Chapter 2 - Gamesmanship

Deakins walked into the conference room and stood at the doorway for long moments, mouth agape. "What the hell is this?"

Goren was tempted to just ignore the interruption so he could concentrate on the collage of photos he'd pinned up on the bulletin board in front of him. Trying to re-immerse himself in a case this cold was taking more time than he thought he had. Not to mention the fact that this particular case triggered painful memories that had finally started to dull to merely an ache.

He felt the captain walk up behind him. "Is this the Foster case?"

Goren nodded.

"That was … what? Nine, ten months ago?"

"Nine." If asked, Goren could tell him the exact day Foster had been killed, and the exact day he was finally able to close the file and take a much-needed week's vacation.

"I thought you and Logan closed that case when the killer OD'd."

"I need to look at it again … see if I missed anything."

"Why? It's a done deal."

"It's been suggested that I … I didn't do a thorough enough job investigating." Not for the first time that night, Goren mentally flogged himself at the thought that something he had or hadn't done on this case would open the door for Nicole to harm Alex.

"Suggested by whom?"

Goren gave up. It was obvious he'd have to explain this to Deakins and besides, his deep concentration was already broken. He was no longer immersed in the series of photos and case notes that, in his mind, replayed the crime and its motivation.

"Nicole."

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"Goren, you know I wouldn't believe any shit coming from Wallace." Deakins had seemed almost as angry as Bobby himself when told of her re-appearance and ominous insinuations against Eames. "But I gotta tell ya, at the time I wondered myself why Eames wanted off that case. I always thought she was made of stronger stuff."

"She is strong!" Goren angrily retorted before realizing he should tone it down. "More than you know," he said more calmly.

Deakins studied him and Goren grew uncomfortable. "Nicole's vendetta has always been against you personally. Why would she go after Eames?"

Because it doesn't get any more personal than that.

Focusing on where his thumb was rubbing the stitching of his leather binder, Goren tried to hide from Deakins' discerning gaze. No such luck.

"Bobby. This is the last time I'm ever going to say this to you," the captain's voice was low. "If there's anything I should know, I want to hear it from you … not through some rumor mill or from the Chief."

Shaking his head, Bobby's eyes darted to Deakins then back to his binder. "There's nothing." When he got no response from the captain, he looked up and saw that he was once more alone in the conference room.

'There's nothing.' Nothing but a heart-wrenching night nine months ago, and the pain and test of willpower Eames and he had endured since then.

Besides, Eames had moved on. Not that she'd said so in as many words, but all the signs were there. In the evenings, she left the squad room on time every chance she got, usually following some cryptic phone call. 'Yeah I can get out early tonight … I'll meet you there.' He never asked. She never offered.

Worse than that were the mornings she came in late carrying a cup of that extra strong coffee she preferred on the days she was running on too little sleep. Those mornings her smile held secrets, and her perfume was tainted by a man's cologne.

No, nothing to tell here Captain.

Unless he wanted to hear all about lost opportunity. Or the many and various ways life had fucked Bobby. He could go on for hours, if Deakins really wanted to hear.

Suddenly the conference room with its files and photos felt claustrophobic – filled with reminders of a time he desperately wished he could forget. He needed to get out of there, go home and pour some scotch down his throat. A temporary oblivion, he'd learned from experience, but better than none at all.

Grabbing his keys from his desk, Bobby turned to leave the squad room only to see Alex round the corner from the elevators. Oh Christ, what's she doing here?

"Hey, Bobby," she smiled as she headed toward their desks.

"Hi." Red clingy top. Short black skirt. Sandals. Could this day get any more miserable?

"I left some tickets for tonight in my desk," she explained while pulling open her center drawer. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," he answered and abruptly headed toward the elevators.

"Bobby?"

He kept going. Turning left instead of right Bobby decided to duck into the stairwell rather than wait for an elevator. God, I really need that scotch.

TBC …