thought back to his own days as a cop, and the many police chases he'd been involved in. He'd never had a suspect actually *escape*, but he had let a few go who he'd thought might endanger innocent drivers. Of course, none of those people had been the prime suspect of a serial killer investigation, either.
Suddenly the lone siren sound vanished, and, startled, John took his first rearview mirror glance since spotting Grayson. The man was continuing down the road as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if he'd only turned it on mistakenly.
"Can we get off this road *now*?" Sam asked, voice both clipped and skeptical at the same time.
John nodded. "First exit."
Sam pursed her lips together. "That was close," she said softly, then glanced back in the passenger side mirror, searching for Grayson's car. "Way too close."
"No kidding," John muttered, his bad mood returning now that the most recent immediate danger had passed. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was his fault they'd almost gotten caught. "Sorry," he forced himself to add.
"It doesn't matter," Sam sighed, slumping back into her seat and cracking the window open. Small raindrops fell onto her arm and into her air as she inhaled the fresh air. "It didn't happen."
"Right," John said bitterly, being extra careful about how he signaled to return to the main highway. "Food?" he offered.
Sam shrugged and closed her eyes, turning her face towards the window and the pouring rain. "Fine."
* * * * *
Sam nibbled half-heartedly on her sandwich as she paced the latest in a series of cramped inexpensive hotel rooms. John was sitting at the always provided small writing table, trying to map out the quickest and least noticeable route to Atlanta, and she leaned over his shoulder momentarily before resuming her pacing.
It had been a long time since she'd been on the road; she'd forgotten some of the more unpleasant side-effects. Particularly the frustrated restlessness that only came from doing nothing in unfamiliar territory. Doing nothing at home for the past few years hadn't bothered her in the least.
It didn't help matters that she and John were definitely wearing on one another's nerves.
She forced herself to stop pacing and perched on the edge of the bed. A half-hearted reach for the case-file was abandoned when the hotel phone rang. An exchange of looks with John and a shrug later, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hey. I got your message," the voice on the other end said. Sam felt a smile come over her and some of the tension leave her body at the sound of George's voice. "Very subtle. Couldn't have done it better myself."
Sam blushed, both embarrassed and pleased at the compliment. She'd called George's cell phone from the hotel lobby, and John had tormented her for ten minutes after she'd hung up about her code. "I knew you'd get it," she said, glaring at John, who shrugged back at her again. "I just wanted to make sure there hadn't been any developments."
"Nothing yet, at least where the case is concerned," George answered. "I'm glad you called, though. There's something you need to know."
Sam tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and leaned back against the bed, sensing from his tone that this wasn't going to be good news. "What is it?"
"Some kids found your car," he said simply. "Bailey's been trying to keep a tight lid on this since John took off, but now with you involved, too… the story's getting too good. Somebody's going to break it. No matter how many precautions we've taken."
Sam frowned into the telephone. "Why, though? If this gets out, the FBI's going to look bad. *Really* bad."
"It's not about us," George replied. "We had to notify police departments around the country when John left. Now Blevins is going to have to notify them *again* about your involvement. Someone's going to pick up on it."
Sam ran her free hand through her hair and looked over at John, who'd abandoned his route planning and was paying close attention to her end of the conversation. "Great," she muttered sarcastically.
"Just wanted to give you the heads up," George said. "Might be a good time to start looking into alternative hair colors."
Sam grimaced. "I'd make a really bad brunette."
George snorted on the other end. "Keep in touch. I'll see if there's anything I can do."
"Thanks, George." Sam hung up and looked over at John. "They found my car."
John leaned back in his chair, a look of exasperation on his face. "It had to happen sometime."
Sam felt a surge of worry run through her at the calmness of his voice and the irritation on his expression. It seemed a bit too mild a reaction given the circumstances. "George thinks we're going to make the news soon," she added, attempting to pry a more healthy response out of him.
"Hey, as long as we don't make America's Most Wanted, we should be alright," John shrugged, looking back at his map. "We'll have to make this a back road journey. Might add a day or so. And we should probably avoid hotels from now on."
"John…"
"What?" John snapped. "Sam, don't bother, alright? Things are what they are. There's no point in getting worked up about it."
"How very zen of you," Sam said skeptically.
"Well, what do you want me to do? Huh?" John looked away from his maps again to face her directly. "You want me to say how completely outrageous it is that I'm being charged for *murder*? You want me to remind you that I *told* you to stay out of this, and now the next time your daughter's gets to see your face it'll be on the front page?" Sam glanced away, blinking hard, as John added, "I figure it goes without saying."
* * * * *
Sam stood outside the motel, perched on the back of the car and staring up at the sky. John's words kept running around in her mind as she wondered just what the hell she thought she was doing. It had been years since she'd had anything other than the typical suburban life. She should be at home, laughing with Chloe, enjoying the precious moments before her daughter entered adolescence and began to find her own way.
Instead she was at a run down motel, putting herself in legal jeopardy for John Grant.
Shivering, she found her eyes drawn to the other cars in the parking lot. She wondered about the people who owned them, whether they were in their motel rooms watching TV or reading or sleeping or making love. If they were moving, or if they were on their way to some choice vacation spot.
Sam sighed, pushing her hair away from her face and turning her attention to the sky. She'd spent the past two years living her life in a bubble, rarely speaking to anyone besides her daughter. It only made sense that she'd feel disoriented, being so suddenly transported into a situation even more stressful than her FBI days.
"Sam?"
Sam jumped slightly, sliding off the car and turning to face John. "Hey," she said, licking her lips and trying to calm her heart rate. "You startled me."
"Really? Hadn't noticed it," John answered sarcastically, but smiled back just the same. "You've been out here a while."
"I needed to clear my head," she replied, as another chill went through her.
"Why don't you go back in?" John suggested, eyeing her worriedly. "It's freezing, and I don't have a coat to chivalrously cover you with."
Sam gave a small laugh, but shook her head. "Not just yet."
"I'm sorry I about what I said."
"No," Sam said quickly. "Don't be. You were right." She sighed, her breath frosting on the night air.
"Sam." Sam turned her head and he took a step towards her so that they were mere inches apart. "I'm glad you're here."
Sam looked down at the ground, feeling warmth spreading across her cheeks. She forced herself to look back up and meet his eyes. "You want to know something strange?" she asked rhetorically, laughing slightly to herself. "So am I."
John reached out his hand and lightly touched a stray strand of her hair. "You should get some sleep. We need to leave in a few hours."
Neither moved.
A long moment of silence followed, and Sam forced herself to break it, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Yes… I guess I should. We should, I mean." She tried to make herself take a step forward, but all she could feel was the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She turned her face up to his, not sure what she was doing, or why.
She figured it out a moment later, when his lips descended onto hers.
left such wonderful feedback. Hope you like this part! g
Chapter Seven
It took only a second for John to realize his mistake -- he'd pulled into the HOV lane before the road signs indicated a turn was allowed. Was it enough to make a *detective* pull him over? No, not unless it was the end of the month and the department quota was low. But it was enough to make a detective look twice. And since it was only the beginning of the month, John would lay odds on having been made by Grayson.
Sam was shaking her head in the passenger seat, giving him a look that on anyone else would've been panic. "Should we try and run?" she asked.
"Do you see me pulling over?" John snapped, even as he mentally evaluated the chances of actually escaping. He thought back to his own days as a cop, and the many police chases he'd been involved in. He'd never had a suspect actually *escape*, but he had let a few go who he'd thought might endanger innocent drivers. Of course, none of those people had been the prime suspect of a serial killer investigation, either.
Suddenly the lone siren sound vanished, and, startled, John took his first rearview mirror glance since spotting Grayson. The man was continuing down the road as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if he'd only turned it on mistakenly.
"Can we get off this road *now*?" Sam asked, voice both clipped and skeptical at the same time.
John nodded. "First exit."
Sam pursed her lips together. "That was close," she said softly, then glanced back in the passenger side mirror, searching for Grayson's car. "Way too close."
"No kidding," John muttered, his bad mood returning now that the most recent immediate danger had passed. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was his fault they'd almost gotten caught. "Sorry," he forced himself to add.
"It doesn't matter," Sam sighed, slumping back into her seat and cracking the window open. Small raindrops fell onto her arm and into her air as she inhaled the fresh air. "It didn't happen."
"Right," John said bitterly, being extra careful about how he signaled to return to the main highway. "Food?" he offered.
Sam shrugged and closed her eyes, turning her face towards the window and the pouring rain. "Fine."
* * * * *
Sam nibbled half-heartedly on her sandwich as she paced the latest in a series of cramped inexpensive hotel rooms. John was sitting at the always provided small writing table, trying to map out the quickest and least noticeable route to Atlanta, and she leaned over his shoulder momentarily before resuming her pacing.
It had been a long time since she'd been on the road; she'd forgotten some of the more unpleasant side-effects. Particularly the frustrated restlessness that only came from doing nothing in unfamiliar territory. Doing nothing at home for the past few years hadn't bothered her in the least.
It didn't help matters that she and John were definitely wearing on one another's nerves.
She forced herself to stop pacing and perched on the edge of the bed. A half-hearted reach for the case-file was abandoned when the hotel phone rang. An exchange of looks with John and a shrug later, she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Hey. I got your message," the voice on the other end said. Sam felt a smile come over her and some of the tension leave her body at the sound of George's voice. "Very subtle. Couldn't have done it better myself."
Sam blushed, both embarrassed and pleased at the compliment. She'd called George's cell phone from the hotel lobby, and John had tormented her for ten minutes after she'd hung up about her code. "I knew you'd get it," she said, glaring at John, who shrugged back at her again. "I just wanted to make sure there hadn't been any developments."
"Nothing yet, at least where the case is concerned," George answered. "I'm glad you called, though. There's something you need to know."
Sam tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and leaned back against the bed, sensing from his tone that this wasn't going to be good news. "What is it?"
"Some kids found your car," he said simply. "Bailey's been trying to keep a tight lid on this since John took off, but now with you involved, too… the story's getting too good. Somebody's going to break it. No matter how many precautions we've taken."
Sam frowned into the telephone. "Why, though? If this gets out, the FBI's going to look bad. *Really* bad."
"It's not about us," George replied. "We had to notify police departments around the country when John left. Now Blevins is going to have to notify them *again* about your involvement. Someone's going to pick up on it."
Sam ran her free hand through her hair and looked over at John, who'd abandoned his route planning and was paying close attention to her end of the conversation. "Great," she muttered sarcastically.
"Just wanted to give you the heads up," George said. "Might be a good time to start looking into alternative hair colors."
Sam grimaced. "I'd make a really bad brunette."
George snorted on the other end. "Keep in touch. I'll see if there's anything I can do."
"Thanks, George." Sam hung up and looked over at John. "They found my car."
John leaned back in his chair, a look of exasperation on his face. "It had to happen sometime."
Sam felt a surge of worry run through her at the calmness of his voice and the irritation on his expression. It seemed a bit too mild a reaction given the circumstances. "George thinks we're going to make the news soon," she added, attempting to pry a more healthy response out of him.
"Hey, as long as we don't make America's Most Wanted, we should be alright," John shrugged, looking back at his map. "We'll have to make this a back road journey. Might add a day or so. And we should probably avoid hotels from now on."
"John…"
"What?" John snapped. "Sam, don't bother, alright? Things are what they are. There's no point in getting worked up about it."
"How very zen of you," Sam said skeptically.
"Well, what do you want me to do? Huh?" John looked away from his maps again to face her directly. "You want me to say how completely outrageous it is that I'm being charged for *murder*? You want me to remind you that I *told* you to stay out of this, and now the next time your daughter's gets to see your face it'll be on the front page?" Sam glanced away, blinking hard, as John added, "I figure it goes without saying."
* * * * *
Sam stood outside the motel, perched on the back of the car and staring up at the sky. John's words kept running around in her mind as she wondered just what the hell she thought she was doing. It had been years since she'd had anything other than the typical suburban life. She should be at home, laughing with Chloe, enjoying the precious moments before her daughter entered adolescence and began to find her own way.
Instead she was at a run down motel, putting herself in legal jeopardy for John Grant.
Shivering, she found her eyes drawn to the other cars in the parking lot. She wondered about the people who owned them, whether they were in their motel rooms watching TV or reading or sleeping or making love. If they were moving, or if they were on their way to some choice vacation spot.
Sam sighed, pushing her hair away from her face and turning her attention to the sky. She'd spent the past two years living her life in a bubble, rarely speaking to anyone besides her daughter. It only made sense that she'd feel disoriented, being so suddenly transported into a situation even more stressful than her FBI days.
"Sam?"
Sam jumped slightly, sliding off the car and turning to face John. "Hey," she said, licking her lips and trying to calm her heart rate. "You startled me."
"Really? Hadn't noticed it," John answered sarcastically, but smiled back just the same. "You've been out here a while."
"I needed to clear my head," she replied, as another chill went through her.
"Why don't you go back in?" John suggested, eyeing her worriedly. "It's freezing, and I don't have a coat to chivalrously cover you with."
Sam gave a small laugh, but shook her head. "Not just yet."
"I'm sorry I about what I said."
"No," Sam said quickly. "Don't be. You were right." She sighed, her breath frosting on the night air.
"Sam." Sam turned her head and he took a step towards her so that they were mere inches apart. "I'm glad you're here."
Sam looked down at the ground, feeling warmth spreading across her cheeks. She forced herself to look back up and meet his eyes. "You want to know something strange?" she asked rhetorically, laughing slightly to herself. "So am I."
John reached out his hand and lightly touched a stray strand of her hair. "You should get some sleep. We need to leave in a few hours."
Neither moved.
A long moment of silence followed, and Sam forced herself to break it, clearing her throat. "Yeah. Yes… I guess I should. We should, I mean." She tried to make herself take a step forward, but all she could feel was the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She turned her face up to his, not sure what she was doing, or why.
She figured it out a moment later, when his lips descended onto hers.