Author's Notes: No facts, no fixes, no canon. Some stories exist just for fun. Set in a timeline where Chris and Rita are already engaged (see Resolutions of the Heart), this is that type of story.
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MONDAYS, MAYHEM, and MENTORS
by: resauthor
Sergeant Rita Lance of the Palm Beach PD walked along the outer corridor to the Homicide Division side by side with her partner. The main topic of conversation over breakfast, their ongoing living arrangements, showed no signs of exhausting itself as they neared the palm tree decorated double doors.
"My apartment is larger," she repeated for what felt like the tenth time that morning. "It's as simple as that."
"Your place is too…."
"What?"
Her fiancé, Sergeant Chris Lorenzo, had already offered several ridiculous reasons why moving into her place was not the right decision, but based on closet space alone, his loft was out of the question. He had to know that.
"Okay, to be honest," he finally admitted, "your place is too colorful."
She eyed his peach-colored jacket and dark blue shirt over olive green pants. "You're kidding, right?"
He raised his eyebrows in mock outrage and slipped an arm around her waist, tugging her closer for a private moment before their workday officially began. "My bed is more comfortable."
"That is a fair point."
Hashing out disagreements, finding a way to compromise, was practically an art form after all these years. Making up had never been more fun. She mentally added Chris' bed to the list of furniture to be brought over from the loft.
It was such a typical Monday morning, despite the housing discussion, Rita was surprised to see George Donovan barreling toward them from the other end of the hallway. He looked annoyed, which wasn't unusual, but it was barely nine a.m.
"Good morning, George!" she called out.
"What's so good about it?"
"I could list a dozen things," Chris assured him with a smile, "but I'm sensing trouble in paradise."
"You could say that."
Donovan looked pointedly at the arm Chris still had around her waist. Rita watched him curiously. He really was in a bad mood. "What's up?"
"I'm looking for Harry," the Assistant District Attorney grumbled. "I can't believe he forgot our 8:30 meeting. I've tried calling him twice. He knows time is of the essence with the Smitherson case."
"Lighten up, George," Chris teased. "You know the Captain, he's probably tied up on the phone."
George continued to frown. "Homicide might be quiet right now, Lorenzo, but I can't say the same for my office. I shouldn't have to chase Harry down every time I need to meet with him."
The threesome entered the division.
The first thing Rita noticed was that the Captain's office was dark; his door still closed. A sense of unease shot through her.
"Not very Lipschitz of him," Chris said. "He's usually the first one in."
Rita locked eyes with Chris and then George. Even when he wasn't feeling well, the Captain showed up.
"I'll try his cellphone," Chris offered.
Walking to her desk, Rita picked up the phone receiver and dialed Dispatch. After a few quick questions, she hung up and frowned. "He hasn't checked in yet, but they'll try and reach him."
"No answer on the cell." Chris looked over at the dark office. "Maybe he's sick and decided to stay home?"
"He's always sick," George threw into the mix, then rolled his eyes at their shocked response. "What? He is!"
"Fair enough, George." Rita took a seat and reached for the phone again. "I could call Fran and find out."
"Good idea." Chris looked happy to leave that task to her.
George went over to peer through the Captain's office door. "Nothing looks disturbed. I don't think he's been in this morning."
Rita's call to the Lipschitz home was answered on the second ring. Not wanting to upset Fran unnecessarily, she worded her inquiry carefully, asking only if the Captain had left already and if he had mentioned making any stops before work.
"Nothing special going on this morning, hon. Harry left at the usual time. Why?"
"I need to speak to him and was hoping to catch him if he hadn't left yet. He must have had a meeting he forgot to mention. Sorry to bother you, Fran. I'll talk to him when he gets here."
Dispatch called back seconds after she hung up with Fran. They hadn't been able to get a response from his car.
Captain Harry Lipschitz of the Palm Beach Police Department was completely out of touch.
Chris sat on the corner of Rita's desk. "Okay, let's figure this thing out. He's only an hour late. Are we worrying unnecessarily? Maybe Cap did forget to tell us about an appointment. Then again, maybe he's got a secret."
"I don't know about a secret," George scoffed, "this is Harry Lipschitz after all, but something doesn't feel right. We could be looking at a traffic accident or even foul play."
Chris nodded. "Can you check whereabouts on the usual list of enemies?"
"Sure," George readily agreed. "Maybe you two should start looking for him."
Rita sat back in her chair, mentally agreeing with the proactive approach. The Captain was only an hour late, but a lot could happen to a person in one hour. Especially a person with a high-profile job like Police Captain, a position that meant occasional appearances on the evening news or in the local newspaper. "There is no justifiable reason for him to be completely out of touch. We'd better go talk to Fran in person."
…
Parked at the curb in front of the Lipschitz home, Chris turned to Rita. "You ready to do this?"
"No," she admitted honestly. "But it has to be done. Maybe Fran can provide a few clues."
"They're two peas in a pod, aren't they?" Chris was procrastinating, he freely admitted to himself. Fran Lipschitz was a woman of strong emotion. He hated to see her upset.
"Absolutely," Rita agreed. "Makes this morning's discussion seem frivolous, doesn't it?"
"Sure does." Moving forward in their life together was what mattered most, not their address. "I'm okay moving into your place if it's what you want."
Rita exhaled and took a look at the front door. "As much as I'd like to get that in writing and start packing up the loft, the final decision should wait until we know Cap is okay. We'd better get in there."
Chris switched off the ignition and exited the sedan. Rita might want to talk about it later, but the decision was already made as far as he was concerned. Why was he fighting to hold on to a tiny loft that didn't have a proper dining area, a railed stairway, or enough closet space for two people? Straight up – the loft was a bachelor pad.
Fran must have seen them pull up. The front door was opened as soon as they started up the brick walkway. Chris saw the fear in her eyes. Their unexpected visit was a sure sign that something was wrong, but she greeted them warmly anyway and invited them in, leading the way into the living room.
Chris didn't waste any time explaining why they were there and Fran listened attentively. It took him longer to list what they didn't know than to name the few things they did.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're telling me."
"Please sit down," Rita encouraged, taking a seat next to Fran on the brightly patterned couch.
Chris sat on the edge of the chair across from them.
Fran Lipschitz had been a Captain's wife for decades. She cut right through to the heart of the matter. "Has Harry been hurt?"
"No," Chris answered right away. "We don't think so."
Fran Lipschitz was back on her feet, as was Rita. Chris stood also.
"What does that mean? Take me to him."
"That's the thing, Fran," Rita explained. "He hasn't come into the office yet this morning. Did he mention any early errands or appointments?"
"No! We may have had a bit of a tiff this morning about my cousin Myrtle coming to visit in a few weeks, but it was just a minor disagreement. He was upset – Hesch has no appreciation for Myrtle's eccentricities – but he would have come around to my way of thinking eventually. Harry doesn't run from an argument." Fran looked from one detective to the other, as she struggled to explain.
"We fight, he apologizes, we make up and that's that. We almost always settle our disagreements the same day! Of course, there was that one time he moved in with you, Chris, but I blame outside influences."
Chris was quick to agree. He didn't want the conversation going down that road.
"We aren't saying anything has happened, Fran," Rita tried to explain. "We're just trying to figure out where he is and make sure he's okay."
"Something is wrong, I can feel it."
"We're going to go retrace his route to work," Chris said evenly in an attempt to calm her fears. "Call us if you hear from him."
"We always make up," she assured him again. "How do you think we've stayed married so long?"
"We know, Fran." Chris kept an arm protectively around her shoulder as they walked back to the front door. "This could all be a matter of miscommunication. I'm sure he's okay."
"You both keep saying that like there's a chance he isn't."
Rita was gentle but honest with Fran. "We don't know anything right now. We plan to keep calling around and hit up our contacts on the street. I'm sure we'll catch up to the Captain soon. This could all be something as simple as him forgetting call in."
Fran looked doubtful. They all knew how regimented Harry Lipschitz was when it came to rules and procedures.
"Go!" she urged them, opening the front door. "I need you to find him. You two understand, I know you do. Bring him home and I'll apologize this time. Myrtle can go visit cousin Reba. She doesn't have a man. They can natter on to each other like a couple of old hens. Harry comes first. What was I thinking?"
"We'll keep in touch," Chris promised.
Rita gave her a quick hug and led the way to the car.
Fran stood in the open doorway and watched them leave. "The secret to a happy marriage is working out your issues. Don't forget that! Arguing is okay, but nothing is more important than your relationship in the long run. Don't stay mad. If you love someone, be willing to listen."
Chris looked back as he opened the driver's side door. Small in stature, Fran Lipschitz was no fragile flower. Her steely determination was on full display, as was the worry she now felt over the safety of the man she passionately loved.
…
Hands and feet bound, his vision cut off by a dirty burlap sack, Harry Lipschitz found himself in an unusual situation on what had started off as a typical Monday morning. Stopped at a red light just blocks from the Police Department, he had been caught off guard by two men in ball caps approaching his unmarked sedan for help. Dressed in plaid flannel over well-worn cotton t-shirts, the sturdily built men had been standing next to a faded red Chevy truck that was parked at the curb just to Harry's right. The hood of their pickup was raised in the universally accepted signal for car trouble.
What happened next was a blur. As soon as he opened the driver's side door, an offer to help on the tip of his tongue, he was pulled out of the car, a sack was thrown over his head, and his arms were pinned behind his back. There hadn't been time to reach for his weapon – the weapon that was now missing from its holster. He had been clumsily thrown over one of their shoulders and deposited into the ancient truck bed, then handcuffed and covered with blankets. His shouts were muffled, not that they would have done much good anyway. The road he took to work had one of those beautiful stretches with nothing but blue sky and open land on either side for several miles.
About half an hour into what had been an uncomfortable but fairly smooth drive, there was a sudden change in the road beneath the tires. Bumpy and bone-jarring, the surface was uneven and most likely unpaved. Several minutes later, the truck slowed to a stop and one of his captors got out to open what sounded like sheet metal doors badly in need of WD40. The truck drove forward into a large building, its motor echoing through the space like thunder. His first guess was that it had to be some type of hangar or barn.
As soon as the they came to a stop, Harry was hauled out of the truck bed, hoisted once again over someone's shoulder, and then hastily dumped onto a heavy wooden office chair. It was no surprise when his allergies started kicking in.
Harry struggled to breathe, which resulted in a sharp nasal barking noise that had once been compared to the sounds of an angry goose.
"Why are you making that sound?" one of his captors screeched.
"My allergies!" he yelled back. "Get this dust trap off my head NOW!"
The authority in his voice, born of decades leading a law enforcement team, had Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum responding to his command, even if they refused to follow his directions.
"Stop that noise!" the guy Harry dubbed Tweedle Dee insisted. "We'll take the sack off once you're blindfolded."
"Whatever, geniuses! Just do it fast!"
*honk, honk*
"I can't take much more of that, Hal! What do we do? I think he's dying," the Dum half of the duo whined.
"Fine! Go get something to use as a blindfold. I saw an old shirt on the tool shelf by the doors. We can cut it into strips."
"An old shirt!" Harry was further outraged. "Are you kidding me?"
"Shut up!"
Hal was getting emotional. It was a safe bet he wasn't an experienced kidnapper. Now all Harry had to do was figure out what they wanted from him.
"You two aren't exactly experts at planning this kind of thing, are you?"
"I've heard enough from you already, buddy. You've got something at the police station that we're supposed to get back. You're gonna help us do that."
"Are you nuts?" Harry couldn't go on as another coughing fit hit. When he finally caught his breath, he forced himself to calm down. What did Fran always say? Breathe in the disgusting dirty air; exhale slowly. Breath in the disgusting dirty air…. After thirty seconds he felt better.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" he barked back.
"The robbery at the St. James house," Hal stated matter-of-factly. "The police have a surveillance tape and we want it."
"Why?" Harry couldn't resist asking. "Are you on it?"
"NO! Are you calling me a thief?"
"Are you saying you aren't? Maybe whoever put you up to this is the thief."
"You ask a lot of questions for somebody in handcuffs!" Hal, the brains of the operation, was leaning over him as he yelled.
The hood, which Harry had regarded as a form of torture since it was first thrown over his head was suddenly the only thing preventing the crazy oaf from breathing or spitting all over him. He hadn't felt this insulted since…. Well…it had been a long time.
"Yeah, well, if you don't like questions, buddy, here's a statement instead. I'm Homicide, not Robbery. I never heard of the St. James break-in."
Hal didn't respond, but Harry heard him rifling through papers on what he presumed was a desk or shelf.
"Don't lie to me. We saw you in the paper!"
"With three other Captains in the same picture, genius. You picked the wrong guy to follow."
Hal stormed off, yelling. "Where's that shirt?"
"I'm coming," a faint voice assured him.
Harry flexed his ankles, but since they had been tied together, it just made them hurt more.
"I don't care who you are," Hal hissed upon his return. "All you need to know is that we've been hired to get that surveillance footage, one way or another. This ain't personal."
"Aha…you guys are hired goons. Now I get it."
"We aren't goons!"
"What's a goon, Hal?"
The man sent to fetch the t-shirt had also returned. Oh, joy.
"Shut up, Boyd, and quit using my name! We need to stay incog…incog…we don't want this cop knowing who we are. Give me that shirt."
Harry wasn't looking forward to the indignity of a blindfold made out of an old shirt, but his throat was itchy from inhaling burlap fibers and his sinuses were suffering from the onslaught of whatever dust remained in the sack from its original use.
Bored as he listened to two idiots argue over exactly how to tear in a straight line, his thoughts returned to the conversation with Fran earlier that morning. Learning cousin Myrtle would be visiting for a week at the end of the month had put him in a sour mood. Fran was convinced he didn't like the teacup poodle Myrtle took with her everywhere, but she was wrong. Hell, he liked the poodle; he just didn't care for Myrtle. The freaking poodle was hypoallergenic, whereas one whiff of Myrtle's god-awful perfume and his sinuses would be destroyed for days. The poodle had a better personality too. It was easier to listen to his yapping than Myrtle's cackling. A whole week of that woman in his house? It was too much to ask.
The hood was finally lifted off his head, bringing Harry's attention back to the current situation. His eyes weren't given enough time to adjust to the light before the blindfold covered them again. As expected, the shirt stunk of dirt and sweat, but it was an improvement.
Harry sniffed the air. The burlap sack hadn't been the sole cause of the stench assaulting his sinus passages. The building had to be near a swamp. The place smelled like dampness and rot. He had left his beloved New York for this?
"You've got an hour, cop."
"That's Captain, to you."
"Whatever. Figure out how to make this happen. We need that evidence. Decide who to call. It had better be someone you trust. We have your home address."
"My what?" Harry's mind reeled at the threat. Frannie…
"We have enough material left over for a gag. Don't push me or that's next."
The duo had put more effort into their plot than Harry originally assumed. They claimed it wasn't personal, but if they had his home address – this was very personal.
"This was a lot trickier than when the kidnappers did it on that TV cop show, Hal. He's heavy for a little guy. My shoulder hurts."
"Don't believe everything you see on TV, Boyd."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll explain it outside."
After a bit of shuffling, the room went quiet. Harry hadn't heard of the St. James robbery, but the Tweedle brothers made the case sound recent. The thief must have hired them to get back or destroy any evidence that could incriminate him.
Donovan probably knew about it. Oh cripes! He was at least an hour late for their 8:30 meeting already. There had to be a way to get the ball rolling on this ridiculousness.
"Hey! Can't a guy get a glass of water around here? I'm thirsty after that dusty drive!"
The decision of who to call was a no-brainer. He just needed more information.
"Hello?"
There was no response to his shouting. How big was this place? Was it a mechanic's shop or warehouse? Hard to imagine a barn within a half-hour of ritzy Palm Beach.
"Anybody? Can I get that water? Make sure it's in a clean glass!"
…
Leaving the Lipschitz home, Chris drove the most likely route the Captain would have taken to work. It was a hunch that paid off. They found the Captain's sedan parked on the side of a two-lane scenic road that was rarely used except by locals to bypass morning traffic. This particular stretch of road was less than a mile from the precinct.
Rita had already gloved up. She checked the driver's side door which was shut but unlocked. The Captain's weapon had been left on the driver's seat. Was that a good or a bad sign? Chris wasn't sure. He returned to his car for an evidence bag while Rita continued to search the vehicle.
It was time to consider calling in an APB on the Captain, but before Chris could do that, his cellphone rang. It was Harry. He flashed his headlights to get Rita's attention, signaling her to join him in the car. He then put the call on speakerphone.
"Cap! Where are you?"
"I need you to listen, Chris. I don't have much time. They have my home address. Enough said."
"Got it."
Rita had paper and pencil in hand.
"There is a robbery case being processed. The St. James case. I need you to get hold of the surveillance footage from Evidence."
Chris repeated the name into the receiver and met Rita's confused look with one of his own.
"Are you okay, Cap?"
Coughing ensued, followed by a few weird Harry Lipschitz sounds they were very familiar with.
"Half an hour spent lying in a truck bed just about did me in, especially when they hit the dirt road, but I'm okay for now."
"Shut up! I see what you're doing!"
Scuffling sounds were followed by banging noises.
"Say that thing about not saying anything."
"So, you want me to shut up but somehow convey your message over a phone? Sounds about right."
"Cap…." Chris tried to calm him down. "What does he want you to tell me?"
"You aren't supposed to get anyone else involved in this. Keep it to yourself. The exchange will be made at 5 pm, but I can't tell you where until I call back a half-hour before."
"Time to hang up!"
"Hold your horses, Lucky Cavallo, he needs additional information if you want this to work."
"I'm listening, Cap."
"Most important thing you need to remember, Chris, is that he has my home address. That's your number one priority."
"Understood."
"You may need Donovan's help on this. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum are getting nervous. Don't let me down, Chris. Remember…."
"We got your back."
The phone must have been jerked away, but he could still hear Harry shout out, "Five o'clock!"
Rita was on her phone immediately, calling in a request for a uniformed officer to be posted outside the Lipschitz home. After going through the Captain's car one more time, they locked it, left it on the side of the road, and headed back to the shop.
They met up with George Donovan in the Captain's office.
Chris perched on the front edge of his boss' desk. No one wanted to sit behind it. "What we have so far is that Cap is being held by two people, at least one of them male, somewhere approximately thirty minutes away. The Lucky Cavallo reference makes it sound like the mob."
"Lucky Cavallo is the capo down in Miami," Rita added. "Maybe I should get ahold of Donnie and see if he knows anything about the St. James family."
"I don't think this is a mob deal," George Donovan interrupted. "I've seen the preliminary work on the case. Simple B&E. Jewelry and cash were taken."
"How much?" Chris asked.
"Maybe $100,000 in jewels, $10,000 in cash. Surveillance footage was obtained by subpoena from the Security company but I don't think anyone in Robbery has gone over it yet. It just came in a couple of days ago. The Cavallo tip could be a reference to alligators."
Chris considered the possibility but shook his head. "That wouldn't help much. Anyone with a pool in Florida has to worry about alligators."
"Harry isn't exactly a native," George pointed out. "He might not know that."
"Why would somebody grab Cap over a simple B&E?" Rita asked.
Chris had been wondering the same thing. "I don't know, but I'm betting they've already realized they got more than they bargained for. We need to find Cap before he annoys them so much, he ends up hurt – or worse. What do we tell Fran?"
"Nothing yet," Rita suggested. "Can you get us the evidence, George?"
"Not unless we go through official channels. You know that."
"Official channels take too much time," Rita argued.
"We don't have that kind of time." Chris was stating the obvious, but it had to be said.
"I can go see the Chief," George offered. "He is the only one that can approve the removal of evidence. The security company that supplied the footage would have kept a copy for themselves. If I can show proof of that, the Chief will be on board. He won't leave one of his captains out there in danger."
Chris was on his feet, ready to do something, anything, to get the situation moving toward a safe resolution. "Let us know immediately when you get the okay, George. Find out how he wants us to handle Cap's vehicle. If you need backup in there, just give us a shout."
"Will do."
George was out the door in a flash. Chris checked his watch. It was a little past ten and they had a lot to do.
"What are you thinking," Rita asked, picking up on his sudden burst of energy. They stood together in the doorway of the Captain's office.
He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "We have a friend working in Evidence right now."
"We do?"
"Yes, we do. I'm thinking he might be up for a little excitement after being stuck in the basement for the last month."
…
"Carson!"
Startled, Officer Jim Carson glanced up from the Evidence counter. He was so involved in what he was doing, he hadn't heard the telltale ding of the elevator's arrival in the outer hallway. Detectives Lance and Lorenzo were just coming in through the door of the Evidence Division.
Sergeant Lorenzo continued speaking as he approached the counter, but Jim couldn't take his eyes off the other half of the infamous Palm Beach PD duo. Sergeant Lance was more beautiful than ever. How was that possible? Her royal blue suit and white bouse were…
"Ahem…"
"Sergeant Lorenzo!" Jim flushed bright red. It had happened again. He continually embarrassed himself around Sergeant Lance. Every. Single. Time. Even after all these months. The only way to deal with the problem was to avoid her, but she was making that impossible right now. "What can I do for you, Sergeant Lorenzo?"
"I have a special favor to ask, Jim."
The butterflies calmed down a bit after being addressed in such a casual manner. Jim had grown used to Sergeant Lorenzo's humor, having run into him countless times in the building. The Sergeant, more often than not, was upbeat and friendly, putting the rookies at ease despite his legendary status. His exploits, both personal and professional, were occasionally brought up in the lunchroom and Jim never knew how much to believe. The stories couldn't all be true, but then again - he was engaged to the most beautiful woman in the world.
Rita Lance's phone rang and she excused herself, walking across the lobby to speak privately to the caller. He missed her already.
"You okay, Jim?"
"Certainly, Sergeant. I…uh…"
"Yeah, me too. I just hide it better."
Jim's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"
"Absolutely – I'm sure you understand why."
"I do…."
"Chris!"
Sergeant Lance was back and she looked worried.
"Things are moving fast. Donovan got the okay for us to proceed. The Chief called Dispatch himself to put out the APB. The car will be brought to Impounds within the hour, but he wants us to keep the situation under wraps till we know what we're dealing with."
"The evidence?"
"It's ours. Madison in Robbery has been advised. Donovan is on his way down here to explain."
None of the urgent information made sense to Jim, but he watched the teamwork with fascination. They finished each other's sentences with no hesitancy and complete understanding. Excitement coursed through his veins for the first time in weeks. They obviously needed something from him.
"Officer Carson," Rita addressed him directly. "George Donovan will join us in a minute. He talked to the Chief and has permission for us to remove evidence turned in on the St. James robbery. There is a videotape of security footage that will be checked out to us."
Jim Carson nodded.
"Why don't you look it up in the log now so it will be ready when George gets here."
Flustered, he nodded again and went to the nearest computer. He had just pulled up the information needed to locate the evidence in question when the Assistant District Attorney walked into the division.
Another uniformed officer emerged from the back of the storage area ready to offer the ADA assistance, but Jim waved him away. "They're together," he explained. The officer went back to his task. After months of rotating desk work in every department, whatever was happening today was the closest thing to action Carson had seen in a long while.
"I've got it." The ADA handed a sheet of paper to Sergeant Lance. "Has the footage been found?"
All eyes turned to Carson. He gulped and nodded.
"I can get it for you," he offered.
"We have a special situation here, Officer… Carson. You look familiar."
The Assistant DA was a common sight in the PBPD hallways, but Jim had never had cause to speak with him before. He was running with the big dogs now.
"New Year's Eve, right?"
"What do you have, George?" Sergeant Lorenzo interrupted, saving Jim from having to relive some seriously embarrassing memories.
Donovan didn't fall for it. Jim felt the weight of his steady, unrelenting stare. The guy must be scary good in the courtroom.
"The Chief has given Lance and Lorenzo access to this tape, Officer Carson. His assistant will be calling down here any minute to confirm. Everything that you hear and see regarding the matter starting right now is considered need-to-know. You will not mention it to anyone, is that clear? Not your co-workers, not your wife…"
"I'm not married, Sir!"
"Good for you – I picked up on the lack of scar tissue – but you get my meaning, right? You will be one of only six people currently read into the situation. If it gets out – we'll know you're the leak."
This was much more serious than Jim was prepared for, but he listened carefully to the Assistant District Attorney and took every word to heart.
"Well?"
Jim looked at the ADA uncomprehendingly.
"Where is it?" George Donovan frowned. "The video footage?"
Jim quickly double-checked the computer screen and then disappeared into the racks.
After ADA Donovan left with Sergeant Lance, Sergeant Lorenzo stayed behind. He leaned on the counter, glancing around to make sure they were alone before speaking.
"I may have a special assignment for you this afternoon, Carson. Are you up for it?"
"Me?"
"Yes. It's legit. The Chief will approve the overtime."
"Absolutely, Sergeant Lorenzo. Anything you need."
"What time are you off?"
"Four-thirty, Sir."
"We're going to need to extend that a few hours. You'll be assisting Sergeant Lance and myself."
"No shi….?"
"None." The Sergeant rapped his knuckles on the counter, then turned to leave, calling out a final, "You'll hear from me, Carson."
"Yes, Sir!" Jim shouted back to an empty room. He had to calm down. He had to remember what ADA Donovan said. He couldn't tell anyone. Which was easier than it sounded because right now he had no idea what was going on.
The hard part would be not sharing with his fellow rookies that he was part of an elite team - assistant to Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance, Palm Beach Homicide.
Whoa…. Secrets. Intrigue. This was the big leagues.
…
An hour later, George Donovan returned to Homicide and tossed a file onto Rita's desk. "I put together a list of all the burglary cases we've processed in the last six months to see if there's a pattern. I even looked for high-power connections to the St. James family, to see if any of their houses have been hit also. Nothing."
"Same here, George." Rita glanced in the file then set it aside. "Chris is down in Vice seeing if anything unusual is going on in that area."
"The security company agreed to send a duplicate copy to us, so we're all good there. I cleared my schedule for the day, but I'm not sure what else I can do. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"There is one thing, George. If you don't mind…"
"Anything. I hate waiting around."
"Chris and I were thinking that someone should check on Fran and let her know what's going on. Not in too much detail, of course, but she needs to know that the Captain is okay and we have the situation under control. I'm sure it will be easier for her to hear it from someone she trusts. You can also update Officer Brown on the time of the exchange."
"Done deal."
"Thanks, George."
…
Harry Lipschitz was hot and sweaty, the hardwood chair was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and his stomach was growling. A plate of lettuce would be worth its weight in gold right about now. As would a drink of anything other than room temperature water. Room temperature was fine if you lived at the North Pole. Southern Florida – not so much. Flexing his fingers and wrists, tugging on the metal handcuffs, anger roiled through his gut like acid.
The Tweedle boys had abandoned him an hour or so ago - at least that's how long it felt. They had talked about retrieving their shotguns from home just in case the exchange didn't go well. Shotguns! They probably couldn't hit the side of a barn from ten feet away, but that didn't mean they weren't dangerous. Lance and Lorenzo understood the seriousness of the situation, of that he was sure, but the inability to pass on newly acquired information was frustrating as hell.
Luckily, he trusted his best team. They would be prepared.
He heard the truck returning a short time later. He recognized the thundering sounds of the old V-8 engine. It sounded a bit like one of Lorenzo's precious muscle cars – when one of the damn things actually ran. The outer doors creaked and moaned as they were opened and the truck drove inside again. Despite being tucked away in what he assumed was the office portion of the building, dust and fumes swirled in the air, making him sneeze.
"Hey! Stop pushing me!" a muffled voice resonated through the cavernous space, followed by the sounds of a struggle.
He waited until the scuffling came closer. "Donovan?"
"Harry? Is that you?"
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you!"
"Great job! You're suddenly in the hero business? Not going too well, is it? You might want to stick to the law."
Harry felt a rush of air as another chair was dragged over and George was pushed down into it.
"How about a thank-you?" the muffled ADA shot back.
"For what? I'm still tied up; my back is killing me and my right foot is asleep."
George grunted as the hood was taken off his head and the remaining dirty t-shirt strips were used to blindfold him.
"Hey, buddy!" the Captain shouted toward the sound of retreating footsteps. "I feel another sinus attack coming on. I need a humidifier!"
"What are you doing?" George hissed.
"I can open a window," Boyd offered. "Maybe that will help."
"Come on," Hal insisted. "Leave them alone. We need to rethink our plans."
"Why haven't they gagged you yet?" George asked curiously. He was a little calmer now.
"They tried," Harry started to explain quietly, but ended up yelling. "I had a reaction to THE FILTHY SHIRT THEY TRIED TO USE!"
It was with great satisfaction that the two men grunted and walked even further toward the front doors.
"What happened, George?" Harry asked calmly, but with concern. "Did you get the evidence for Lance and Lorenzo?"
"They've got it. They're ready," George assured him. "This was my fault. I was driving over to your house to update Fran, but I pulled over when I saw your car being hooked up to the tow truck. I saw two guys in a red pickup watching the procedure from a distance. I guess they saw me too, but I didn't know it at the time. I decided to follow them and see if they would lead me to you. I didn't plan on confronting them. I was going to pass on the location to Lance and Lorenzo."
"What were they doing back at the kidnapping site?"
"If I understood their arguing when they threw me in the back of the truck, they were hoping to retrieve your gun. They accidentally left it behind after they grabbed you."
"I don't know whether to grateful or insulted that somebody hired these two clowns to get the job done. Where are we?"
"West Palm. About a half-hour west of the precinct. Must be an airboat tour company around here. I could hear them on a nearby waterway when I drove up."
"I had a feeling…."
"That was the clue?"
"Yeah. Lucky Cavallo and his alligators. Did they understand?"
"Alligators in Southern Florida are not exactly a novelty, Harry, but maybe they'll put it together."
"Yeah, yeah. What do I know from alligators? Is Fran okay?"
"An officer was sent to watch the house. She'll be safe."
Harry relaxed a little, but he knew his wife. Frannie would channel her nervous energy into bringing the officer cookies or making him lunch. She was a born caretaker. "How did they get the drop on you?"
"One of them must have jumped out of the truck when we hit the everglades. I didn't see him in the tall grass. The truck pulled up in front of this building, so I stopped about a quarter-mile away, trying to decide what to do. The smaller guy was at the driver's side door before I ever saw him coming. He broke the window, threw a sack over my head, and I was done."
"You did your best, George."
"But it wasn't good enough. I had no idea they made me."
"That's behind you now. Let it go. Lance and Lorenzo will come through for us.
…
"Rita, honey…."
"Fran." Rita shifted the receiver onto her right shoulder and held it in place with her chin. She was trying to find a message slip that was buried somewhere on her desktop,
"I'm stressing out over here, hon. It's been three hours and no one has gotten in touch with me."
"There's an officer parked outside your house, right?"
"Mrs. L – do you have any mustard?"
"Sure. It's in the fridge! Help yourself"
"Fran, why is Officer Brown inside with you?"
"I feel safer with him in here. Besides, it's easier than me running out every thirty minutes to see if he needs anything."
"I need to talk to him, Fran."
"Tell me what's going on," she insisted. "Where is Harry? Have you heard from him?"
"We talked to him, Fran, and he's okay right now."
"What do you mean right now?"
"We're going to pick him up at 5:00."
"I want to talk to him."
"I wish you could, Fran, but it's not possible. I can't tell you any more than that. George Donovan left for your house almost an hour ago so he could explain. Didn't he show up?"
Chris walked back into the division as Rita was speaking; she waved him over and put a hand over the mouthpiece, letting him know George never made it to the Lipschitz home. Chris got on the phone with George's secretary.
"Honey, I haven't seen or heard from anyone other than Officer Brown since you and Chris left. I'm starting to get scared."
"I'm sorry, Fran. Something must have happened. Let me talk to Officer Brown."
After assuring Fran she would get back to her as soon as there was news, and passing on information to Officer Brown about the gravity of the situation and the time of the exchange, Rita looked to Chris for an update from the ADA's office.
Chris shook his head as he hung up. "George hasn't checked in since he left."
"The situation keeps going from bad to worse."
Chris' phone rang before he could respond. Rita could tell by the look on his face it was the Captain. She went over to his desk. He adjusted the receiver so she could hear.
"Exchange time is now moved up to 2. Get on the Lake Trail near the Flagler Museum and drop the tape at the base of the tree that looks like an octopus. Walk another ten minutes south on the trail and one of us will be sitting on the first bench you come to."
"Museum, octopus, walk south, bench…. Whoa, Cap, what do you mean one of us?"
"You have one hour, Lorenzo."
"George is with you?"
"Oh yeah. My rescuer is right here. I'd give him the phone, but he's tied up at the moment."
"Stick to the information!" a gruff voice shouted.
Chris didn't like what he was hearing. "If only one of you will be on the trail, where will the other one be?"
"One of us will remain here to make sure the exchange goes off without a hitch. Once they have the tape, you'll be notified where to find whoever is left behind."
"That's not good enough, Cap. You both need to be at the exchange."
"Just do what they want, Chris. You know why. That's an order. They're armed."
There had to be another way, but the method of exchange was out of Chris' hands. He wasted no time putting the Captain's mind at ease. "Understood. You stay out of trouble until we get there."
"Just do what he said!" the gruff voice shouted into the phone before disconnecting the call.
Rita remained by Chris' desk. An hour was barely enough time to do what needed to be done. "Did you pick up on the traffic sounds in the background?"
Chris was back on his feet, preparing to leave. "Yes, I did, but I don't think it was street noise. Sounded more like an outboard motor. Maybe an airboat engine also. There are several areas of West Palm where that would be common."
"If we add proximity to a waterway, our list of places to check is cut in half, but there are still too many to hit in one afternoon. We'd better move fast. I've got the Map of West Palm with me." Areas of interest had already been highlighted based on time and maximum distance.
"I know it's a long shot, but if you can locate where they're being held, our chances of getting out of this clean are greatly improved."
Rita was in complete agreement. "I'll update the Chief and head to the garage in twenty. Keep in close contact."
"You know it, partner."
Chris leaned in for a quick kiss without bothering to check first if they were alone. It was a telltale sign that he was feeling this one as deeply as she was.
…
"Carson!"
Chris was back in Evidence.
"Sergeant Lorenzo. Did you need something else?"
"Grab your stuff, we've had a time change." Chris signaled to the other officer shuffling boxes in the racks. The officer moved forward to take over the counter.
"Let's go in the hallway to talk, Jim."
Jim Carson followed as directed. Once out there, Chris spoke quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.
"It's time. I need you to ride with Sergeant Lance and provide backup for her."
The young officer's shocked expression was to be expected.
"What?!"
"Listen to me, Jim. I'm going to make this short and sweet. Captain Lipschitz and George Donovan are being held by people who want the tape we took out of evidence earlier today. If we don't get it to them, both men are in serious danger."
"I had no idea," Carson whispered in shock.
"Of course, you didn't; this is all need-to-know as Donovan said."
"But, Sir…Sergeant Lance? You know I get all tongue-tied…"
"I know a lot more about you than you think I do, Carson. You consider me a top-notch detective, right?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Let me tell you what I've picked up during our brief conversations in the hallway. You were born and raised in West Palm. You're a gamer, a strategic thinker, and a paintball enthusiast. You ranked second in marksmanship and fourth overall at the academy. The only thing you're lacking is confidence, Jim, and it's time you start working on that if you ever want to achieve the rank of Homicide Detective as you have often claimed."
Carson stood, mouth agape, at the rapid-fire summary of his skills.
"You are the only officer in this building I want watching my partner's back in this situation. We have a general idea where the Captain and George are being held, but we need someone who knows the wetlands area to help Sergeant Lance pick out any abandoned buildings where they could be hidden. I'll be busy at the drop site."
Carson seemed frozen by the onslaught of information. Chris couldn't wait for it all to process.
"Do you think I would just randomly choose a rookie to back up my partner of five years – my fiancée of just a few months?"
"I never meant to imply…" Jim Carson stammered.
"I love that woman, Carson."
"Of course, Sir! Your relationship is legendary…"
"Not, legendary, Carson. Real. More real than you could possibly imagine. I didn't make my decision to involve you lightly. Change into street clothes if you have any here, but be sure to hang on to your weapon. Meet Sergeant Lance in the garage in ten minutes. Listen well. Do what she says."
Satisfied at the understanding in the rookie's eyes, Chris cuffed him on the arm and headed to the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.
…
Carson waited at the ground floor entrance of the Police Department garage for Sergeant Lance. The running dialogue in his head was a chaotic mix of self-help mantras and legitimate reasons to panic. He spotted a black Jeep Wrangler rounding the corner from the second level down to the first and he sighed wistfully. It was just the type of vehicle he hoped to own one day.
All daydreaming had to be put on hold when the Jeep screeched to stop right next to him.
"Get in, Carson!"
"Sergeant Lance?"
"This seemed a better idea than the Le Baron, and let's not even mention the Charger. If today had been Charger Day, we wouldn't have four-wheel drive as an option. It might come in handy where we're going."
Sergeant Lorenzo was the luckiest man in the world – maybe the entire universe.
"Yes, Ma'am." He climbed into the passenger seat and strapped in.
"Sergeant will do. Ma'am makes me feel old."
Jim made a mental note of that, then grabbed onto the roll bar above his head as the Jeep shot out of the PD garage and headed toward the two-lane highway where the Captain's car had been abandoned that morning.
"Sergeant Lorenzo said you know the wetlands in West Palm very well."
"He said that?"
"Yes."
"He's very kind to me."
"We're co-workers, brothers and sisters in blue, Carson. Anyone that doesn't treat you right has forgotten that."
"Yes, Sergeant."
"That's better. Let's get down to business. There is a map of West Palm on the floor by your feet. We did a few preliminary calculations, but we need your insight. Our assignment is to find out where the Captain and ADA Donovan are being held. One of them will be brought to the drop site, Sergeant Lorenzo will handle that, but the other one will need our help. We are looking for someplace approximately thirty minutes away from where the Captain was taken. We're coming up to that now."
Sergeant Lance pulled to a stop at the curb across from where the Captain's car had been found.
Carson stared at the spot wide-eyed, unable to think of anything to say. He noted the flatness of the land on either side of the road. There was nowhere to hide. Despite his inexperience, the Homicide detectives had asked for his assistance. He needed to step up and share his thoughts.
"The people who took the Captain must have pretended their car had broken down. How else would they have gotten a jump on him? Unless it was his car that broke down?"
"Good observation, Officer. The Captain's car was working fine, so he either stopped to help, or they somehow surprised him at a red light."
"Do you have any clues?" he asked, reaching for the map.
"Yes, I was just getting to that."
Rita Lance smiled at him as she pulled back onto the road that would take them to the bridge that crossed over to West Palm. A smile like that would have made him pass out in the past, but he felt himself shifting into professional mode. He unfolded a section of the map. Being a valued part of a team was an awesome feeling.
"We believe he was tied up and traveled in the bed of a truck for thirty minutes from this spot, with the final destination located at the end of a dirt road. Based on what we could pick up from the Captain's comments and the background sounds, he's being held in some type of warehouse or utility structure in an area that allows small watercraft, possibly airboats.
"The wetlands."
"Most likely, because a half-hour wouldn't get them very deep into the Everglades."
"I have a few ideas…" Jim stammered. "My father was retired Coast Guard. He signed on as an airboat Captain when I was in high school. There are several spots just east of here that we should check out."
"You're officially my wingman today. Tell me which road to take."
The next thirty minutes went by like a dream. He kept his eyes on the scenery outside the car and called out directions when necessary. They checked out a few properties with abandoned buildings that looked promising on the map, but nothing fit when seeing them in person. Eventually, they ended up at the Northern tip of the Grassy Waters Preserve, a 23 square mile area of government-protected wetlands.
"No Airboats Allowed," Rita read from a sign posted at the entrance.
"No, just canoes or kayaks. Anything without a motor. But there's private land on all sides," Jim assured her. "My father once took me to what he called an airboat graveyard near here. It was a large property with junked airboats all over the place. He'd buy used parts there."
"Do you remember where it was?"
Jim scoured the map, then directed Rita back onto the highway so they could continue heading Northeast until they reached a turn off onto a dirt road. Several miles down, the Sergeant pulled off into the tall grass. A large fabricated metal building sat deep on the property to their left.
Sergeant Lance reached over to open the glove box and remove a pair of binoculars. She took a minute to survey the area. "Do you think this is it?"
"Maybe?" He accepted the binoculars and took a turn checking out the building. "There isn't as much junk on the property as there used to be, just some rusty airboat skeletons, but the old guy could have passed away since I was here last."
"What was it like inside?"
"I remember the inside being a large open space. A bunch of tools and a few metal hoists. Lots of wood planks and sawhorses. Stuff needed to rebuild motors and repair small boats."
Rita switched off the engine. The faint, but distinctive, sound of an airboat could be heard in the distance on an unseen waterway.
"Suggestions?" she asked.
"I could drive up alone and ask for old Stan, the guy that used to run the place."
"Not bad. But I don't want you approaching alone."
He watched in amazement as Rita Lance shrugged out of her blue jacket, tossed it into the back seat, and then freed another button on her blouse. She rolled up her sleeves and double-checked her weapon to make sure it was secure. It wasn't until she started running her hands through her hair to give herself an even crazier windblown appearance that he turned away to stare at a bird that had landed on a nearby fence post. What in the heck was going to happen next?
"Trade places with me," the Sergeant ordered, hopping out of the Jeep to switch seats. "Wouldn't look right for the girlfriend to be driving."
"Girlfriend?" he gulped.
"You aren't thinking I'm too old for the role, are you, Jimmy?"
"God, no!"
She smiled an adoring smile and he sighed, unable to stop himself. He knew she was pretending, but he'd be lucky to get out of this situation without an even bigger crush on her than he already had. She was so smart and so beautiful, how had Sergeant Lorenzo worked with her for so many years before falling head over heels?
"Let's make a strong approach," she was saying and he decided it was a good time to start paying attention again.
"It's impossible to cover the distance between here and there without being seen if someone is watching," she continued, "so a strong intention will appear less suspicious. If this isn't the right place, we need to move on fast to the next."
Jim climbed in behind the wheel, ready to play his part. Sergeant Lance…. His…uh…girlfriend…hung on tight as he hit the gas and barreled toward the building. The Jeep bounced and shuddered as it sped over the uneven ground. Sergeant Lance reached over and hit the horn so there would be no doubt that company was coming.
To their mutual disappointment, no one seemed to be around. Jim got out of the Jeep and tested the large double doors. They were pockmarked in places where the rust had eaten through the metal, but the lock still worked. The doors were shut tight. Sergeant Lance signaled him that she was going around the side and he should remain vigilant. He pounded on the doors again as he scanned the property, looking for any signs of trouble.
Jim heard a shout from around the back. He took off at a run in the same direction the sergeant had gone, drawing his weapon from its holster as he rounded the corner. She wasn't on the side of the building so he continued to the rear.
…
"George…."
"Chris! I've never been so glad to someone in my life!"
"Nice seeing you too, Donovan."
"You left the tape?"
Chris nodded and took a seat on the white bench next to the ADA, stretching his arms casually along the back. George was a little scratched up but appeared to be okay, despite all he had been through. Chris kept his eyes on the paved pathway that bordered the Intracoastal waterway behind him. Runners, bicyclists, and people walking their dogs passed by in a steady stream. "How many guys are we talking about?"
"Two. That's all I ever saw or heard. That was Harry's conclusion also. He was ambushed by two guys when he stopped at the light."
"What were they driving?"
"An old Chevy pickup. Maybe late sixties. The kind with the sidestep."
"A step-side, George," Chris automatically corrected.
"Yeah, whatever, Chris. You know I'm not a car guy. It was faded red. They claimed to have shotguns, but I don't know how true that is. I was blindfolded the whole time."
Chris reached into a jacket pocket for his cell. He dialed Dispatch and asked to be connected to one of the black and white units waiting in the parking lot. He passed on the information.
"As soon as they have them, we can head over and get the Captain - If Rita and Carson haven't found him already, that is."
"You figured out where we were being held?"
"No, George, but you drove there once already, I'm sure you can find your back."
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's been a stressful morning."
"You can say that again. Tell me, George, how is it you ended up here for the exchange and not the Captain?"
"Harry Lipschitz is a brave man, Chris. They wanted to bring him here and leave me tied up, but he convinced them to free me instead of him. Nerves of steel, that guy. Selfless… Kindhearted… Generous."
"Or maybe he knew you could lead us to him once you were free, but he couldn't do the same if the perps got away from us."
"Oh…I guess you're right. But still, it was a brave thing to do."
"Sure was." Chris' phone rang. He answered, nodded as he absorbed the information, and then hung up. "We're out of here, George. Let's go for a ride."
Chris dialed Rita's phone as he walked. It rang several times before finally going to the message center. "I have Donovan, call me back."
…
Rita held a finger against her lips to silence Jim Carson as he flew around the back of the building and skidded to a stop. She pointed toward the rear doors.
"Is someone in there?" she shouted again and then listened closely.
"I heard something," Jim whispered. "Sounded like a wounded animal."
"Captain?" Rita shouted even louder and pounded on the back door. The sound repeated. "Let's see if we can get this open."
The door handles had been chained together, but the padlock wasn't in good shape. Jim searched for a rock and once he found one large enough, struck the lock repeatedly until it finally broke open. They unwound the chain and then worked together to pull open the doors.
Once inside, Rita called out again. "Captain?"
Jim spotted a movement off to the left. "This way!"
The Captain was in an old chair, wedged into a corner behind a large desk. She immediately removed the burlap sack that had been placed over his head. She struggled with the knot at the back of the blindfold and ended up just pulling the entire thing up and off. "Keep your eyes closed for a minute."
"My hands," Harry croaked.
Rita used her key to release the handcuffs.
"I'll find some water," Carson offered.
"Who's that?"
"Officer Carson, Sir!"
The salute seemed unnecessary to Rita, the Captain still had his eyes closed, but Carson deserved extra points for his unflagging enthusiasm.
Harry Lipschitz half-opened one eye to peer at the young officer. "Officer Carson from the front desk?"
"I've been in Evidence for a month."
"Okay, Officer Carson from Evidence, go find me that water."
Rita smiled. The perplexed, squinty, expression was now aimed in her direction. She crouched down to untie the Captain's ankles.
"Lance? Should I ask?"
"Officer Carson grew up in this area. He's the reason we located you so quickly."
"The drop?" he inquired anxiously.
"Should have taken place a few minutes ago." Rita patted her pants pockets. "Damn. I left my phone in my jacket. I'll check if Chris called as soon as we get you out of here. Can you stand?"
Rita linked her arm with her boss' and kept him steady as he rose out of the chair.
"I'm not feeble, Lance!" he groused but didn't push her away. "I'm just stiff from sitting in the same position for so many hours."
Carson rushed up with a plastic water bottle. "I found a case on one of the work tables."
Harry eyed it suspiciously. "Can't be worse than what they've given me so far."
Once the Captain had been hydrated, he took a long look at his rescuers.
"You're looking a little casual, Lance. What have you two been doing?"
Rita laughed, confusing the young officer and her boss. Harry was one to talk. His hair was standing straight up, his glasses were crooked, possibly bent during the kidnapping, and there was a noticeable dirt outline across his forehead and cheeks courtesy of the blindfold.
"Let's get out of here," she suggested. "We'll all have stories to tell later."
Carson helped the Captain to the back door. He dutifully listened to every complaint and offered sympathy when it was called for. Rita did a quick search of the area before following.
Once they were all outside, she wrapped the chain around the handles again, then headed for the Jeep where she retrieved her phone and immediately called Chris. They exchanged updates and she was able to confirm for the Captain that George was safe and the two men in the red truck had been taken into custody. Chris would handle notifying West Palm about the situation. Determining jurisdiction over the site would be addressed later.
The Captain, as expected, refused all offers to call an ambulance or to seek medical attention. "I haven't checked in at the precinct yet, Lance. I'm not ruining my perfect attendance record for those jokers. I'd love to be there for the perp walk into booking!"
"I doubt we'll be back in time for that, but maybe you can catch it on surveillance tape tomorrow."
"I'm looking forward to that," Harry admitted with a tired smile. "Oh, jeez, Lance! Let me use your phone to call my wife. She's gonna plotz when she finds out about all this."
Rita handed over the phone, slipped her sunglasses into place, and then climbed behind the wheel, ready to head back to the precinct. As soon as everyone was secure, she drove slowly over the unpaved area, fully aware that the Captain was hanging on for dear life in the passenger seat. He had one arm wrapped around a roll bar and her cell phone up against the opposite ear.
"I'm fine, Frannie," he yelled, trying to be heard above the road noise and wind. "Stop crying, sweetheart! I'm on my way back to the precinct now. Yes… Yes… I'm sorry you were worried, but I'm fine. I'll see you at home in a few hours."
"She was worried but very brave," Rita called out when he hung up. Once they got back, she'd remind the Captain to freshen up before Fran got a look at him.
"That's my Frannie. A true cop's wife. One of the unsung heroes in our lives. Did you hear that Officer Carson?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Don't forget it. Marrying the right woman is essential. Not everyone understands the job. Lance and Lorenzo cheated."
Rita smiled in response as she guided the Jeep back onto the paved highway that would take them to Palm Beach. Harry closed his eyes after a few minutes and looked ready to fall asleep now that the ride was smooth and rhythmic. She was anxious to learn the details of the drop from Chris and Donovan – the ADA had played an important role in getting the Captain back safe and sound, as had Jim Carson. The young officer hadn't had much to say since jumping into the back seat.
A glance in the rear-view mirror assured her that Jim was doing just fine. His eyes were bright; his cheeks flushed with excitement. Nothing like a little fieldwork to get the adrenaline going.
A quick mirror check of her own appearance made her laugh. The three of them were quite the sight.
…
The Homicide Department was buzzing with talk of the recovery mission that had just taken place. George Donovan was describing his abduction to an enthralled group of detectives and uniformed officers. Once all parties were safe, the Chief had allowed the situation to be shared so all divisions could be utilized.
Chris placed the envelope with the security tape on his desk and took a seat as he waited for Rita and the Captain to return. A scuffle in the hallway, followed by a few shouts, got his attention. He was back on his feet and headed to the doors just as Fran Lipschitz walked in with an angelic expression on her face.
"You heard from him?" he asked, the noises already forgotten. Fran was beaming.
"Yes! Harry said he'd be home in a few hours, but I couldn't wait. I need to see for myself that he's okay."
"I understand completely."
"I know you do!"
"They should be here soon. Was something going on in the hallway just now?"
"I have no idea. Is it okay if I wait in Harry's office?"
"Sure." Chris followed Fran into the office and closed the door behind them before taking a seat. He wanted the first details she heard about the hostage situation to come from the Captain, himself. Fran seemed to understand and didn't press for details. Fifteen minutes later, a cheer went up in the bullpen. They were only a few steps out of the office when she stopped short and he almost knocked her over. "Fran, what's the…."
"Oh my…."
Chris heard the shocked exclamation and glanced down. Fran's jaw had dropped; her eyes had widened in shock. Glancing back up, he looked to the division doors where Harry stood at the center of an excited group. Everyone who had been anxiously loitering in Homicide to welcome him back, including George, had moved forward to greet him. He was hit with questions from all sides
"Captain!" Chris had to shout to be heard above the noise. As soon as Harry looked his way, Chris smiled and pointed down at the woman in front of him who barely reached his shoulders.
"Frannie?" Harry Lipschitz broke away from the welcome committee and rushed to his wife. "What are you doing here?"
"What happened, Hesch?" Fran didn't wait for an answer, but hugged him tight, then pushed him away to get a better look. She grabbed his face in her hands and brought him down to her level, kissing him hard, ignoring the fact that his arms were flailing. When she finally did let him up for air, it was to start a full body assessment of the damage, gasping and muttering in anger over each scrap or cut. "What did they do to you? Where have you been?"
Chris heard the Captain groan, he was clearly in pain, stiff at the very least, but he let his wife tend to him without complaining.
Chris left them to it and walked over to the gathering by the door, prepared to swat away any hangers-on in order to check on his fiancée.
"You okay?" he was finally able to ask.
The love of his life smiled in return. "Absolutely. You were right, you know."
"I love sentences that start off that way. What was I right about?"
"You were right about Jim. He was a big help. The property he led me to wasn't one that we had highlighted on the map."
"And he survived working with the infamous Sergeant Lance. He's looking pretty proud of himself."
Carson was the center of his own minor commotion as fellow uniformed officers congratulated him and peppered him with questions. Several detectives went over to offer words of encouragement also.
Jim glanced up at one point and Chris shot him an enthusiastic thumbs up and a satisfied nod, which had him beaming even brighter.
"Carson!"
All heads swiveled toward Chris.
"Yes, Sir?"
"Briefing room in ten minutes!"
"I'll be there!"
"Good man."
He felt Rita's arm slide around his waist.
"If his shirt had any buttons, they'd be popping."
She was right. Jim Carson was justifiably enjoying his turn in the spotlight. Chris chuckled and turned his attention back to where it belonged. He was rewarded with a warm smile.
"Can you believe our shift isn't even over yet?" Rita wondered aloud.
"It's been a long day," he agreed. "We should be able to leave after the debrief. By the way…."
"Yes?"
Chris dropped his voice, "You look stunning."
"What?"
"Like a supermodel. I'm loving the windblown, unbuttoned look." The comment earned him an eye roll, as he knew it would. It was true nonetheless…
"Grab the tape, Lorenzo!"
"On it!" he yelled back but kept his eyes on Rita. "Looks like the Captain is back in charge."
"Happy to see it. Let's find out what's on that film and then go home."
"I like the way you think." Chris looked across the room. "Carson!"
"Yes, Sir."
"You're with us."
The small group was joined by ADA Donovan, Captain Madison from Robbery, and the Chief of Police in an otherwise empty briefing room to view the videotape from the St. James residence on the night of the robbery. They stood in a semi-circle in front of the monitor.
The surveillance footage consisted of split-screen coverage from four different camera locations. Chris handled the remote, fast-forwarding until the first sighting of an individual. The person exiting the rear door of the large house was identified as Mr. St. James by Captain Madison. The homeowner was dressed for a swim despite the late hour. Fast-forwarding further, St. James went back inside an hour later with his arms around a woman of similar height, wearing a two-piece swimsuit. The woman was seen one additional time, exiting the same door with only a bath-sized towel wrapped around her. She re-entered a few minutes later carrying two wine glasses. The other three screens were clear for the entire night.
"I don't get it," Harry commented to the room. "This must have been an inside job. Whoever pulled off the robbery has incorrectly assumed they were caught by the cameras. Have the two stooges been interviewed yet?"
"Not yet," the Chief confirmed. "But we'll take care of that. You go home and rest, Harry. It's been a hell of a day."
Harry Lipschitz didn't look ready to let the mystery go. He scratched his head, then caught himself, and looked at the dirt under his fingernails in disgust. Cap didn't do nature well. "Maybe it is time to head home. We can continue this first thing in the morning."
"Captain?" a voice piped in from behind the group.
"Who's that?"
"Officer Carson, Sir."
"Step forward, Carson! Do you have something to add?"
"That isn't Mrs. St. James."
Heads turned.
Chris had forgotten his presence. He moved aside to let the young rookie join the front row.
"I was…uh…relieving Jackson at the front desk so he could go to lunch the day Mrs. St. James came in to drop off the list of stolen property. She has short blonde hair. That isn't her."
Chris rewound the tape to capture a still image. Everyone in the room leaned closer to the monitor. The tape was a bit grainy, but the half-naked woman clearly had long dark hair. "I think we have a detective in the making, here, Cap."
Harry Lipschitz frowned. "Are you positive about this, Carson? Take a closer look at the screen."
"Mrs. St. James is a small woman, Captain. She's short, about your wife's height, very blonde, and a little on the uh…a little bit heavier set than the woman on the tape."
The Chief addressed the group. "Harry… George… Captain Madison and I will take it from here tonight. Lance and Lorenzo can talk to St. James tomorrow and set up a time to interview him. I'm sure he'll insist on having his attorney present. Anything Madison's team gets out of your kidnappers tonight will inform that interview. I'll make sure we get jurisdiction for the West Palm crime scene."
Harry nodded in agreement. "I appreciate all the good work done here today. Chief – I owe you a bottle of Scotch. Donovan – no words. I'm impressed."
"Lance, Lorenzo, Carson – you're free to head home early."
Jim Carson was confused. "I was off an hour ago."
His words weren't loud enough to be heard by anyone but the detective standing right next to him.
"Sergeant Lance and I are off in five minutes," Chris whispered. "This is Cap's way of saying thank you."
Comprehension was followed by renewed enthusiasm. Jim turned to the tired, dusty, Homicide Captain. "You're welcome, Sir!"
…
"You almost done up there, Sam?"
Rita ran her fingers through her hair to shake loose the damp curls. A long hot shower was the perfect restorative after a challenging day. She tightened the sash of her robe and headed downstairs to see what Chris had put together for dinner. He had promised to get creative with whatever leftovers were available.
The dining table was clear. Not an encouraging sign.
Chris came through the kitchen door at that moment carrying drinks. Hands full, he still managed to wrap an arm around her and pull her against his chest. The appreciative murmuring and nuzzling made her smile. The kiss that followed made her weak in the knees.
"Hungry?" he asked, releasing her with a rakish wink. He raised one of the wine glasses to his lips.
Mutual desire simmered between them twenty-four seven.
"Yes," she teased, stoking the flames only to dash them a second later. "What did you find in the fridge?"
Blue eyes narrowed, assuring her he was wise to her tricks.
"There was so much to choose from…"
That sounded sarcastic, but she continued to hope. "What did you decide on?"
"I decided we should have stopped to pick up something on the way home."
"Oh, come on, there had to be something edible in there."
"If you consider mold a food group."
"The pasta?"
"Fuzzy."
"The leftovers from Shanghai Palace?"
"Liquid."
"You're right – we should have stopped to pick up dinner."
"Don't worry, I managed to put together a balanced meal."
Rita followed Chris into the living room and spotted a tray on the coffee table. "Balanced might be a stretch."
"Hear me out. We had pickles and a block of cheese in the fridge, I opened a can of olives, and there were a few crackers left in the cabinet."
"The apples would be dessert?"
"Exactly!"
Rita shook her head as realization hit. "We forgot to go shopping over the weekend."
"We did."
"It was an awfully good weekend though." And she didn't regret a second of it. The run on the beach, the drive down to Lauderdale, dinner with David and Diana. Late night and early morning hours spent in each other's arms.
"No complaints." The heated look in his eyes assured her he was on the same page.
Rita settled on the couch and placed her selections from the tray on a napkin. Tucking her bare feet up under her, she looked to Chris who seemed content with dinner, such as it was. This was a treasured time of day.
"I hope the Captain gets some rest," she said while examining all sides of a cheese cube before taking a bite. "I'm sure Fran will be hovering over him all night."
Chris was smiling but looked thoughtful. "Can you picture us after thirty years of marriage? Do you think we'll be like them?"
"I don't think there will ever be another Harry and Fran Lipschitz, they are thoroughly unique, but I think we'll be just as much in love as they are, even after all that time."
Chris' smile deepened and his eyes narrowed as he wordlessly concurred. "I wish I had been there when Fran confronted Hal and Boyd in the hallway."
"She's tiny but fierce. Do not mess with Fran Lipschitz when her man is in danger."
"Waters in Booking said Fran overheard the arresting officers bragging about bringing in the men who kidnapped Cap and she zeroed in on the big guy in cuffs. Next thing you know, she had him by the ear and was yanking him down to her level. Whatever she whispered in his ear made him go white as a sheet. The guy kept apologizing until she finally let go." Chris laughed, but there was awe in his voice. "Remind to never tangle with her."
"We'll have to have them over for dinner soon. I need details."
"Speaking of apartments…"
"Were we?"
"No, but I think we're both ready for a compromise," Chris stated firmly.
"I admit, I've been thinking a lot about our choices."
"You're right about us needing a bigger place, so living here is the better option for now."
"But…" Rita added, "we'll look for another place to move into before the wedding."
"My thoughts exactly."
They were on the same page again. Felt good. "In the meantime, we can have the downstairs of this place repainted so it's a little less colorful."
"Not necessary if we're going to move anyway. I actually like it the way it is. It's invigorating."
"Not the word I expected." Rita smiled again and leaned forward for a kiss. She was so lucky to have this man in her life. "We should look for a new place with two bedrooms."
"By the beach. With an ocean view if we can find something reasonable." Chris offered her the last of the cheese and wolfed it down when she refused. "Two bedrooms would be nice. I could set up my weights in the extra space."
"We could put a spare bed and a desk in there also. Maybe a small chest of drawers."
Chris looked at her with surprise. "What do we need an extra bed for?"
"Just a small one. What if someone wants to spend the night? Like Diana… Or your mother?"
"Ha! That's what couches are for. Prevents guests from staying too long." It took him a minute to realize who Rita had mentioned in an addition to Diana. "My mother? That's never going to happen."
"You never know."
"If there is one thing I can guarantee you, it's that my mother would never willingly stay overnight at our place."
Rita smiled. "I'm sure you're right."
"She hasn't called you, has she?"
"Not lately," she admitted with a smile. "You're safe."
"Good."
Rita hadn't brought his mother's name into the conversation to tease him. Any mention of either parent could result in a negative reaction – both Anna and Benny had challenging personalities – but it was a long-term goal of hers to improve relations between the three of them for Chris' sake. She wasn't trying to fix an unfixable situation, but referring to them in conversation more often made it easier to leave the past in the past and concentrate on the future.
"Let's forget about apartment hunting for now," Chris suggested. "It's been a long day."
"No argument from me. As long as we find a new place before the wedding, I'll be happy."
"Same." Chris glanced around the colorful room. "Well…I'm full. In the continuing spirit of compromise, why don't we take our wine glasses upstairs?"
"You head up, I'll put the tray away."
"Leave it for later."
"No, we're getting too lazy about stuff like this. Later always turns into tomorrow morning."
"I'll help then."
They made their way into the kitchen. "Did I hear you say something to Jim Carson about a basketball game next Saturday?"
"Yes." Chris leaned past her to put a dish in the sink, placing a hand on the small of her back. "He's bringing a few of the rookies to the court down the street. He wanted a few pointers. Maybe I'll let them test their skills with a game against the regular crew."
"You're really taking him under your wing."
"It's just a few hours on the court."
Rita finished up at the sink, and turned into his arms, resting an open palm on his chest. "You're mentoring him on the job and off. I think it's a great idea."
"Me? A mentor? Not sure about that, but he's a smart guy. He has potential."
"I agree. That's why I offered to meet him at the firing range Wednesday at shift's end. I'm curious to see just how good he is."
"And he was willing? Poor guy will be speechless the entire time and unable to shoot straight."
"I don't think so. I think whatever crush he had on me has disappeared under the spotlight of real police work. Every time I challenged him in the field, he pushed past his doubts and stepped up. It was impressive."
Chris brought her hand to his lips and kissed the soft palm, never breaking eye contact. His mouth was warm and inviting but gone too soon. She was released so he could retrieve the wine glasses from the counter.
He followed her to the staircase but paused at the bottom as she continued up the steps. "We're not adopting him, right?"
"No," she responded with a laugh. "I think marriage and a new apartment are big enough steps for now."
"Thank goodness. You mentioned an extra bed…"
"Stop thinking about the extra bed!"
"I'll try, but you did bring it up…" Whatever point he was about to make was forgotten as a familiar silk robe floated into view. It had been tossed over the railing into the open stairway, its previous occupant no longer in sight as it slid into a silken heap at his feet.
He contemplated the sight for a moment, his smile widening as the seconds ticked by.
"Is this a subtle hint that the bed joke has run its course?"
"Subtle?" Rita called out from the depths of the bedroom. "No. A hint? Maybe. You could also consider it an invitation."
"Invitation, huh?" he murmured happily to himself. "I like that even better."
"It's lonely up here..."
After a quick rearrangement, so both wine glasses could be carried in one hand, he reached for the shimmery swath of material and tossed it over his shoulder. It was a silky soft, floral-scented calling card from the beautiful woman waiting for him a few short steps away. He took those steps two at a time.
Mondays weren't so bad after all.
The End
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Afterthoughts:
Rookie Officer Jim Carson is a character I created back in the day. He has already appeared in two Classic Moments stories - Resolutions of the Heart and Premonitions. Having spent so much time behind a desk, he deserved a little adventure in this one. Despite Rita's assumption, I don't think he'll ever get over his crush on her.
Many thanks, as always, to D of the DA's Office for the wonderful jam sessions and continued encouragement.