Title: Cat and Mouse
Author: Jayde
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language.
Summary: Angst, drama, violence. (Do I write anything else?) I have nothing against Law Enforcement professionals. They have a job to do. Sometimes human curiosity is a good thing, and sometimes it isn't.
Credits: Thanks to Sassy for the beta read.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything, except Samantha, her partner Eric, and her NY Cop friend Dan. And even them, I'm perfectly willing to share.
Chapter 1:
Sometimes the job really sucked. Samantha walked around the blackened shell of what had once been a sport utility vehicle. Pale gray morning light filtered into the third floor of the parking structure, and revealed the scene. Scorch marks surrounded the vehicle on the floor, and spread across the low concrete ceiling.
"C4, just like the others," Eric reported, walking across the slanted white lines. Samantha looked up at her partner, and then turned troubled eyes back to the smoking ruin. The nearby cars had also sustained considerable damage, but no one had been inside them when the bomb went off.
A couple, on their way out for the evening, had stepped into their vehicle, and that had been the end of their lives. Catherine and Darren Peters, according to the parking lot's records. They had leased this space for the past two years.
"How many does this make now?" Samantha queried. The firefighters just leaving the scene glanced curiously at the two FBI agents. Eric, older and distinguished in his neatly pressed dark suit, and Samantha, looking too young to be with the bureau, in jeans and navy FBI jacket. Crime scene investigators were milling around the vehicle, taking pictures and picking up bits and pieces as evidence.
"Five bombings," Eric said, his voice neutral. "Nine victims." His cell phone rang – an irritating chirp in the early morning quiet. He jerked it out of his pocket, and answered. Samantha's attention drifted back to the vehicle. Eric brought her around with his announcement. "Got a possible location for our suspect."
-
The suspect was a man named Thomas Sykes. According to an anonymous police informant, their suspect had been seen going in and out of this warehouse. Which explained why Samantha was outside, her back pressed to the concrete wall, creeping around a corner and hoping she didn't get shot.
The building had been staked out for the last ten hours. Everyone thought it was the one, but Samantha had her doubts. No activity had been visible during those hours. And Thomas Sykes wasn't likely to be living here – the building was abandoned, and there was no electricity or running water.
Around the front, her partner and the NYPD were waiting to break in the front door. The FBI's jurisdiction on this case was questionable, but there was a psycho who had found a new hobby – blowing up cars. So far, there was no discernable pattern to the bombings, except that the cars were parked in public parking structures, and C4 – plastic explosive - had been used. Sam's assignment was to wait for someone, anyone, to try and get out the back and down this alley.
Four years with the bureau, and sometimes Samantha thought she had seen it all. But she hadn't, and that's what made the job attractive. She was always curious and wanting to know everything. Better than that was the possibility of making a difference. Making things safer.
The black sky above beckoned a look. A fine mist settled onto her face and hair, and the moisture in the air seemed to glitter from the light of the windows above.
She startled as something flowed across her vision that shouldn't be there.
A shadow passed between the buildings above her head; like someone jumping from one rooftop to another. She tightened her grip on the gun, and squinted up at the roofline.
The strange movement came again.
Convinced that this might be their quarry, she ran at the fire escape, and jumped for the ladder. She barely managed to snag it, and then rushed up the stairs, trying to be quiet on the metal steps and not succeeding. Reaching the top she peered over the ledge. The rooftop was quiet, so she slowly climbed on. Shuddering, she glanced down, once, and then forced eyes away from the drop.
God, she hated heights.
There! A figure leapt from this rooftop, to the next one. He was moving away from the warehouse. Samantha ran to the other side of the roof, and considered the distance. If that guy could make it, then maybe she could. Samantha holstered her gun under her jacket, and then stepped back to make a running start.
She landed less than gracefully on the next roof, slammingher right knee to the tarpaper. Samantha pulled her gun, panting, and checked the area. There was movement on the far side.
"Halt," Samantha shouted. The figure froze. "This is the F.B. ..."
Something smashed into her right side with the force of a small hurricane, knocking her flat. Samantha managed to keep from dropping her weapon, but that had seriously hurt. She twisted her body, coming up to a sitting position. One moment the gun in her hands, and the next it was gone. It clattered across the rooftop, and struck the ledge. Samantha rolled, trying to evade her unseen attacker. Her wrist throbbed with pain – it was likely broken. Someone had come out of the dark and kicked her hands.
She scrambled towards the air conditioning unit on the roof of the building. Samantha didn't make it far before a hand wrapped around her right ankle. She kicked back, but the hand tightened painfully. Bones ground together, and she cried out.
"Raph!"
The shout was a male voice, from the other side of the roof. The pressure on Samantha's ankle eased entirely. A moment later, she felt the weight of a body press down on her back, flattening her to the cold roof. A hand slid over her eyes, and pressed the side of her head firmly to the tarpaper. Freezing metal burned against her throat.
"If you want to live, then don't follow." Harsh words hissed into Samantha's right ear: A male voice, and very angry by the tone. He was up, and off of her, but she stayed prone. Her gun was gone. She waited, counting slowly to three, and then carefully pushed up, using her uninjured hand.
The rooftop was empty. A shout from the fire escape made her jump.
"Agent Gallagher? Are you up there?"
"Here," Samantha called back. She struggled to her feet, and limped to where the gun was resting. A uniform came over the ledge, and goggled at the FBI agent in shock.
"Jesus, what happened to you?"
"Good question," Samantha muttered, picking up her gun. She walked over to the opposite side of the roof. There was a large duffle bag sitting on the tarpaper, but she could have sworn it wasn't there before. She hunkered down cautiously, and gently pried the top open.
There were pale gray bricks stacked neatly inside.
"Officer, radio down that the explosives have been located," Samantha, instructed, her voice admirably calm considering she was crouched next to enough military grade C4 to blow up the entire block.
-
"Wow." Samantha's partner let out a low whistle as she peeled off her dark blue jacket with the large 'FBI' on the back. Her wrist was a disturbing shade of purple, and swollen. And it hurt like hell.
Through a rip at the right knee of her pants, a bloody scrape was visible. Samantha was dirty and disheveled. Her face was scratched where it had been pressed to the tarpaper.
"Can you give us a physical description of your assailant, Agent?" The plainclothes detective near the door to the treatment room was looking at his notepad. Samantha exchanged a glance with her partner.
"Not really," she confessed. The emergency room doctor came in, and started fussing over her wrist.
"What did you see, Sam?" Eric, Samantha's partner, was standing nearby, getting in the doctor's way.
"Can't this wait? We need to do x-rays," the doctor complained, circling around the exam table and frowning at the three law enforcement officers.
"It was dark. The guy - there were two of them on the roof, but only one attacked me - I never got a good look at him." Samantha ignored the doctor.
"Weapon?" The plainclothes was still looking at his notepad.
"A, um, knife of some sort, but I never saw it," Sam said. Now the detective looked up. Samantha's partner covered his mouth. If he laughed, she thought, she would shoot him.
"A knife," the plainclothes was looking at her like she had lost her mind.
"Any head injuries?" Eric asked the doctor over Samantha's head.
"I would know, if I could treat the patient," the doctor said, miffed.
"Okay," the detective near the door said, flipping his pad closed. "We can continue this later." He walked out the door, and past the treatment window to the admitting desk.
"A knife. That's all you've got?" Eric still looked a little amused.
"I never saw him," Samantha responded. "No eye color, no hair color, no nothing." She shifted uncomfortably on the table as the doctor poked at her cheek. "He was really strong, but I couldn't tell you how tall he was."
The doctor shone a little light into Sam's eyes, making her flinch, and then turned away to give instructions to a nurse. "X-ray for the wrist and the possible fractured rib, head CT, and clean the abrasions."
"It was like fighting a shadow." Samantha rubbed at her eyes with her left hand.
"Get fixed up, and get some sleep. I'll get a statement from you in the morning, Sam." Eric patted Sam's shoulder awkwardly, and left the room. He hitched his pants up, and tugged his suit jacket over his protruding stomach. Eric could stand to cut down on the pastries. Then he could chase guys across rooftops, Sam thought, and she could stand around and look important.
"Ready," the nurse said, bringing over a tray of torture implements.
"Ready," Samantha sighed.
-
In an alley not far from the hospital, another round of questioning was going on.
"Where's the bag?" Don queried sharply when Raph and Mike swung into view around the corner. Raph leapt over a pile of discarded boards, and landed lightly in front of Don.
"We left it … for the cops," Mike replied, panting from exertion. He bent over, and fought to regain his breath. Mike stared around at the graffiti on the walls of the alley where his brothers had stopped.
Leo frowned in annoyance. This was nothing to toy with. They had managed to remove pounds of plastic explosive from the warehouse. It wouldn't do for that kind of thing to wind up in the wrong hands – again.
"You didn't lose it, did you?" Leo's eyes were narrowed suspiciously at the pair. Raph glared at Leo. What kind of a screwed up question was that?
"We didn't lose it," Mike said fiercely. "The police have it, okay?" He had straightened up, and stepped up to Leo. They were squared off, and on the edge of a fight.
"Mike …," Leo warned, slipping into a defensive stance.
"Leo, drop it, will ya," Raph interrupted, stepping between his brothers. "We did it. We got the explosives, and we left it where the cops could find it." He gave Mike's plastron a shove, pushing him away from Leo.
Leo turned at a noise from the opening to the alley. Sirens screamed up the street, and all four brothers slipped unconsciously into the concealing shadows.
"Did they get him?" Mike asked when the police car had passed. He had stayed near the wall, and he was simply a voice from under the fire escape.
Leo shook his head, looking seriously pissed. "We did everything but put a neon sign over him, but they missed him." They had found the man by accident – he had been hiding explosives in warehouses in their territory, and it didn't take much to put it all together with the bombings that were terrorizing the city.
"Damn cops," Raph snarled, ready to get into Leo's face. "We should just take care of it ourselves."
"As I'm so often reminded, we're not vigilantes. We should get back," Don noted softly. Leo's expression smoothed out, and he turned and headed up the alley, expecting the others to follow. Donnie slipped his bo onto his shell, and hurried behind his brother.
"Hey," Raph said quietly, catching Mike's arm as Mike stepped out of the dark. "Thanks for coverin'."
"Don't make a habit of it, dickhead," Mike responded shortly. He gave Raph a shove, barely rocking him. "Come on. Let's go home."
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