A/N: So, here is yet another story by me. This is just a prolouge of sorts. If you like, I'll continue.
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine. If they were, Danny and Lindsay would be doing it already!
Lindsay Monroe opened the door to the interrogation room with her head held high. She had been waiting for this day for weeks–months now and he was long overdue for this. She felt his eyes on her as she pulled up a chair and sat opposite of him. Placing the manilla folder in front of her, Lindsay crossed her arms on the folder and squared of the piece of filth in front of her.
"Do you know why you are here?" she finally asked in a clam, even tone. Her eyes never wavered from his. She wouldn't let him feel like he had a hold on her that she was just another woman in his eyes and, if anything, she was far from it.
He shrugged leisurely and Lindsay had the compelling urge to reach over and smack the smug smile off his face. She withheld, however, simply because it would most likely get her fired. He licked his lips and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the steel table. "I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"
She had expected this. And she had planned for it. "I have an idea." She challenged, her fingers itching to open the folder and show him the gruesome pictures she was sure he was all to familiar with. "Why don't you tell me where you were the night of last Tuesday?" she suggested in a soft, manipulative voice.
"I was at home."
"Do you have an alibi?"
He cocked his head to one side, his smile never faltered. "My next doors neighbor." He replied smoothly. "She got locked out of her apartment and I waited with her until she was able to contact the landlady about it."
The way he spoke sent shivers up and down her spine. He made her stomach lurch and she wanted nothing more to do that slap cuffs onto his wrist and make him pay for what he did to those women. Lindsay knew he was guilty. Hell, the whole lab knew he was guilty, but Pratt wasn't an idiot. He had killed before and he wouldn't get sloppy now.
Leaning back, she opened the folder and pulled out a picture of Tanya McCain. A young girl who was attending NYU. Brutally raped, then killed. It not only saddened Lindsay but disgusted her as well. "You see this girl?" she asked, pushing the picture into his direction. He merely glared down at it, his stance never quivering. "We found her raped and killed in a back alley over on 135th street in Harlem. And, wouldn't you know it, we found your sperm on her." she continued in the wake of his silence.
She had triggered something inside him, she could tell. He scooted his chair closer to the table, his attention now focused on her and only her. "Want the truth? I'll give it to ya!" he spat, his eyes inflamed with anger. "The bitch was a fuck, that's all. She offered and accepted, that's that." He stated matter of factly.
"So, you're saying she was a prostitute?" she deducted and he nodded.
Lindsay nodded as she reached over and took the picture. Pratt grabbed her wrist and forced her to look at him. "I don't care what the hell you find out about me." He hissed as the cop guarding the door rushed forward and lifted Pratt onto his feet. "I didn't kill the bitch!"
The guard yanked him forward and out the door, leaving Lindsay alone in the dimly lit room. Looking down at her wrist, she noticed a red ring forming and she tugged her sleeve down, not wanting it to show.
Quickly gathering her papers, she hastily made her way out of the interrogation room.
Please, R&R! I update so much faster! Any critquing, I can handle! It's good for me, too!