A/N: As always, my heartfelt thanks to Diane for betaing – and putting up with me when I play hookey. Feedback always appreciated.
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Continued from chapter 4
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It was well after midnight when Samantha unlocked the door to her apartment with a slightly unsteady hand and stepped inside. She didn´t bother with switching on any lights, knowing her way around even with her eyes closed. As she hung up her coat and kicked off her heels, she mentally berated herself for staying up so late on a 'school night'. And drinking to boot. However, walking into her kitchen she pushed the thought away. It happened so rarely that she did anything that defied protocol, and besides, they had all been there and they had all been having a good time. Although Vivian had been the first to leave, reminding them all they had work in the morning, she had been enjoying herself, too.
Sam sighed and it turned into a yawn. After checking that her coffee-maker was set and ready to brew at the exact time her alarm went off – it always did, but she checked it every night nonetheless – she poured herself a glass of water, quickly downing it. After a moment´s hesitation, she refilled the glass and sipped from it as she exited the kitchen and walked into her small bedroom. Putting it on the bedside table, she switched on the small lamp next to it, needing a little light to decide which clothes to wear in the morning. She doubted she was going to feel much from tonight´s excess, but it didn´t hurt to have everything ready just in case. That was a mantra that applied to most aspects of her life anyway; Sam liked to be prepared and didn´t care much for surprises. Something the occasional boyfriend had learned the hard way over the years.
After deciding on a grey pantsuit, forgoing her usual preference for black due to the heat, she found a thin silk shirt to match and draped the items over a chair in the corner. Then she unceremoniously discarded the clothes she was wearing, letting them pile on the floor before returning to her closet to retrieve a tank top and underwear to sleep in. It was too hot still to sleep in much else and she rarely slept in the nude. Not that she felt particularly self-conscious; it had just never appealed to her.
Having made her arrangements for the next day, she trudged out into the bathroom, eager to get ready for bed. She was tempted to just brush her teeth and leave her makeup as it was, but knew she would regret it in the morning. So she diligently removed what little she was wearing and then the diamond studs in her ears and the thin necklace around her neck. In the bright light of the bathroom, she couldn´t help but notice that her face looked a little flushed and she wondered absently if the beers she had had earlier were the cause of it, or if she was just feeling too hot.
As she gazed into the mirror, carefully brushing her long blond hair, she suddenly caught her own eyes in the reflection and Sam both felt and saw herself smile involuntarily. The grotesque tale of how Jack Malone acquired his money had popped into her mind, and she wouldn´t soon be forgetting the expression on his face as he related the story to her.
About five years ago he had been given the assignment to completely secure a house, to turn it into a virtual fortress of metal bars, alarms, steel and concrete. Something taken straight out of the movie "Panic Room" apparently. The owner of the house had been an eccentric old man named Werner Blockhausen - Sam had noticed how Jack had to search before settling on the word 'eccentric' to describe him – and the only thing that rivaled the man´s fortune was his raging paranoia. The amount of surveillance and security measures he had insisted on had been driving Jack crazy, not to mention the man´s very unfriendly, offensive personality. He had been a true misogynist, a xenophobe and just plain out rude, but it had turned into a challenge, which Jack hadn´t been able to resist.
So after suffering weeks of abuse, condescending or outlandish suggestions as well as daily friskings in case he had been taken in by the enemy (i.e. Blockhausen´s estranged and rather distant relatives) Jack had given Werner Blockhausen his very own Fort Knox to live in. Or as Jack had said, sounding both amused and rueful, to hide in from the rest of the world until he died or the world simply forgot he ever existed. The final straw had been when Blockhausen had ordered Jack to hand over every single blueprint, instruction or manual to his house and the systems inside it. Not so that he could hide them in a safe place in his house as Jack had suspected, but because he planned to eat them, in utter seriousness claiming it was the only way to make sure they never saw the light of day. He had even made Jack sign an affidavit that he did not have any replicas in his possession.
At this point a disbelieving Samantha had interrupted, asking if Jack hadn´t worried about the man´s sanity by then. Jack had shrugged, saying he did have his concerns, but that any attempt he made to talk to Blockhausen about other things than the fortification of his property had been fruitless.
In any case, after the job was done, Jack had been dismissed with a very generous check and he had decided to treat himself to a short trip to Europe, visiting Paris as well as Rome. He had barely been in Rome for a week before he was tracked down by a man working for the American Embassy, saying that he was wanted for questioning by the police back in the States.
A more and more incredulously looking Jack had listened in stunned silence as a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone had informed him that Mr. Blockhausen had died a few days after he left the country. As far as the medical examiner could tell, he had suffered a minor heart attack, but had enough presence of mind to call 911. Unfortunately, when the ambulance arrived, the paramedics had been unable to enter the house. Presumably Blockhausen had lost consciousness by then and was unable to be of any assistance. It had taken almost an entire day and help of the local and very enthusiastic fire department to finally force their way into the house. When at last they reached him, he had been lying dead on the floor, his hand clutching a piece of paper. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be a plan of the house, and one of the corners appeared to have had a bite taken out of it.
Jack´s narrative had trailed off after that last remark and Sam had pursed her lips slightly, avoiding his eyes and trying to think of a fitting grimace. It wasn´t funny, of course; in fact, it was a very tragic story. She could just picture the poor man lying there, perhaps slowly realizing that his own paranoia was going to be the end of him.
Returning her gaze to Jack, she had been surprised to see a faint smile on his face and when he spoke, he didn´t sound reproachful. "It´s okay to smile. As a matter of fact, I was told later that when they found him they said he looked like he was smiling himself." Jack had sighed, then finished wryly, "I´d like to think that even in his death, Werner Blockhausen took pleasure in the fact that no one could get into his house without his permission."
That should have been the end of it, but for Jack it had only been the beginning when shortly afterwards it was revealed that he was the sole beneficiary of Blockhausen´s vast fortune. Apparently, the following months hadn´t been pleasant and they had begun speaking about other matters shortly after that.
Sam placed her brush on the edge of the sink and slipped out of the bathroom. Her eyes were growing heavy and the red numbers of her alarm told her she had less time to sleep in than she liked. At least she wasn´t on call tonight if any emergency cases should be sent their way.
As the last part of her nightly routine, she reached for the hand lotion that was also on her bedside table, pressed out a sufficient amount and rubbed it into her hands. The slight excess lotion she absentmindedly wiped off on her thighs, but then, as nearly always happened, her hand stilled when she felt the delicate change of texture on her left thigh and she looked down.
The scar was still there, just as it had been the day before, just as it would be the day after tomorrow and for the rest of her life. It was a constant and merciless reminder of one of the worst moments of Sam´s life.
A missing person´s case had turned out to be a kidnapping and a so-called routine drop-off had from one second to the next escalated into a hostage situation. Sam had been caught inside a bookstore with several other hostages and the kidnapper, a Barry Mashburn, had grown increasingly erratic and desperate as time passed and the FBI were either unable or unwilling to meet his demands. What had happened next was a little fuzzy to her, but there had been a struggle and a gun had gone off. It wasn´t until she reached down and felt the moisture seep through the denim that she had realized that she had been hit and then the pain set in. Everything had been chaotic after that as SWAT had stormed the building and broken down the door. No other hostage had been hurt so the operation had been deemed a success, but Barry Mashburn had been killed in the process. Two days later, Sydney Harrison, the kidnapper´s victim, had been found in the back of a van. She had been alive, but barely.
Sam had spent weeks in the hospital and gone through a painful period of physical rehabilitation followed by sessions almost as painful with the in-house counselor before she was allowed back into the field.
Of course, that hadn´t been the end of her problems.
Refusing to think more about it, Sam slid underneath the covers and reached out to switch off the lamp. Her bedroom was instantly enveloped in a pleasing darkness and the cool air from the air conditioner slowly smoothed the furrow in her brow. It had been a long, but not an altogether bad day, a small voice in her head added as she felt herself grow sleepy.
She fell asleep idly wondering how long Jack Malone would be around.
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In a darkly lit hotel room some distance away the man himself was picking up the cell phone that he had deliberately neglected to bring with him. Without gazing at the display, he shrugged off his leather jacket with relative ease - he was getting better at working around the cast - and hit a single key, hearing it quickly dial the preprogrammed number to his voicemail. He didn´t really expect there to be any messages at this hour, especially as this wasn´t a phone number he gave out to clients, so he was slightly surprised when he was informed he had one new message.
Walking quietly through the carpeted room to the large window overlooking the city, Jack listened as Vivian´s voice reached his ear. She must have called him not very long after she got home when he and Samantha had still been at the bar. She sounded tired, but pleasant enough: 'Jack, it´s me. I´ve thought it over and although I still can´t decide whether it´s incredibly romantic or absolutely crazy, I´ll help you out as much as I can. Of course, you have to realize that this can´t be my top priority, but since you haven´t been able to track her down yourself – and I know how good you are at that kind of thing – then maybe, just maybe, there´s a case here. Just don´t get ahead of yourself, okay? I´ll ask around, see if any of my people have some time they don´t mind spending helping you out. No promises, though! I´ll assist as much as I can, but I do have an actual job to do. I´ll call you tomorrow morning.'
Jack smiled softly to himself as he saved the message and then hung up. Turning halfway, he tossed the phone carelessly onto the lush bedspread covering the large king size bed, then looked back out of the window. His head felt heavy and he pressed his forehead lightly against the glass and closed his eyes. It wasn´t as cool as he had hoped, but it helped to clear his thoughts a little nonetheless.
So Vivian was going to help him. He hadn´t been sure at all that she would, and he wouldn´t even have blamed her in the least if she had turned him down. He knew it was crazy - she didn´t have to tell him that - and he knew the prospects of finding her weren´t that good. After pouring his heart out to her, Viv had gently but firmly pointed out to Jack what he himself reluctantly had come to realize towards the end of his futile search: Pretty much any person who was an American citizen living an average life going to work, voting and paying taxes could be located sooner or later.
It was still early days and the fact that he hadn´t been able to find even the smallest trace of her in the time he had been looking could be a coincidence. However, it could also indicate one possibly insurmountable thing: Virginia Griffith didn´t want to be found.
As he stood there, his head bowed and his breath lightly misting the glass, Jack couldn´t help but wonder if the reason why she didn´t want to be found was the same reason why she had so abruptly disappeared from his life all those years ago.
He hadn´t known the reason back then either.
TBC…