'Boy you're in a pleasant mood this morning' Ron Wagnor said with a smirk.
He was perched on the edge of Steve's desk downtown and looked altogether too chipper for Steve's liking. Ignoring Ron, Steve rubbed his forehead irritably. The usual background noise of the station grated on his hangover and he swore to himself that he'd never overindulge again.
He hadn't felt this bad since college, that night he and the rest of the guys from the football team had celebrated winning the play-offs. He'd shipped way too much booze that night. Caught up in the celebrations and the exuberant peer pressure, it'd been a moment of youthful abandon that he had thoroughly enjoyed, until the next morning, when of course he'd been sick as a dog.
Still at least then the over indulgence had been in the name of celebration. Last night had been an entirely different story. He didn't want to be the kind of guy who turned to alcohol to deaden his pain. Alcohol was never the answer and he knew it. Besides which he was getting a little too old to put up with the morning after. Steve sighed, at some point today he'd have to buy his father a replacement bottle of scotch and hope he didn't have to answer too many questions about it.
Ignoring Steve's lack of response, Ron continued cheerfully 'obviously your father's New Year's roast is not a patch on my guacamole'.
The FBI agent gave Steve a nudge with his elbow 'You should try some, Amanda's walking on air this morning'. Then he grinned 'Although how much of that is due to the guacamole and how much to …
'Can it Ron' Steve said gruffly, finally roused from his brooding silence 'believe me when I say I'm really not in the mood to hear about either guacamole or your private life with Amanda right now'.
Ron shrugged 'Okay then, so lets talk about the case instead' he said amiably.
'Do we have anything to talk about?' Steve asked; his tone gloomy.
'We might' Ron said, getting off of Steve's desk and dropping his long, lean frame into the chair opposite. 'ya know I'm not here on vacation, I've been doin' some thinkin', chasing some leads. Yesterday afternoon whilst you and Sergeant Archer were cooling your heels on Fourth and Main, I was calling in some favours with a couple of buddies of mine back at Quantico'.
Steve raised an eyebrow, looking interested for the first time that morning.
'What kind of favours?' he asked.
Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest 'I got the guys to run the ID's of everyone who was in that diner that night through the FBI databases. It occurred to me that 'Susie's is the kinda dive that could attract a certain type of cliental, if ya know what I mean? We find out who the targets were, should give us the heads up on the bomber'.
Steve sighed refusing to be shaken out of his negativity 'It's a start I guess, but the joint is a favourite with cops on the beat, could scare off the seedier element'.
Ron nodded, considering 'Still think it's worth a shot' he said.
Steve nodded too, but he wasn't really listening, his thoughts had drifted back to night in the diner. How could things have gone so bad so quickly? That night he'd been full of hope. He and Tanis had just started to discover each other and he'd discovered that he was enjoying the ride. It had turned out to be a short one.
Ron looked at Steve, his brown eyes serious. He didn't know what had happened to put Sloan into such a downward spiral, but he guessed that it had to do with the case. Amanda had told him last night that she thought Steve was on edge. Ron assumed that Steve was still feeling bad about not being able to ID the bomber. Ron could sympathise, that would be eating at him too if their roles were reversed. Leaning forward to gain the Detective's undivided attention; Ron put a hand on Steve's arm, trying to convey his support
'We're gonna nail this guy Steve' he said 'I promise'
Steve smiled ruefully 'We'd better' was all he said.
Tanis was awakened by the sound of her downstairs neighbour's TV. She groaned; noisy neighbours, a definite downside to living in a city apartment block. Rolling over she blinked an eye at the clock radio on her bedside dresser. The illuminated figures read 9.30am. She swore. She should have been down town two hours ago; she'd slept through her alarm. Yawning widely she sat up in bed and pushed her tangled blonde hair out of her face. Her clothes were on the floor where she'd tossed them, too tired to hang them up. Last night had been a late one, which was an explanation, if not an excuse for her over sleeping.
Ross Cainen hadn't been pleased to see her and she couldn't blame him. She'd been crazy to go there again so soon, her reactions completely emotional. She who prided herself on her cool logic and rational thought processes had been acting purely on instinct. She'd had to see him, had to prove to herself that she was right and Steve was wrong. And now? Now she was more confused than ever.
When Cainen had dragged her into that room to keep her safe from prying eyes, she'd felt his heart pounding. Her own had been pounding too. The touch of his skin against hers, his breath warm against her cheek, she'd felt a strange mixture of excitement and dread.
Whether he was innocent or not she'd been in danger. Even if he was innocent, any one of his flunkies could have spotted her. She could've wound up in the desert this morning, instead of her own bed, her head removed from her shoulders execution style. And if he was guilty? Then she'd just spent the night locked in a room with a deranged psychopath.
So why had she enjoyed it? Was she just an adrenaline junkie she wondered to herself? A crazy risk taker who got high on the danger? It was certainly how Steve saw her. She didn't want to think of herself that way, but maybe it was true. May be that's why the Chief had picked her to head up his Task Force in the first place. Maybe he'd recognised that personality trait in her and sought to exploit it. After all she'd always had a bit of a wild side hadn't she? Fast cars, fast men, fast life?
May be it was a trait she shared with Cainen, why else would he have agreed to put his life on the line in the first place? Sure he was regretting it now, but he'd been living his cover for years, had signed away any hopes of a normal life when he agreed to become Ross Cainen. What kind of man would sign up for that? One who liked to live life on the edge her subconscious answered her.
So was Steve right? Was Ross Cainen playing his part for real? Had the boundaries blurred? She didn't know. They'd talked for 4 hours straight last night, about the bomb, about the Chief, about the Task Force, about her career, about his life as Ross Cainen. And still she didn't know.
But she did know one thing. Last night in Cainen's apartment, talking to him into the early hours and watching the dawn rise together, she'd felt closer to Ross Cainen than she'd ever felt to Steve Sloan.
And that was what scared her the most.
'Steve!' Mark called out cheerfully, as he made his way between desks to reach his son. He was a familiar figure at the station and numerous cops called out greetings to him as he passed. Mark smiled, waved and nodded in return. His son looked up from a pile of papers on his desk.
'Hey Dad' Steve said with forced brightness 'What are you doing here? I thought you were short staffed at the hospital'.
'Oh we are' Mark said casually 'But a man's gotta eat, so I thought maybe you'd like to join me for lunch'. He eyed Steve carefully, and was pretty sure of his diagnosis. Choosing not to comment directly he knew the easiest way to test his theory. Plastering a smile on his face Mark beamed expectantly 'My treat!' he offered 'We can go to 'Benny's' grab an all day breakfast, treat ourselves to something swimming in grease just this once.'
Steve swallowed hard, fighting queasiness. He definitely wasn't up to food just yet 'Nice thought Dad, but I'm pretty busy here right now' he lied. 'May be another time?'
'Sure' Mark said easily, trying to hide his concern 'You okay?' he asked gently 'You know I didn't hear you go to bed last night'.
Mark had also noticed that he was down a bottle of scotch. He knew Steve wasn't really a drinker, but the fact that he had been drinking heavily last night indicated that something serious had happened.
Steve flushed. He hadn't actually made it to bed last night. Instead he'd woken up on the couch with a crick in his neck and the hangover from hell. The only good part of this morning was that he'd woken before his father could come in and find him.
'I had a lot on my mind' he said awkwardly, keeping his eyes on the paper work on his desk 'needed some time to think'.
'Did it help?' Mark asked gently.
Steve smiled ruefully 'Not really' he admitted.
'Well you know that if you want to ..' Mark began.
'I know Dad' Steve interrupted. Finally he looked up at his father 'thanks' he said.
Mark smiled 'Well if I really can't tempt you with an all day breakfast at Benny's? You know I've heard they do a great mixed grill – bacon, sausages, mushrooms, two eggs ….'
Steve pulled a face, his insides churning uneasily 'Another time Dad' he said hastily.
Mark smiled 'Then I guess I'd better be heading back to the hospital.'
'You might wanna wait to see this' Ron said. He'd come in unnoticed and was standing just behind Mark.
Mark turned in response. In one hand Ron held a hot dog with the works, which he'd already taken a bite of and which was now in serious danger of dripping tomato sauce down his shirtfront. In the other hand he held a computer print out that looked as if it ran to several pages. Mark guessed it was the computer print out and not the hot dog that Ron was referring to.
'You found something?' Steve asked.
'Could say that' Ron replied, taking another bite from his hot dog.
'Well?' Steve said impatiently 'C'mon Ron this isn't 20 questions'.
'Ed Callaghan, the guy who died in the ER' Ron said.
'What about him?' Mark asked.
'Ed Callaghan wasn't his real name' Ron said proudly.
'So who was he?' Steve asked
'His real name is Sam Wallis' Ron said.
Disappointed Steve shrugged 'Name doesn't ring a bell' he said.
Ron grinned 'Didn't with me either, but then that's because the guy used so many aliases. He looked at Steve 'I think you might know him better as Marcus Swift'.
'Marcus Swift?' Steve said in surprise 'I don't believe it'.
'What?' Mark said urgently 'Who's Marcus Swift?' he had a feeling he was missing some vital information here.
'Marcus Swift' Steve said 'is one of the biggest drug dealers in Southern California. He's wanted in at least 20 states. He's known as the 'King Pin' and he's worth millions'.
'The FBI have been after him for years' Ron added 'No one's ever been able to make anything stick. He changes his appearance as often as his socks and he's got some fancy ass lawyer with connections, bounces him right out of any trouble he gets in'. Ron smirked 'and he's had plenty of trouble'.
'Well' Mark said gravely 'He's not gonna be causing any trouble any more'.
Ron shrugged 'Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy' he said without a hint of remorse.
Steve nodded 'I couldn't agree more' he said
Mark looked at them both, excitement suddenly shinning in his eyes 'That's it!' he said.
'What's it?' Steve asked.
'The White Knight' Mark said 'That's been niggling at me all along. Why would a bomber leave the symbol of the White Knight as his signature? The White Knight is a symbol of good. This is someone who thought he was performing a heroic deed'.
'Getting rid of a drug dealer' Ron said.
Mark nodded.
'So we're looking for a vigilante?' Ron asked.
Mark and Steve looked at each other.
'How about a cop?' Steve said.
'Ross Cainen' they both said together.
TO BE CONTINUED ……