Chapter Three: The Resentful Daughter
With the call in from Sam and Lou, Team One swung into action. Wordy followed his teammates out of the club as Jules announced, "I'm calling the hotel."
"Copy," Wordy agreed, gaze flicking from her to Spike. "Everything we can on any James Mitchell matching his description."
"Copy that," Spike acknowledged, though the bomb tech tapped against the 'team sense' as he spoke. 'Got a new girlfriend, Wordy?'
Wordy's shoulders twitched and he shot Spike a glare. 'Wait till she uses that tone of voice on you, puppy dog.'
'No way,' Spike countered breezily. 'I'm a wild dog, remember?'
'Spike, cut it out,' Jules broke in. 'Wordy can't help it if he's a little more domestic than we are.'
Wordy sighed to himself. Maybe he'd gone a little overboard with the horse puns, but the domesticated jokes were getting just as old – and they hadn't even been funny the first time 'round.
The teenager turned her soulful gray eyes to Team One's Sergeant. "I need to see Tobias."
Brisk, Ed replied, "Tobias is gonna be okay, but we gotta get to your Mom and Dad, make sure they're gonna be okay too."
Her eyes widened and desperation rang. "You can't let him near my Mom."
"I hear you," the Sergeant began, only to pause as she interrupted him.
"What's your name?" she demanded, a sense of authority ringing.
He felt Greg's eyes on him, measuring, assessing. Inside, his inner hawk was conflicted, torn over whether to bow to that authority or not. A name…that wasn't much of a compromise, was it? They gave out their names all the time, after all. "It's Ed. Ed Lane."
A part of him realized his mistake as soon as she spoke, as soon as she said, "Ed, you can't let this happen. You don't know my father."
Names held power and he'd just handed his over to a teenage girl who wasn't afraid to wield that power. Even worse, by giving her his name, he'd somehow conveyed the impression to his inner hawk that he should abide by her wishes.
Behind him, his lieutenant moved in, backing him just as firmly as if they were still Sergeant and team leader. "Can you help us know him, May?"
Reminded that the name thing wasn't a one-way street, Ed swatted his inner hawk back into line and asked, "May, can you ride with us?"
"Yeah," she breathed.
Reaching out, he ushered her towards the door with Greg only a step behind him. "Let's go." He might've made a mistake by giving an teenage girl his name, but that did not mean she was running the show. Now if only he could get his hawk instincts to believe that.
He almost didn't make it. Even with a last burst of speed, it was only by pure chance that Spyro managed to reach the truck Dragonlords Sam and Lou were in before it started moving again. Panting, the baby dragon used his magic to help his talons maintain a grip on the truck's rear bumper. Sparx landed on his back, hiding between his wings to keep from being blown off.
So much for a fun adventure with his Dragonlords; Spyro huddled as close to the truck's rear door as he could, wishing he was inside on the carpeted floor and watching in awe as his Dragonlords saved lives and kept the peace. Maybe he should've just stayed with Winnie, but it was way too late for any second thoughts now. At least his invisibility spell was still holding, but that was cold comfort – literally – as he clung to the speeding truck's bumper and listened to the wail of the siren.
As they headed towards the Royal York, Sam reported, "Tobias is with EMS. We're on our way to the hotel, squad cars en route."
"Jules, any luck reaching the mother?" Lou asked.
From her own truck, Jules replied, "She works banquets. They don't know if she's showed up to work yet. They're looking for her."
Wonderful. A hotel full of employees and they had no idea if one of them had even shown up? Sam resisted the urge to ask if the hotel had ever heard of timecards.
Lieutenant Parker kept quiet as he sat in the passenger seat of his and Ed's truck. Wordy had reacted to her, Eddie had reacted to her, and he couldn't deny that even he could feel a pull towards her. Not a magical talent – he'd checked for that as they'd been leaving the club – but clearly May had a gift for affecting people. Pulling them into her orbit and influencing them into seeing things her way. If not for the situation, he might've chalked it up to an interesting fact and no more, but there was something about her that left his instincts uneasy. As though he was missing something…something critically important.
"So you and your Mom left last year, is that right?" Ed inquired.
"It should've been sooner," May replied, a sense of sorrow and regret in her voice.
"What happened?" Ed pressed.
For a long moment, May didn't respond. Then she said, "It wasn't just one thing. It was everything. Then it just got worse."
Uneasy instincts or not, she was not a subject, she was a witness and a frightened young girl at that. Turning to gaze towards her, Parker asked, "Were you afraid of your Dad?"
"Yeah," May whispered. Her eyes stared down at her lap, both hands clutching her bag as she bit her lip. "He thought I didn't know who he was." Shifting to gaze out the window, she concluded, "I knew who he was."
Ready for a break from her latest project at school, May Mitchell breezed towards the door leading into her family's kitchen. Clad in her coat and scarf, the teenager was hoping her mother would let her go over to Tobias' apartment for a few hours before dinner. Just as she pushed the door open, she caught sight of her father and froze, pulling the door almost all the way shut. At the kitchen island sink, her mother's posture was subdued, with her head down as her husband berated her. There was a plate and a washing rag in her hands, but the faucet wasn't running and May couldn't see any moisture gleaming on the plate.
"Your problem is you just don't think." As usual, her father's voice held a derisive, poisonous hiss, a tone that was only directed at her mother, never at her.
"James, I told you about it last week." Anger surged in May's heart; she'd been there when her mother asked, almost pleading for permission to replace the torn, ragged sheets she'd washed so many times the color was completely gone.
"You told me," her father echoed, incredulous.
"You said it was okay. The sheets were only on sale for the weekend." Her mother never looked up as her husband closed in, cringing from the way he loomed over her.
"I said it was okay?"
In a whisper, her mother replied, "You did."
Reaching out, May's father snatched the plate away from her mother and May flinched, knowing what would come next. What always came next. "Are you telling me what I remember now?"
"No, please-" her mother begged.
"Are you?" he demanded.
"No."
Anger rang as her father snapped, "Because now I have a car payment that bounces."
"I'm sorry."
Unseen, May's fists clenched. Why did her mother always have to apologize for what he did? How come her father hadn't made sure there was enough money for the car? Sheets didn't even cost that much! How could buying sheets cause a car payment to bounce? But May knew her mother couldn't say any of that; she'd pay for it if she did, he'd make sure of that.
"I have a car payment that bounces because you need new sheets!" her father yelled, smashing the plate against the granite countertop, so close to her mother's face that May flinched right along with her mother. Letting out a cry, her mother cringed back, away from the one person in the world that was supposed to protect her, but he didn't. Instead, he terrorized her. In a low, matter-of-fact, you-made-me-do-this tone, her father said, "You know what? From now on, you sign your checks over to me, Michelle." Shaking his finger in her face, he announced, "I give you what you need."
No. If he did that, he'd spend it all and what was her mother supposed to use for groceries? For a plate to replace the one her so-called father had just broken? What was his problem, that he couldn't be satisfied with her mother catering to his every whim? What, he was so broke he needed her money, too? What kind of husband did that, stole every penny his wife earned?
"You don't need to do that," her mother whispered.
"Why not?" her father demanded, insinuation dripping from his tone. "You planning on making a move, Michelle?"
Her mother shook her head, pleading, "Don't-"
Closing in, her father grabbed her mother, shaking her and growling, "Don't you lie to me!"
Frantic, May pushed the door open and charged into the kitchen. "Dad?"
As her heartbeat thudded against her chest, her father froze, as though realizing how the whole scene looked. Then he stepped back from her mother and turned, smiling at her – as if he hadn't just been terrorizing her mother. As if he was the loving husband and father she'd spent most of her life knowing, until she'd finally figured out why her mother was so downtrodden and quiet. Why she had bruises every so often or couldn't eat dinner with her and her father sometimes.
"Hey, baby." Ignoring his crying wife, her father walked towards her, smile growing and a light glowing in his eyes. "Uh, you finish your Egyptian project?"
"Yeah. Yeah, almost."
Her father nodded approvingly. He always did that with her, but never with her mother. "Hey, um… Do me a favor?" Glancing back at his wife, her mother, he let out a small laugh and said, "Help your Mom clean up the plates she broke. You know how she gets." She forced a smile and he leaned forward, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, sweetie."
As he left, she hurried to her mother, hating the hopeless look on her face, the bloody towel in her hands. The tears still streaming down her face from her husband's attack. May hugged her mother fiercely and a new resolve grew inside her heart. This was not going to happen again. Her mother was not going to spend one more day with a man who spent all her money and terrorized her into compliance. As her mother cried into her coat, May started planning.
The teenager's words turned bitter and Parker's scalp prickled. "He took away all her money so she couldn't leave, made her think she was crazy and that he was the normal one."
Keeping his tone gentle, the lieutenant told her, "May, moving out, the restraining order, your Mom changing her name, those are all things that both of you did right. And that past is behind you."
"But it's not," she cried. "I mean, look where I am. I'm in a car with two cops." The bitterness grew as she lashed out at her closest targets. "I mean, no offense, guys, but you really haven't done the best job of keeping him away. He called me today because it's my birthday. How did he get my cell phone number?" Hazel widened at the excellent question, but May wasn't done. "He even tracked down where Tobias works. Now he knows where my Mom works. I mean, what are we supposed to do?" Now helplessness joined the bitterness and Parker restrained a wince as his inner gryphon keened. "Tobias has done everything so that we can feel safe. But I guess that's just not gonna happen."
The keening halted, both man and gryphon picking up on something off in her tone. But what? Deep inside, Parker resisted the urge to curse; he might be back at the top of his game physically, but even before his undercover assignment, he'd been avoiding negotiating and profiling. Recovering those skills was proving difficult and rusty was an understatement, although the practice negotiations his former team had been ever-so-slyly arranging for him were helping. Lou needed the practice more, but when he'd tried to confront Ed about it, the Sergeant had told him flat out that Lou had volunteered to give up his practice negotiations so Greg could recover his old skill.
Pulling his attention back to the matter at hand, Parker struggled to pin down his vague unease, but it remained elusive. Without his old skill, it was impossible to be sure what his instincts were twigging to, but the lieutenant did know he needed to keep a close eye on the situation. And while he was extremely reluctant to override Eddie's direct control and leadership of Team One, he would if it became necessary. In the end, their job was to save lives and keep the peace; they couldn't do that if they allowed themselves to get emotionally involved or surrendered their authority to a teenage girl.
James Mitchell jogged up the steps from the parking garage at the Royal York Hotel. He was irked at losing May's boyfriend, but despite the gun and the punches, Mitchell had no desire to harm the man. That would hurt May terribly; no matter what he thought of her louse of a boyfriend, he loved his daughter dearly and would never attack someone she loved.
Didn't matter anyway; Tobias had given him what he needed. Michelle's workplace – she was the one responsible for everything that had happened. She'd taken everything away from him and now she was going to pay for that. But not before she told him where his daughter was – May was the important thing. Once he had May back, it would all get better; she was his light, the most precious part of his life, and he was not about to let Michelle win.
Approaching the hotel reception desk, Mitchell smiled at the young woman behind it. She was tall, with hair only a few shades lighter than his daughter, and with May's same poise. "Hello."
"Hi."
With the barest glance at her nametag, Mitchell said, "Heather, I wonder if you can help me. I'm looking for someone."
"Of course," Heather agreed, already turning to her computer. "Is this person a guest with us today?"
"No. An employee."
Her smile faltered. "Oh, okay." She considered for a moment, then informed him, "Ah, you need to speak to the resident manager. Shall I call him?"
"Sure." Then the memory of flashing lights and sirens intruded; though he outwardly held his poise, Mitchell felt a shudder run through him and hastily amended his statement even as Heather reached for her desk phone. "You know, actually, I just came in to say hi. It's the manager I'm looking for. I have a job interview. A friend set it up. I have his name here somewhere."
He started digging in his coat, patting at his shirt, waiting… As if on cue, Heather offered, "Floyd Mather?"
Looking up at her, Mitchell smiled broadly. "Mr. Mather. Right."
Leaning forward, Heather pointed to a set of stairs off to her left. "Take those stairs up to the mezzanine, then all the way around and look for the signs."
"Thank you so much."
As he headed for the stairs, he heard Heather call, "Good luck." Chuckling to himself, Mitchell climbed the stairs. Although Heather didn't know it, he'd already had plenty of luck today and he intended to ride that luck all the way to his beloved daughter…
Spike's voice on the comm was a welcome distraction from the conundrum in their back seat. One hand touched his comm as the bomb tech reported, "Boss, James served two thirty-day sentences last year. Assault and violating a restraining order. Domestic offenses go back four years. And he's been out of work for over a year. There's gonna be money issues."
Jules cut in next. "I talked to Tobias. Michelle and May have moved three times in the last year, and James keeps finding them. And every time, he escalates."
Parker kept quiet; the reports had been directed at Eddie, not him. Blue eyes flicked in his direction, then the Sergeant prompted, "Boss, what's your take?"
Hazel narrowed a hair and the lieutenant transmitted a pulse of disapproval to his subordinate before digging deep into old training and experience. For another breath, he evaluated the intel, then responded, "Dominating personality, multiple stressors. His life is out of control. He picks today to lash back at the one person he can blame." Shifting, he snuck a glance back and lowered his voice, wishing he dared use the 'team sense' instead, but his conclusion needed to go on record. "We know how these things often go."
Despite the lowered tone and the careful choice of words, he felt May's gray eyes bore into his shoulder. Over the comm, Jules replied, "Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. Murder-suicide."
One last thing. Parker tapped against his link to his former team leader. 'Eddie, don't do that again. I am not a member of Team One any more, even if I'm on this call; they were talking to you, not me.'
'You're our primary negotiator,' the Sergeant countered.
'No, Jules is this team's primary negotiator,' Parker reminded the other man.
Eddie was ready for him. 'Greg, you heard May; this guy doesn't respect women. He may not lash out at his daughter, but he doesn't respect her any more than he does his ex-wife.' A breath, as if waiting for his response. 'There's too many moving parts for Lou to take it; it's gotta be you, Boss.' When the lieutenant didn't respond, he added, 'Greg, I hate to pull out one of Wordy's puns, but you gotta get back in the saddle sometime.'
Point. Parker kept his expression still, giving nothing away to their passenger. 'All right, Ed, I'll take the lead, but you have got to stop reverting to my command every time I come on a call. You're Team One's Sergeant, not me.' At the protest in his friend's eyes, the lieutenant's own eyes narrowed. 'You could've given them the profile just as well as I did,' he insisted. 'If you keep surrendering command of this team to me, I won't come on Team One hot calls anymore and that's final.'
For a long moment, there was silence, then Ed's chin dipped in a tiny gesture of acknowledgement. Greg knew it wasn't over, though, and while he didn't want to carry out his threat, he would if he had to. It was about time Ed learned how to stand on his own two feet as Team One's Sergeant, rather than reverting to his old team leader role whenever his new lieutenant did a ride-along.
As he reached the manager's office, Mitchell pushed his way through the door. Michelle couldn't hide from him, not any more – and he was done playing nice. "I'm looking for the manager," he announced as the man inside turned towards him.
"Can I help you?"
"Yes," Mitchell replied, pulling his weapon. He made sure the manager saw it, but did not lift it. No need unless the man proved…uncooperative. "Where's Michelle Dalton?"
As the trucks roared ever closer to the hotel, Greg shifted in his seat to peer back at their witness. "May, we're gonna do everything we can to keep your Mom safe."
"This is what we do, May," Ed agreed at once. "Nobody needs to get hurt today."
The young woman held her silence, judging them – and, Greg feared, finding them wanting. Then her eyes flicked towards him. "Tell me your name again." Intensity rang, along with her innate gift for influencing people.
But Greg possessed that gift as well and he was much more experienced with it than she was. Much better practiced at controlling his Animagus instincts than his former teammates. Ed's inner hawk might've submitted to May once he'd given her his first name, but the lieutenant's gryphon side was far too wild and independent to submit to anyone who wasn't Pride. "Greg Parker."
May considered him a beat longer. "Greg. Greg and Ed." He heard her shifting and then caught movement out of the corner of his eye. She'd moved to lean in between their seats. Facing them as directly as she could, the teenager said, "I wanna be able to hold you to what you just told me, okay?"
Parker stiffened. They couldn't promise anything; their subject had a significant lead and they had no idea where in the hotel May's mother worked. The situation was fluid and volatile and bound to get much worse before it got better. They would do their best, just like always, but they could not promise.
Then Eddie spoke. "Okay, May."
Her eyes flicked to Ed, then switched to him, expectant. Maybe he didn't like it, but Ed was Team One's Sergeant and he'd made the call. Soft, he backed up his subordinate, not saying a word about the other man taking charge. "Okay."
A few seconds later, they'd arrived at the Royal York; a quick scan told Greg that their dispatcher had sent the Command Truck. Good, they were going to need it. As he swung out of the passenger seat, he heard Ed open their truck's back door to let May out. Direct-to-threat as always, Lane called, "Let's go! Let's go!"
Inside the hotel's massive kitchen, a legion of workers tended to their responsibilities, stirring pots, baking pies, and applying frosting to rows of finished palm-sized cakes. Despite the noise and clatter, the kitchen staff was well practiced in their roles; things were proceeding at an excellent pace for the evening's many events.
A man entered from the service corridor, appearing quite respectable in his perfectly pressed white shirt, dark jeans, black shoes, and long black jacket. But the gun clenched in his right hand accented his furious yell. "Where is Michelle Dalton?"
Workers screamed as they ducked for cover, cringing away from the madman invading their sanctuary. The man who'd been pushing a waist-high cart full of plates was just grateful he'd been ignored as the gunman swept past him; fragile, breakable dishes made for horrible cover. He watched with mounting terror as the invader strode towards his coworkers, searching wildly for his target.
"Michelle!" As Mitchell stalked through the kitchen, sweeping his gun around indiscriminately, more people dove for the floor, praying the madman wouldn't target them. "Where is she?" he roared, desperation and anger mixing. Continuing his hunt, the gunman scanned the tables, peered through the tall, rolling racks of trays, and swung around to check behind him as he shouted, "Michelle!"
Behind him and further into the kitchen, a brunette in a sharp white shirt and high class black outfit called, "James?"
Hate swirled on the brunet's face and he swung around, bringing his weapon up to point unerringly at his ex-wife's face. She stumbled back a step, fear contorting her features and a fearful gasp escaping.
It was one thing to insist that Ed take command within the privacy of the team, but in the middle of the Royal York, with civilians walking around and the hotel desk clerk gazing curiously at the bronze maple leaves on his shoulders, Parker stepped to the front and took charge. Introducing himself, he explained they were looking for anyone that might've been acting suspiciously in the past fifteen minutes or so. When she paled, nodded, and described a man who'd come in looking for her manager, Greg eased forward and brought up the picture of their subject on his phone. "Is that him?"
The young woman glanced at the picture, paling further. "Yeah. That's definitely him."
With a nod of his own, Greg reported, "Spike, we got a positive ID on James. Concierge says he's looking for the HR manager." Turning back to their witness, he said, "Thank you, Heather."
Leaning over his shoulder, Ed asked, "Heather, where can I find the manager?"
Gathering herself, the clerk pointed to a nearby set of stairs. "Mezzanine. Up those stairs."
"Thank you," the Sergeant replied, already backing away and beckoning to Sam. "Spike, transponders on. Let's move."
Inside the Command Truck, Spike's fingers flew over his keyboard, nodding to himself as Lou fed him the hotel's info and promised to have their security call him. A swift tap activated his teammates' transponders and the bomb tech grinned at the familiar play on his screen as the blueprints loaded. At a sound from the door, he keyed in a quick command and most of the dots on the screen vanished, leaving only Team One's transponders. Would be real hard to explain to their witness how he could track every single person in the hotel; the York wasn't close enough to Toronto's ley lines to show names anyway, so it was back to the old-fashioned way. Well, sort-of.
Leaning forward, he coached, "Up the stairs, left and left."
From behind him, he heard Jules' voice and turned in time to hear her say, "May's gonna help us profile."
With a nod, Spike gestured to the seat next to him. "No problem. May, Spike. Have a seat."
As May sat down, she offered a shy, "Thanks."
Bending over, Jules asked, "Okay?" At May's swift nod, she turned and headed back out, already on the move again.
Michelle stared at her ex-husband, but didn't dare move as his gun remained right on her face. He'd never gotten to this point before, maybe this was her fault… No! She couldn't think that way anymore, she'd promised May that she wouldn't blame herself for his actions anymore. Michelle knew she wasn't the best mother, knew she had a long ways to go, but for May, she would do anything she had to. Even stand up to her ex-husband.
Then his hand began to tremble as she gasped and panted and waited. After several moments, he grimaced and lowered the gun, ignoring her relieved reaction. "This wasn't necessary, Michelle. You know that none of this had to happen, don't you? All you had to do was talk to me. You know what day it is today."
Before she could reply, before she could do anything other than pant, glass shattered and James whirled, weapon rising once more. Her workers let out screams of fear and she wished he'd never found her. They didn't deserve to pay for her mistakes.
His pen flew on a pad of paper as he balanced his phone up by his ear. "Four, seven, Bravo, Kilo, underscore, Tango, X-Ray. Thank you."
As he turned back to his computer, May asked, "Those dots, is that your team?"
"Yep," Spike confirmed. "And if my Mom was in trouble, they're the ones I'd wanna see coming through the window." With that, he tapped in the code he'd just been given and grinned to himself as the inside camera views appeared on his screen.
"That's inside," May marveled. "How did you-?"
"It's magic," Spike replied, grin widening at the thought of how most of his Auror colleagues would respond to that.
"Or hotel security just gave you their access code and Wi-Fi password."
As he continued to type, Spike remarked, "She sees right through me." Deep inside, his canine instincts perked up, cautiously interested in the pup under his protection.
On the upper mezzanine, Sergeant Lane inspected the HR manager, noting the nasty gash on his forehead that probably hadn't been there that morning. "So, the man who attacked you, where did he go?"
The response was straight-forward. "Michelle Dalton, he went after her. She was just in the banquet kitchen."
"The banquet kitchen?"
Indicating a nearby hallway, the manager explained, "The other side of the hotel, through that door, two flights down."
Ed jogged for the hallway, but still heard Sam's parting order to the manager. "Okay, go back to your office. We'll get you help as soon as we can."
"Team One, James is headed to the banquet kitchen."
"Copy that," Spike acknowledged. "Sarge, you're close. Down the stairs to your right." Mentally gearing up, he murmured, "Okay. Here we go." Commands slid into the computer and the camera view changed – revealing their subject in the kitchen with a woman at gunpoint. Dang it.
"He's going to shoot her," May cried.
Without looking up, Spike shook his head. "No, this is Team One we're talking about, May."
"I need to hear," May insisted. "Can we hear?"
He didn't even have to think about it. "No. It can get a little bit intense-"
"Spike, I'm not a kid, okay?" The bomb tech froze at the use of his first name. "You said so yourself, she'll be fine. Now, am I here to help or am I not?"
To the constable's bewilderment, he felt a strong impulse to obey. To give her what she wanted. It wasn't magic, either, it was his instincts. His inner wild dog was rolling over and exposing both his neck and his belly to a half-grown pup. Why? Without thinking, he asked, "Boss, okay if I patch May into the conversation?"
Ed's response was immediate. "Go for it."
"Copy that," Spike acknowledged, even as a large part of him demanded to know what on Earth he was doing. Shifting to May, he said, "Okay, I'm gonna put it on speaker. You're gonna hear the team mikes and whatever we can pick up from the kitchen intercom system."
A moment later, sound came from the speaker, right in the midst of a male voice saying, "I have been more than reasonable with you. This is what happens when you push a reasonable man for too long!"
The trembling woman replied, "No problem, James. It's no problem. Put the gun away, and you and I can have a reasonable talk, okay?"
To himself, Spike held his breath. Things still looked iffy to him, but May's mother was making all the right moves so far. Not surprising, considering how well she knew her ex-husband and how ingrained her survival instincts had to be. Maybe…maybe she could even get their subject to back down.
On the screen, Mitchell appeared to be considering the proposal. Then he nodded. "All right." Anger rose and he growled, "Let's start with this." Without an ounce of hesitation, he brought his weapon back up and shouted, "Where is my daughter? Where is she?!"
So much for that idea…
With Wordy, Lou, and Jules at his back, Lieutenant Greg Parker slid into his role as the call's lead negotiator. He and Eddie were going to need to have a long talk before he accompanied Team One again, but for now, he was going to have to stick with the current command structure. "Let's get those other civilians out of the kitchen and get him talking."
"This man needs to feel in control," Jules observed, keeping pace beside him.
"He's not a fan of cops telling him what to do," Wordy put in, only a pace behind on his opposite side.
"He doesn't like anyone telling him what to do," May informed them, quiet but intense. "He has to be in charge."
"Sarge, you copy that?"
The lieutenant bobbed his head as the group swept into the banquet hall closest to their target kitchen. "Yeah, Spike, I heard."
Wordy fell back a pace, gesturing to Jules and Lou. "Guys, clear the room."
"Copy," Jules acknowledged; all three constables broke off from their lieutenant to clear the room.
As he proceeded towards the kitchen, Parker turned his head to catch Wordy's eye and nodded approvingly. At times, the three-tier structure worked great, but all too often, Wordy reverted to his old role as backup team leader while Eddie reverted to being a simple team leader rather than the Sergeant he was. It couldn't keep happening, even if that meant he had to stop going on Team One's hot calls. Dismissing the problem for the moment, Greg focused on the kitchen ahead, already mentally prepping himself for the upcoming negotiation. That was going to be the tricky part – even with those practice negotiations under his belt, he was still far too shaky. He would've preferred a much simpler negotiation for his first time back out, but Ed was right. Jules was the wrong gender and Lou didn't have enough training or experience for something like this. He was the best they had, rust and all. It was his profile and his negotiation.
Through the comm, Spike informed him, "Subject is twenty feet from the banquet doors, facing away."
With May in on the team's chatter, he couldn't use the 'team sense', but Parker still tapped his link to Spike in silent acknowledgement as he reached the solid white door with a small square window at his eyelevel. Peering through it, he spied their subject and his ex-wife immediately. Gryphon hearing was close enough to pick up the conversation, but with the kitchen intercom on, the lieutenant didn't need to bother.
"How could you do this to me?" Mitchell shouted, totally focused on the object of his anger and blame.
"Okay, now, James, I don't know what you're talking about," Michelle Dalton objected even as Parker eased the door open and crept into the next room. Inwardly, he winced at the creak from the door's hinges, but shifted his stance as he moved. A predator's grace joined his training and the gryphon Animagus didn't make a single sound as he approached a wall and a second doorway further into the kitchen.
"Don't lie to me!" Mitchell yelled.
"I'm not. I'm-"
"Don't stand there and lie to my face! Don't try to turn this around! You know damn well this is your fault!"
As the lieutenant took up a position in one doorway, he sensed his teammates hurrying in behind him, weapons up and ready. He didn't need to look to envision Wordy signaling Jules forward, through a second doorway as the team leader took up a stance in the entry and Lou drifted back, ready to move, but unwilling to crowd his teammates.
"Please put the gun down," Michelle begged. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"I want you to tell me the truth!"
Reaching up, Greg removed his ball cap, stealing one final moment to fortify himself. Tricky, yes, but he had faith in himself and his team. Time to come off that one last bench. Leaning forward into the kitchen, he called, "James." As the subject turned, lowering his gun, the officer held his position. "My name is Greg Parker. I'd like to talk to you if that's all right."
For a moment, Mitchell gazed back at his ex-wife, then twisted towards Parker and snapped, "This is no one else's business."
"I appreciate that, but what I'd like to do-"
"Who the heck are you?"
Keeping his tone even, the officer replied, "My name is Greg, like I said. I'm a professional negotiator. What I'd like to do here is maybe help facilitate a dialogue."
Gesturing to Michelle, the subject retorted, "A conversation is what I am trying to do here." In the back of Greg's mind, the 'team sense' hummed. Sam and Eddie, moving in and ready to back them up. The lieutenant's expression never twitched as Mitchell growled, "I don't need a professional negotiator to have a conversation with my own ex-wife, for gawd's sake! All right? What I need is a little privacy."
Seizing the opening, the negotiator said, "Okay, that's great. Let's do that. I mean, you're in charge here. Why don't you just tell the other people in the room that it's time for them to go?"
The move caught Mitchell off guard and he swung back to Michelle again. "I just wanna talk to my wife," he repeated. Tunnel-vision in a crowded kitchen full of civilians. Not good.
"I hear you, James," Greg called. Instincts he hadn't used in months were sliding back into place and for once, his inner gryphon wasn't fighting against him. He felt none of the faint disdain towards negotiating he'd gotten used to over the months and years since his form had first emerged. Instead, he could feel the gryphon's protective nature kicking in, intrigued by his unique approach to saving lives. Even as he studied the subject, he could feel the flow of the negotiation, sensing how to balance words with action. Why had he doubted his own abilities?
Confidence grew even as he heard Spike ask, "Ed, what's your status?"
"Seconds away," the Sergeant reported.
The 'team sense' thrummed and Parker knew his team's locations as if they'd been painted on a map inside his head. This, this was the piece had been missing ever since he'd come back, ever since his promotion and the awkward, tension-filled hot calls he'd had with every single team in the SRU. Why hadn't he tried to negotiate sooner? Focusing on Mitchell, he let his best weapons fly. "You're just trying to have a private conversation."
"That's right," Mitchell agreed.
Glancing around, the lieutenant observed, "Be easier to have that conversation without all these people around."
"In position," Ed whispered, but far louder was the silent triumph radiating through the 'team sense'; his best friend knew him better than he knew himself and he knew Greg had finally rediscovered his center and reclaimed the one gift he'd feared he'd never get back.
It was impossible to keep his chin from rising a hair as Parker lifted his voice. "You're calling the shots here. They'll do whatever you say. Just ask them to leave."
"In position," Sam reported.
"You want privacy, that's reasonable," Parker continued, the very picture of sensible compromise. "You want them to go, that's fair. Just tell them."
Their subject was still so tunneled-in on his goal that it took several seconds for him to comprehend Greg's argument. When he did, he nodded. "Okay," he murmured, before turning to shout. "Okay, get out of here! Everyone get out!" Swinging back to his ex-wife and pointing at her, he hissed, "Except for you." Threat delivered, he yelled, "Get out now! Get out!"
The kitchen staff fled, streaming past Team One as they sought to escape from the madman who'd waved a gun around their workplace. Parker spied several fleeing past Eddie and Sam, but their subject didn't seem to notice he was surrounded. Then the negotiator's hazel snagged on a man who wasn't running. Instead, he was coming up behind their subject's ex-wife; tall, rugged, with curly dark-brown hair, the man's expression and movements spoke to a protective instinct. Years as a negotiator screamed warning, but there was literally nothing Greg could do to stop the inevitable playing out right in front of him.
Parker had to try, though. Easing into the center of the doorway, the officer said, "Thank you, James. That's a good choice."
He might as well have been talking to himself. Mitchell turned to see a stranger standing next to his ex-wife, a male stranger who was hovering in a manner no man could misunderstand. "I said get out of here, now!"
"I'm not going anywhere," the man in a chef's uniform retorted, shifting in an attempt to get between the former spouses. "You've got something to say, you can say it now."
From his comm, Greg heard a breathy, female whisper. "No."
"What's wrong?" Spike demanded for his negotiator boss. But the lieutenant already suspected what was coming, what May had oh so conveniently forgotten to tell them. And unless he missed his guess…James had already known about the man. In general terms, at least, if not specifics.
Pointing at the would-be hero, Mitchell snapped, "Hold it! You hold it right there."
As if to confirm his worst fears, May informed them, "That's Keith. That's my mother's boyfriend."
At the same time, Mitchell sneered, "You're him, aren't you?"
"James," Michelle pleaded, soft, but Greg still heard her.
Her ex-husband ignored her, insinuation ringing. "He is, isn't he? You're the workplace boyfriend."
"Oh, boy," Parker muttered. This… was not going to end well.
Glancing sideways, the negotiator caught Wordy's eye, earning a nod as he eased forward towards a table filled with small frosted chocolate cakes. Taking advantage of the subject's focus on his ex-wife and her boyfriend, Wordy signaled both Jules and Lou forward; Lou took Jules' old spot as Jules ended up near Sam for an instant before the snipers reshuffled, moving to better positions for a takedown. A part of him was still hoping for a peaceful resolution, but with so many moving parts and so much volatility, Greg knew they'd be doing great to just bring everyone home alive.
"Congratulations," Mitchell sneered. "How is it?"
The boyfriend reared back, caught off guard. "Wh…what are you talking about?"
"My ex-wife. How is it?" The leer was audible and gryphon instincts grumbled, offended by the disrespect; part of Greg was amused that his vicious predator side was pulling the gentleman card.
"It's my fault," May babbled over the comm. "Last time I talked to him, I was just trying to help."
"You mentioned your mother was seeing someone?" Spike asked.
"I just said we have to stop dwelling on the past, on grudges, and we have to move on, and then I mentioned Keith. Oh, my gawd." The teenager's voice was frantic, understanding just as well as Team One how the situation was likely to play out.
"May, you didn't make this happen," Spike insisted fiercely.
Internally, Parker groaned. Wordy, Ed, and now Spike – May was really racking up the officers she'd pulled into her orbit and she probably didn't even realize it. No, he was wrong there; she knew enough to parley that influence into listening in on their hot call. If this call escalated any further, he'd have to override Eddie and shut that influence down, but for right now…
Focusing on the intensifying conflict in front of him, the lieutenant called, "Hey, James, why don't we just stay on track-?"
Arrogance whipped around, pinning him with furious blue eyes. "I am talking here!" Mitchell bellowed. "Don't you take another step!"
Even as the subject whirled back to his ex-wife and her boyfriend, Keith raised his hands. "Look, if it's me you got a problem with-"
"You back off!" Mitchell shouted.
"James, you wanna have a conversation with Michelle, let's just do that."
Mitchell didn't even turn as he leaned towards his rival, insinuation lowering into a growl. "Let me give you a friendly warning. You watch your back."
Alarmed, Michelle cried, "I'm serious, James. This is between you and me; it doesn't involve him."
James ignored her as he kept talking, getting louder and angrier with every sentence. "Watch your bank account, watch your wallet, watch your goddamn dog!" Jabbing his gun at Michelle, he shouted, "Because this woman, she will take everything from you!" On cue, the fire alarm went off, shrilling offense in the suddenly very enclosed kitchen. Parker flinched, but not as much as his teammates; he'd had more time to get used to assaults on sensitive hearing than they'd had. Their subject didn't appreciate the audial assault any more than the officers did; he turned, shouting even louder. "You make them stop that! You shut it off!"
"Yup," Greg agreed, more than willing to back off and send the uniform in the outer kitchen door on a mission to turn off that highly annoying alarm.
"Get them to turn it off right now!" Mitchell bawled, not seeming to notice a few lingering workers seizing the opportunity to escape.
"James?" Michelle cried, raising her voice to be heard over the alarm. "Let's you and I just go and talk. Just… No problem. Just the two of us." When Mitchell hesitated, she added, "I know the best way out of here, okay?"
In spite of the alarm, for an instant, pure silence hung; Parker kept his expression impassive as Mitchell swung towards him, studying him intently. Then the subject turned back to his ex-wife and nodded. "Okay. Okay." Michelle moved away from her boyfriend towards her ex-husband as he held a hand out. "I want nice and slow," he ordered, grabbing hold of the shoulder of her black uniform. "Let's go."
"New deal," Ed hissed, "Subject's preparing to exit. Word, Lou, go around. Isolate Michelle and cut him off."
"Copy that," Wordy breathed, echoed by Lou's, "Copy."
Parker flicked a glance at Jules, earning a nod from his one remaining constable. As Wordy and Lou hustled past their lieutenant and out the outer kitchen door, the negotiator advanced, mirrored by his subordinate. Hazel locked on Mitchell, one hand lowering to rest near his sidearm.
Peripheral vision caught movement, right as May demanded, "Wait. What's he doing?"
"Ed!" Spike yelled in warning, but far too late.
With a yell of defiance, Keith shoved a tall rolling rack of trays into Mitchell; as the rack smashed Mitchell into the wall, his gun went off. A cook that hadn't managed to escape from the kitchen reeled back, smashing into a pot that tumbled off its stove into a second cook. As both men fell, fire boomed, sending flames shooting up at the ceiling.
Parker couldn't tell if the first cook had been hit, but Keith's hasty sprint for the man suggested Mitchell had claimed his first victim – and it hadn't even been intentional. But as the flames roared, their subject fled, dragging his ex-wife with him.
"Get down!" Ed yelled, abandoning stealth.
"Clear the room!" Sam shouted.
"No shot!" Lane called, moving sideways to get around the fire. "Get down! James Mitchell!" Spying an opening, the Sergeant raced forward, sidearm up and its barrel-mounted flashlight on. "James Mitchell, right there!"
Parker and Callaghan took over escorting the final kitchen workers, freeing Braddock to run through the smokey room after his Sergeant. Distantly, Greg heard the sound of a door getting kicked open.
"James Mitchell!" Ed yelled; the 'team sense' pulsed fury and frustration. Still retreating from the kitchen, Greg traded a grim look with Jules a heartbeat before Team One's Sergeant reported, "They're in the elevator. We lost them. They're gone."
"Mom," May Dalton-Mitchell whispered.
And with that heartbroken, terrified whisper, Lieutenant Greg Parker knew he had another decision to make, one his former team wasn't going to like.
Author note: I need prayer, everyone. Let me just start with that, along with a week that's been just...really really bad. And not even over since I have to work tomorrow. (/sob)
So...the good news is that the client company liked my interview and wants me to join their Pega project (as a developer!) But before that...the background check. Which, okay, fine, did one for the current client company, too. Then I get (from my company) a list of all the documents that they want. Most of which I did not have on Tuesday - and they demanded that I complete the background check by the end of the day or I wouldn't move forward.
I gave them what I had and submitted it. Next morning - rejected.
With a lot of digging in my computer and email, I was able to come up with the employment documents they wanted and reached out to my old university to see if I could get my official transcript. The Lord provided - I was able to get my official transcript online via PDF and they even pointed me to a website service that they have signed up for. DegreeVerify - it lets you (or an employer) get a verification of your degree, along with evidence on your attendance record (full time/part time).
I sent the compliance department of my company an email, explaining what I did and didn't have - waited for a response. I kid you not, got a one liner of 'Please provide the documents'. No real response or anything. So I packed up what I had, uploaded it to the background verification site, and submitted it.
This morning - rejected. Please provide degree certificate.
See, thing is, I don't have my degree certificate. It's back home, but somehow, my parents misplaced it and can't find it. Getting a new one will take several weeks. I reached out to the guy who arranged the client interview and have sent an email to him and two other managers, explaining the situation, but my heart is breaking right now. I was so sure that the Lord was opening this door for me. Finally letting me leave this miserable Production Support job where it feels like none of the managers are ever satisfied, no matter how hard I work.
But now... If He was going to say 'no' to this opportunity, I wish it had been at the interview stage instead of the impossible background check. (/sniffle)
Please pray for me. And, um... I could really use some reviews on the story, too. As encouragement.
