Who'd have thought?

ii

"Marty?" It wasn't Tom's voice, Marty felt relief that his partner wasn't here bleeding to death behind him. But he dropped his head to his knees again - of all the people…

"Marty?"

"Yeah, Jim." Marty's exasperation showed in his voice.

"Where the fuck are we? What happened?"

"Ah, I dunno Dunbar." He felt Jim struggling against his bonds, another clang as Jim's feet kicked out and hit his end of the bathtub.

"Sounds like tiles, small room, what can you see?"

"Ah, yeah a bathroom, we're in a bath, high sides, there are really bright lights on us, well, at this end anyhow.

"And the woman?" Jim swayed, his voice slurred, a sound escaped- in between a sigh and a groan.

"Dunbar, stay with me."

"My hands, I can't feel them." Jim struggled at his bonds.

Marty heard a sharp indrawn breath and a whimper. Jeez Marty sighed under his breath and dropped his head back to his knees.

Some deeper breaths and then Dunbar spoke, his voice growing stronger. "The woman, can you describe her?"

"Black leather mask, big gun, green eyes, dressed like a dominatrix or something."

"Sounded like a nutcase. Your head pounding?"

"Yeah, chloroform."

"Your hands tied too?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, these ropes are real bad, we… I … I can't loose my hands, we gotta move. How about … we try and… stand together?" Jim was panting again between words.

"Yeah alright, one, two…"

On three they pushed hard against each other's backs and managed to get upright. The bath was slippery and Marty's head reeled, Jim unbalanced and they fell, tumbling out of the bath and landing heavily on the floor. Marty tried to sit up but found he was tied, hands to hands, to Jim. The ropes were interlocked and Marty couldn't get enough leverage to sit Jim's body up as well as his own. I'll hold my own around here. Jim's words of a few months ago replayed in Marty's head.

"Fuck! Jim? …" He kept his voice at a harsh whisper, "Dunbar?"

But Jim was silent, Marty tried to turn but this was impossible too. Straining, the best he could do was slide on the tiles, dragging Dunbar around with him. Damn, there was blood on the floor, fresh. Russo hung his aching head. What now? Had he just cracked Dunbar's head open on the floor?

"Hey! Hey you! Cat woman!" he called out. He'd probably just earned another smack across the head but he couldn't let Dunbar bleed to death behind him.

"What have you done?" She was on her knees next to them, her gun clattered noisily to the floor. "You've fucking killed him, you idiot." Crack! There, that was the slap across his head he had he'd been dreading. She stood in front of them. He looked up from the floor, head ringing and gasped. With the light shining on her instead of behind he got his first really good look. She was wearing skin tight black polished leather. It ran from her ankles up to her neck, with slashes along her thighs, between her breasts, as if she had been fighting with swords. She belonged in the pages of a high class smut magazine.

Then her words sunk in, killed him? "No, no let me see, goddamn it, let me see him."

"No, I can't let you go until I have my man back, no way. You're trying to trick me."

Gone was the sweet voice, the caressing tones. This was a woman who was domineering and cold.

"Listen you stupid bitch. If you don't let me see him, you might have a dead cop on your hands and no one is going to swap your precious hubby for a dead cop so you better let me take a look."

She stood, hands on her hips, gun in the crook of her elbow as if she were posing for a DVD cover. She cocked her head, considering. "Alright, I'm going to loosen your hands, but you're legs are staying tied. And I've got a big gun here and I know how to shoot. You look at the pretty one and do nothing else – you hear."

"Yeah, I hear you, now let me free."

She knelt down in front of him, her breasts bulging and threatening to slide out from her costume. He blinked, unable to pull his eyes away. She pulled at the rope and stepped out of range. "Now, tug, you should be able to free your hands."

He wiggled his hands behind him and they slid free. The blood rushing back in was excruciating. He groaned and rubbed the life back into his shaking hands and aching arms, watching her from under his eyelashes. She tapped her foot impatiently. "Alright, enough, now stop looking at me and look at the other one."

Russo turned, not sure what he'd find. Blood pooled on the floor under the blonde head, probably not enough to signal real trouble – even superficial scalp wounds bled copiously. Jim's head was tilted back and his eyes closed as if asleep. His legs were tied at the ankles around his high top boots. But Dunbar's hands were tied tightly behind him, turning a nasty color. Marty's ropes had hurt but this was much tighter. He grimaced; he'd thought Dunbar was exaggerating but this was no joke. His words echoed in Marty's head. I can't lose my hands.

Marty placed a hand on Jim's throat, and found his pulse, strong, regular. Should he tell her or could he use this as a way to get out? "He's alive, but I think he's hurt bad, he's not going to make it tied up like this."

Russo moved to untie Jim but stopped as soon as the gun barrel pushed cold into his neck.

The woman growled deep in her throat. "You think I'm stupid?"

Marty raised his hands in the air slowly. "No, but I guess you're not trained in first aid or you would see that this guy is bleeding to death. I need to lay him flat on his back and I can't do it while his hands are tied."

Russo watched as expressions flitted past her mouth and in her eyes, the only parts of her face that were visible. She seemed undecided, possibly worried. Marty moved his hands slowly. "I'm just going to untie the hands and –"

"Wait. Move back." She motioned with the gun barrel.

Marty scooted back a short distance and watched.

The woman moved over in front of Jim. "Okay pretty boy, I've got my gun trained on your buddy here, and if you're faking, he get's it."

She clicked the safety off and aimed at Marty. Then she nudged Jim with her foot. Not a flicker of movement from Jim. Her eyes slid from Marty back to Jim. Russo could see her thigh and calf muscles flex through the slashes in her pants as she pulled her booted foot back and drove it into Jim's stomach - hard. Marty gasped, Jim lay still. She smiled sweetly at Jim and patted his bleeding head. "Good boy." She brought her hand up to her mouth and licked a drop of blood.

"Alright do it, but retie his hands in front of him"

Russo knelt over the unconscious man, worked the knots free and pushed his arms down. The hands felt cold, lifeless and looked bloated. When he turned Jim onto his back, blood welled from a cut on his forehead, thickening now.

"Wake him up." She motioned with her gun.

Slowly, gently Marty patted the side of Jim's face. "Wake up, Dunbar, wake up."

Marty watched as Dunbar dragged himself back to consciousness.

Jim's breathing changed, he opened his eyes, blinked several times then rolled over to his side in fetal position, bring his knees up and clutching his hands in front on him. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh, shit." The groan was pure agony. Marty could see a tear squeezing from between Jim's tightly closed eyelids.

Marty looked up, his relief mirrored in the woman's eyes, though she still held the gun. "Dunbar."

"Yeah, I'm here," Dunbar panted. His body betrayed the pain he tried to keep from his voice. Hands moving slowly, Jim struggled to flex the bloated fingers. His shoulders rounded, he curled around his gut, shuddering with each breath.

Soon his breathing slowed and deepened. He opened his eyes. "Marty? What happened?" Jim moved to sit up.

The woman stepped back again and raised her gun.

Marty shook his head; keeping his eyes glued to the woman's face he put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Stay still buddy. This lady has her gun is aimed at us. She doesn't like the fact that I untied your hands."

Jim nodded. "Thanks, Thanks Marty, I owe you one." He brought his head up and spoke to the woman. "I'm going to sit up. I'm not going anywhere. I won't even try to stand."

She nodded down at him, "No surprises." And watched fascinated as the blonde detective struggled to his knees while keeping his hands from touching the floor. She admired the effort and smiled gently. Finally he knelt, hands in his lap, panting again, head bowed. Perfect. She wished they had met under other circumstances. The single tear sat high on his cheek. Blood dripped from the cut on his forehead and another beautiful red spot painted a white square of floor. She smiled benignly down and licked her lips. "Better?"

Although she still held the gun aimed at Jim's head, she seemed concerned about the blood on the floor and on his face. Marty was disgusted by her gentle tone and must have made a sound. Her eyes slid sideways and the gun barrel followed. Russo felt the skin on his neck and back rise as her warm eyes froze over, her soft smile hardening into an uncompromising slash. Their eyes locked in an almost physical embrace.

"Thanks. They feel better already." Jim's voice matched hers, it flowed over them all and around the diamond clear message between Russo and the cat woman.

She reached over with a gentle hand and stroked Jim's head. "Your head; how's your head?" Jim flinched and Marty tensed, but the woman seemed unfazed.

"It's here, I can feel it. It's in better shape than my hands." He lifted his head and his blue gaze looked deceptively clear. "So, what do we need to do to get out here?"

"Nothing you can do. I'm going to let the department know I have you and they'll let my honey go and then you can go too."

"Really? Okay, can we have some aspirin in the meantime?" Jim sounded reasonable, almost like he was making conversation. Did he really think a woman like this would make conversation? Marty wondered what that knock on the head had done.

"Maybe."

And she walked out. Slammed the door behind her and locked it.

"She gone?"

"Yeah," Marty said as he watched Dunbar sit up a little more and work to ease his stiff neck. Marty got to work untying the rope on his own ankles. The rough strands were sharp through his socks. "Your head really alright?"

"Sure. What happened, chloroform again?"

"No, we stood up in the tub, remember?"

Jim started to shake his head, but his expression showed it was not a good idea. Clearly he didn't remember their attempt. "Yeah, I guess." Jim continued flexing his hands and grimacing at the pain. Marty watched as Jim ran his hand along the floor. When he found the bath tub they had been in he scooted over and leaned against it.

"Well, we were tied together by the hands, we managed to stand up but, as soon as we did you tipped over. Next thing I know, we're on the floor and you're out cold." Marty wondered if the falling was a blind thing – probably.

Working to restore the circulation in his hands, head down Jim's words were muffled. "Sorry 'bout that."

Marty ignored the comment, finished untying his legs. "Truth was - I was a bit worried about you."

Jim grinned. "Well that's a first. Karen will never believe me when I tell her."

"Better get your legs untied too and we'll see if we can get out of here before Cat Woman comes back."

"Cat Woman?" Jim brought his legs up in front of him and tried to undo the ropes but his hands really weren't working too well.

"Yeah, you gotta see this woman, sort of like playboy at Halloween. My mind can't make up whether to get turned on or be really scared." Marty stood over Jim. "You need help with that?"

"No, I'll manage; you look for a way out. Hey, is your phone and stuff gone too?"

Marty patted his pockets, angry he hadn't even thought to check. That chloroform really messed with your thinking. But his phone, his radio and most importantly his gun were missing. "Yeah. What sort of room is this, there's no window anywhere, only one door?"

Marty rattled the door, a few feet from where Jim still sat in front of the bath. "Locked tight. Maybe we just hide behind the door and overpower her when she comes back in?"

Then he noticed Dunbar hadn't made any headway on the ropes. He pursed his lips. "Your hands okay?"

"Not really, they're still kind of numb." Jim failed to keep the worry from his face though his voice stayed calm.

Marty squatted down to undo the ropes tying Jim's ankles. Squatting down in front of Jim, with his back to the door Marty had no time to react when a screech reached his ears and a boot thudded into his side, expelling all his breath.

"You ungrateful wretch! What do you think you are doing?" She unbalanced him easily, his head and knees smacking the floor next to Dunbar's boots.

Marty's face was pressed into a white tile. That red bloodspot that had fallen from Dunbar's head was an inch from his nose. The cold barrel of the gun was pressed into the flesh of Marty's neck and he could feel the trembling of the woman's arm through the metal. Her booted foot was on his back and her thin heel dug through his jacket and shirt into his spine. He dared not take more than a sip of air, and his head reeled again.

"Put your hands behind your back. Now!"

Marty hesitated, the door was open, maybe he could - "Marty, do what she asks."

Scowling, Marty slowly put his hands behind him, and felt the rope being secured. He was pushed off his knees and his ankles were re-tied.

Slap, Marty heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, but felt no impact. Dunbar must have copped that one. Good. "And you; have you untied yourself too?"

"No."

Her voice changed, honey with whiskey, almost purring. "Aw, what a good boy you are. Here you can have the aspirin you asked for."

Out of sight Marty heard water being swallowed and splashing to the floor.

"Thank you. Can Russo have some?"

Her voice was cold again, ice and vodka. "He's been bad."

"But you chloroformed him too right?" Again that reasonable, conversational tone that made Marty want to shoot Dunbar himself.

"Yes. And your point is?"

"So, it's only fair."

She threw the packet at Jim; it hit his chest and landed on his hands. "Okay you give it to him." Her boot left Marty's back but before he could feel the relief it re-entered, toe first into his thigh, the sharp point dug into his flesh, and she stalked out while he gasped in pain.

Marty felt a touch on his arm as he lay prone on the floor. "Here you want this? Aspirin's the only way to counteract the fog after chloroform, otherwise you won't be thinking straight for hours. "

His anger boiled out in words. "What the fuck you doing?" Marty struggled to sit upright and turned around to face Jim. On his knees, hands tied behind his back he got up close to Jim's face and enjoyed watching as Jim recoiled, blinking, eyes darting from side to side.

"What do you mean?"

"You know this woman or something?"

"No, at least I don't think so. I don't recognize her voice, why?" Jim's brows furrowed, it looked like he was squinting. Marty rolled his eyes, Jim always played this card. "Well she seems to like you an awful lot."

Jim relaxed visibly. "Russo, you do kidnapping at John Jay?"

"Of course, we all had to do a unit." He forced the words out from between his clenched teeth.

"At the 2-5, I worked a whole string of kidnapping cases. Most times kidnappers are crazy and either want to terrorize you or treat you like a child. I figured her for the second type."

"Maybe to you she is, but she sure likes to terrorize me."

"Okay, so maybe she comes from both angles but I figure it's a better bet to play good cop, rather than bad cop 'til we know more."

Jim waited. When Marty had cooled somewhat and grunted his answer, Jim asked, "Now you want this aspirin?"

"Yeah." Russo glared but clearing his head was more important than Dunbar's crap.

Jim held the packet and the water bottle out toward Marty.

"She's tied my hands behind my back"

"No problem."

Marty watched as Jim fumbled with the packet, it fell from his still bloated hands to the floor. Marty turned away; watching Dunbar fumble around on the floor after aspirin was too much. Of all the cops in New York, he had to be kidnapped with the blind one. If this man delayed him getting out of here, and Tom paid the price, he'd write such a damning report that Jim would spend every last day as a cop behind a desk.

"Here, open your mouth."

It was probably good that Jim couldn't see the look of disgust and distain that painted Marty's face as the older detective fed him aspirin and water.

TBC