-1Hey Guys,
Once again, thank you so much to everyone that has read and reviewed so far. I hope you keep enjoying the story.
Oh, Jim Steele is a character from Conviction, and James Sinclair is a character from NYPD Blue. I'm borrowing both for this story.
Chapter Seven
December 24th
"Are you okay?"
He slammed the passenger door of the car closed behind him. "It's not me they should be worried about, it's her." He shook his head, punching his leg in frustration. "How did we miss the photos, Ali? It was right there, right in front of our fucking noses."
"Maybe you should go home."
He glared at her, his blue eyes dark with anger. "I can do my job, Ali. I don't need you to baby sit me."
"I know, it's just…" This had not gone the way she had planned it. "It's almost Christmas, and its your first with her. You don't to go through tomorrow with this on your mind. You don't want her to go through tomorrow, thinking about this."
Thinking about Aaron Reiner.
"Sonofabitch." He got out of the car, his movements taught with anger and frustration, with barely controlled rage.
"Don?" Ali hurried after him, the chill December wind whipping about them like a madman's laugh. "Don, where are you going?"
"I'm going to go see that sick bastard." He stopped, turned, pointing at her, that old familiar gesture she had come to know so well. "Stay here, Ali."
"Don…."
"Stay here. Don't get in the middle of this."
He walked off, towards his own car, leaving her standing alone. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, dialling quickly. "Come on, come on, pick up."
The phone was answered on the second ring. "Messer."
"Danny, it's Ali. I spoke to Don."
"And?"
"Not good. He's gone to…"
"He's gone to Rikers to see Reiner, hasn't he?"
XxxXXXxxx
Rikers Island 1115
"My turn, Lindsay." Aaron stubbed out his cigarette, the ashtray filled almost to overflowing with his butts. He blew the last of the smoke out of his mouth, studying her through the haze. "Why him?"
The question caught her by surprise. "Why him?" She frowned, trying to look around it, trying to see what his angle was, how this let him twist the knife a little more. "Why him what?"
"What attracts you to him?" He turned the lighter through his hands, tapping it lightly against the table with every motion. "And I don't mean any of this 'oh he's so cute, he's got such a great ass' bullshit." His voice rose, turning shrill and mocking. "That's not you, Lindsay. You're smarter than that. You look for more than that."
Why him?
"He makes me feel safe."
XxxXXXxxx
October 25th
"Linds?" He shut the door of her apartment behind him, moving quietly and carefully through it. "Linds? Are you awake?"
The apartment was dark and silent, apart from the flickering lights of the television screen, the low rumble of applause and conversation coming from whatever show she had been watching.
She was asleep on the couch, wearing one of his old shirts. She looked so small, so delicate, so fragile, lying there, wearing a shirt that was far too big for her, drowning her slender body, his aftershave still clinging to the fabric, creating the illusion that he was there with her, protecting her.
He knelt next to the couch, running his hand gently down her arm. "Linds?"
She awoke with a start. Seeing only a large frame looming over her, vulnerable and exposed on the couch. Two darkly gleaming eyes, hot and hungry, glaring down at her, pinning her in place.
Knowing it was too late, she started to twist away, expecting to see the gleam of the knife reflected in the dull glow of the television set. Expecting to feel its razor edge, slicing across her skin, cutting deeply into her flesh, drawing those exquisite, terrifying, horrible, agonising patterns onto her body.
How long would he keep her alive before he killed her? What would he do to her?
"No, please…"
"Linds." His hands reached out, catching hold of her arms, his fingers digging into her skin through the shirt. Holding her tightly enough to leave bruises on her arms. "Lindsay, it's okay, you're safe. It's me."
Recognition flooded through her, the terror replaced by relief.
"Oh God." She flung her arms around his neck, kissing him with a desperation born of fear and desire. "Oh, God, please…Don…"
Love me. Hold me. Don't let me go. Keep me safe.
Her walls crumbling, falling to dust around them.
"It's okay, Linds." He cradled her in his arms, her face pressed against his chest, his shirt (his clean shirt, the one he had only put on that evening when he had started his shift) streaked with her tears. "It's okay. I got you. I aint gonna let anything happen to you. You're safe."
I'm not gonna let you go.
XxxXXXxxx
December 24th
They clung to each other, seeking comfort in their shared grief. Choking sobs, ripped from their souls, cut and stained with blood and sorrow.
Mac gave them as long as he could, a voyeur to their grief. Then he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have to ask : is that your daughter?"
Unable to speak, Mr Carlson nodded, looking away from the body illuminated beneath the harsh morgue lights. His wife couldn't look away, her attention focused on her daughter's battered body.
He pressed the speaker button. "Sid, can you turn if off, please?" He swallowed hard. He'd always hated this part. "I realise this is a bad time, but if you're up to it, I've got a few questions for you. They might help us catch "
"I cant do this." Her voice rose, choked with tears. "I cant do this. I cant see my baby like this."
"Certainly, Mrs. Carlson, I understand." Mac signalled at a uniformed officer. "Officer Gellar will take you outside, and get you some water or a cup of coffee."
Mr. Carlson kissed his wife's temple, watching as Officer Gellar guided her out of the room. "I hope you know who did this, Detective Taylor. I hope you know who killed my little girl."
"We're following a number of leads."
"In other words, you've got nothing." Mr. Carlson bit back on a snort of laughter, rubbing at his eyes with a shaking hand. "Some bastard killed my little girl and you don't have a clue who did it."
Carlson's eyes flashed with grief and anger, and Mac had to bite back on the sudden flash of his own temper. On the sudden flash of his own guilt, that he deserved this man's anger. That he had let Lucy Carlson down, that he had failed her.
That the Crime Lab had failed her.
"We're following a number of leads, Mr. Carlson. I promise you, we will find the man that killed your daughter."
XxxXXXxxx
Danny was sitting on the hood of his car, waiting for him, parked at the side of the road approaching the Rikers Island Bridge.
"Hey Flack."
"Ali called you, didn't she?"
"Yeah she did. Said something about her partner going crazy and going somewhere he knows he shouldn't go. Something about him doing something really fucking stupid."
Despite himself, Flack grinned. "How the hell'd you get here before me?"
Danny shrugged. "Cant give away all my secrets can I?" He hopped down from the hood, walking up beside Flack's car. "Ali's right, though. You cant go in there, go riding to her rescue. It's not what she needs."
"It's what I need."
"It's what he wants you to do. You go blundering in there…"
"I'm not going to go blundering in anywhere…"
Danny ignored him. "You go blundering in there, you give him what he wants, you leave her open to him, you give him all the cards. You hear what I'm saying, buddy?"
Flack sighed heavily, staring longingly at the bridge, stretching into the distance, arching above the water towards Rikers Island. "I hear what you're saying."
XxxXXXxxx
November 1st
"All rise, in the matter of State of New York vs. Aaron Reiner, the Honourable Judge Loughery presiding."
"Jim Steele, for the State."
"James Sinclair for Mr. Reiner."
"How does the defendant plead?"
Sinclair shifted, uncomfortable. "My client does not wish to enter a plea, at this stage, Your Honour. He wishes to stand by a confession he made to Detective Lindsay Munroe of the New York Crime Lab."
Aaron Reiner started at the mention of her name. Turning in his seat, so he could see her. She looked different, dressed for court, uncomfortable in a trouser suit, sitting in the front row behind Jim Steele. He preferred her when she was dressed to work in the field. She looked more comfortable, at home, in her element.
His CSI.
And his game had only just begun.
End of Chapter Seven
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