Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.
I do not own Glee or the characters, neither do I own it Had To Be You.
Artie showed up that afternoon, in a suit that emphasized his skinny body, a messenger bag strapped across his chest, and thick black-rimmed glasses on his nose.
His dark hair was in spikes. And his eyebrow piercing glittered as he scooped Mercedes in for a big hug.
But his familiar ease faded, when she introduced him to Sam. His warm eyes were still friendly enough, but reserved, as the two men sized each other up.
Sam was his usual steely intense self as they shook hands, and Artie reverted to geeky awkwardness, though he maintained eye contact.
And secretly, Mercedes gave him credit for not peeing his pants.
"So, you're licensed in the state of Washington?" Sam asked Artie.
Mercedes gave him a long look.
"Sam..." she started, a slight warning in her tone.
"Yes," Artie said, and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "I'm licensed in Washington."
"How many trial cases do you have under your belt?"
Mercedes grimaced.
"Sam..." she repeated, but he remained focused on his task...which was to grill Artie...like the tough cop he was.
"If Mercedes gets arrested, and if the case goes to trial..." Artie said, "...this would be my first solo. But we both know, even if it gets that far, as a first-time offender, she might end up with restitution over time served. The record would be the worst part."
"Might isn't good enough," Sam said. "And how about the fact that she's innocent?"
"Of course she's innocent," Artie said simply. "It's Mercedes."
Mercedes smiled at him, sent Sam a hard look, and brought Artie to the kitchen table, where they discussed the case at length.
Artie asked Mercedes questions that might have had her head spinning, except, he did it in a sweet, calm way.
And it allowed her to concentrate on the task at hand...telling him all they'd learned about the comings and goings the night of the auction.
Artie looked over his notes.
"So, you took your pencil pot back without looking inside it," he asked.
"Yes, except it wasn't exactly mine. It was his...a little bit."
"How little?"
"One hundred percent," Mercedes replied.
Artie looked up from the iPad, his expression wry.
"You mean you stole it."
"Well, if you want to get technical, yeah. I stole it. I guess, I shouldn't admit that to my attorney, right?"
Artie smiled gently at her.
"You can tell me anything, Merce. I'm not a cop." He slid a silent Sam a long look. "And the only cop in the room is off duty."
'Hmm,' Mercedes thought, realizing Artie had done his own background search.
But whatever Sam thought about being baited by Artie, he kept it to himself. He was good at that.
It was a lesson Mercedes would be well served to learn herself, she thought, wistfully.
The next morning, Sam was awaken just before dawn, by a text from his commander.
Need you back for internal review on Diaz case. There's prep work the size of the California debt. Stop with the small town PI shit and get your ass back here.
Sam thumbed his way to the browser and searched for the latest reports.
It wasn't pretty.
The first article he pulled up, called the SFPD a complete failure.
With his jaw clenched, Sam tossed the phone aside and tried to tell himself he didn't give a damn. But he did.
Only a week ago, his job had been everything to him, his entire being wrapped up in the reputation and ego of it.
That had been who he was.
Now, far from San Francisco, he didn't feel like that same guy.
He'd lived the fast-paced, adrenaline-rushed job for years, and he'd thrived on it. But he wasn't thriving anymore.
It wasn't the danger he faced on the force, or the darkness of the things he saw, or the slogging knee-deep through shit on a daily basis.
He missed life here.
He'd left this town, exiled himself really, and not looked back. And in doing so, he'd cut himself off from the happiest times of his life.
In coming back, he underestimated the pull that the wild, hauntingly beautiful, resilient Pacific Northwest had always had on him.
But now, there was something else pulling at him as well...the equally wild, hauntingly beautiful, resilient Mercedes Jones.
Rolling out of bed, he pulled on swim trunks.
Out back now, he balanced his board on his head and took the steep stairs down to the water.
The harbor was quiet, and by the time he'd set the board in the water, the sky had lightened from black to purple.
The water was icy cold, but he didn't mind, he thought it would clear his head.
'Or kill me.'
He pushed off and began paddling. And then there was nothing, but the sound of his board skimming through the water, the occasional splash of a zealous fish, and the chirping birds that were waking with the dawn.
It was the closest thing to heaven that he could imagine.
He paddled out passed the pier and harbor, and into the open water, pushing himself hard, until his heart pounded and he couldn't catch his breath.
But it felt good.
Here, in the zone, he couldn't think, he couldn't obsess, and he couldn't regret.
An hour later, with his muscles quivering, Sam stopped, panting, as the sun beat down on him.
And, as a way of cooling down, he made his way back paddling slowly, just enjoying the beauty of the early morning.
As he entered the harbor again, he passed the pier and saw a female jogging along the water's edge, coming towards him.
She was built like a Victoria's Secret model, and her long blonde hair flowed behind her.
It was none other than Mandy Martin.
Shading her eyes with her hand, she took him in, a wide smile crossing her lips.
"Well, look who the tide dragged in," she purred, as he slid up on the beach and got off his board. "Heard you were back," she said, "And looking for trouble."
She waggled a brow and gestured to herself.
"Meet trouble with a capital T."
Sam had to laugh.
She was right.
She was indeed trouble with a capital T...but the very best kind of trouble.
"How's the salon going?" he asked.
"I'm running it now," she said proudly. "Come by sometime. I'll give you a buff and shine." She smiled. "On the house, of course."
Sam smiled too, knowing that they both understood he wouldn't.
"I heard you were at the auction the other night," he stated.
"I was. Everyone was." Mandy cocked her head and studied him a moment. "You've got quite a cop face on, Sam. Why don't you just ask me what you want to know?"
"You're sleeping with Brody Wesson."
She laughed.
"Somehow, I don't think that's jealousy I hear. You've been gone a long time. There's a new dog in town and he's a thoroughbred. But a dog is still a dog."
"And by dog you mean..."
"Just what you think. Brody's single and enjoying the life. And maybe our...enjoyment was mutual a few times."
"He had a girlfriend."
"Mercedes Jones? He always said that they were just roommates."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"What, that he's really only exclusive with his own dick?" She smiled again and shrugged. "He's actually pretty careful. He's got political ambitions. He likes it, that everyone likes him. Plus, it's not like I'm looking for a relationship. He's a good guy, not to mention hot. And he always springs for dinner first."
"On the night of the auction, did you see anyone else with him?"
Mandy gave him another smile.
"I don't kiss and tell, Sam. You know that."
He ignored the reference, to the one and only night the two of them had shared, back when they'd been nineteen and drunk as skunks.
"Did you even see the money?" Sam asked.
"Nope. But I saw when he put a big briefcase in a drawer."
"Did he lock it?"
"The police asked the same thing, but the truth is, I don't remember at all," Mandy replied.
"After," Sam said. "What happened after?"
"Andrea came in, and she got all pissed off, asking Brody what he would've have done, had someone had seen us." She rolled her eyes. "Like he's running for president or something."
"Then what happened?"
"We left separately. He insisted on that. He really does like to keep his private life private."
Which was tough shit, because, his life...private or otherwise...was about to be blown wide open.
"Thanks, Mandy."
She smiled.
"Was I helpful?"
"Yes," Sam replied.
She looked him over for a long beat, taking in his wet gear.
"If you need anything else, Sam, you look me up."
He smiled at her, but he wasn't going there. He had a different woman on his mind.
Back at home, Sam got out of the water, carried the paddle-board up the stairs, and leaned it against the deck.
He looked up at the house and sighed.
Today was day two of Mercedes' enforced leave, thanks to Kurt taking off to Vegas, and he had no idea what she might be doing.
Not that it mattered, of course, because it didn't. Not in the slightest.
'Liar!' his thoughts echoed. 'It matters. It matters a whole hell of a lot.'
He grabbed the towel he'd left for himself on the deck and was rubbing it over his wet head, when he realized, he could hear voices coming through the kitchen window.
Glancing in, he saw Mercedes at the island, cooking something that smelled amazing and instantly, his mouth started watering.
On the other side of the island, cozied up on one of the bar-stools, sat Artie.
He wasn't in a suit today. Instead, he wore skinny-cut, black jeans, an equally tight-to-his-scrawny-chest black button down, and a bright pink tie, that matched a few pink streaks in his dark, spiked hair.
But he still looked twelve.
From what Sam could hear, Mercedes was listing off characteristics of Marley Rose, and why Artie should ask her out.
"She's funny," Mercedes said, "And has a great personality..."
Artie groaned.
"Great personality? That's the kiss of death right there, woman."
Mercedes' eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean, Abrams?" she asked, in a tone that would have had Sam changing course, pronto.
But apparently, Artie wasn't versed in the Don't Go There Department.
"You know," he said. "When you say someone has a great personality, it means that...they're not hot."
"Wow!" Mercedes shook her head. "And here I thought, you were better than the rest of your gender." She shrugged. "Your loss, because Marley's totally hot."
"Yeah? How hot?" Artie asked.
"Forget it, you've ruined it."
"Aw, man," Artie said, as he eyed the omelet Mercedes was cooking, licking his lips like he was starving.
She flipped it onto a plate, and pushed it towards him. Then, she turned to the door, as Sam let himself in.
"Hey," she said. "Yours is next."
Artie stuffed a big bite into his mouth as he eyed Sam.
"You don't knock, you just walk in?" Artie asked.
Sam looked at Mercedes, letting her field this one.
She sighed, and she flipped the next omelet.
"Sam is living here too, Artie."
"Your mom didn't mention that. She just said he'd given you a place to stay."
"It's not what you think," Mercedes said.
"No?" Artie asked. "Because, what I think, is that you're too kind for your own good, and someone..." He glanced at Sam, so as to leave no doubt who the 'someone' was. "...could take advantage of you."
"First of all, I'm not all that kind," Mercedes corrected. "And second, Sam is the kind one, letting me stay."
Not feeling particularly kind, Sam strode across the kitchen. He'd intended to shower. Instead, he parked himself on a bar-stool, sprawling his long legs out, completely making himself at home in his own place.
Mercedes gave him a look that he wasn't quite sure how to interpret. It bordered on annoyance and maybe a bit of affection too.
He could match her on both.
But he found himself oddly out-of-sorts at the vibe between her and Artie...which made no fucking sense.
They were obviously very fond of each other. And just as obviously, they were old friends with the same level of comfort, that he, Jake and Mike had.
He didn't read any sexual tension between them...not that it mattered. Because it didn't.
What did matter, was Artie's ability to defend her, if it came to that. And Sam wasn't at all sure the kid...who, granted, seemed sharp and eager to get this right...could handle the case.
Artie was scrolling through the notes he'd made on his iPad the day before.
"So, is there anything else you can think of that I need to know?" he asked Mercedes.
"Yes," she said. "I talked to Mr. Winters this morning. He gets up early, because once a week, he enjoys driving the seniors to the early morning buffet, at a casino in Tacoma."
'More like he enjoyed the early morning Texas hold 'em table,' Sam thought.
"The ground-breaking ceremony for the new rec center is scheduled for next weekend," Mercedes went on. "The mayor himself donated fifty grand to make up for the missing funds."
"Wow!" Artie said, with a low whistle, "I'd like to run the mayor's financials to see where that money came from."
"It came out of his retirement account and is supposedly legit," Mercedes said. "Mr. Winters had some other interesting news too. He said that Mr. Sheldon was also in Brody's office the night of the auction, and he didn't say anything, because he was hiding from Millie and her posse, who were chasing him. Mr. Sheldon says, that it's rough being eighty-two and single, because the women that go to the center, outnumber the men two to one."
Artie snorted orange juice out his nose.
"Dammit!"
"And Mr. Nelson was in the hallway too, using that bathroom," Mercedes added. "Because, the main bathroom...um...smelled like something died in there."
She flipped Sam's omelet.
"And then later, Mrs. Cartwright ended up in the office too. Says she got lost trying to find the coat room. She needs cataract surgery, but hasn't saved up the eight grand yet, which takes her off the suspect list, because, she can't see passed her own nose. Plus, she threw her back out last week, trying to keep up with Millie and can't even carry a purse. So it's unlikely she stole anything, except possibly someone's coat that she mistook for hers."
"None of that came out in the police report," Sam said, finally.
Mercedes shrugged.
"It's highly likely, no one thought to ask your grandpa."
"I spent summers here," Sam said with a shake of his head. "And I'm still blown away, at how he knows everyone else's business."
"Oh, he knows yours too," Mercedes said.
This gave him pause.
"What did he say about me?"
"That I shouldn't trust the man, who once blew up all the Town Hall toilets."
"I was just a kid," Sam said, in his defense, over Artie's choked laugh. "And anyway, that was all Jake and Mike's doing. Mostly Mike's to be honest. He was good at blowing shit up."
Mercedes smiled.
"He said, you'd say that."
Sam shook his head.
"What else?" he asked, as she transferred the omelet from pan to plate and handed it to him.
He dug in, and flavor exploded in his mouth in a harmony of deliciousness. He hadn't realized how starved he was, and he closed his eyes to enjoy it.
When he opened them again, Mercedes was looking at him.
"You know something else?" she asked.
"No."
He stuffed another big bite in his mouth, rather than tell her yes, he knew something else...her ex was a serious dick.
"If you know something that will help," Artie said, "You need to tell us."
Sam set down his fork and gave him a look, that had the lawyer pulling back just a little bit.
After all, he was brave but not stupid.
"The only thing I've got, is what we already know...there are more women in Wesson's life. I think, whoever else was in his office the night of the auction, is the key to this whole thing."
"We'll find her," Artie said, sounding far more sure of himself, than Sam would have thought possible, considering the guy looked like he'd walked off an '80's punk rock poster.
"Mercedes, did you see anything interesting in his office the next day?"
"No. I was only there for a minute both times. The first visit, I just grabbed the pencil pot. The second time, I..."
She broke off and nibbled on her lower lip.
"What?" Artie pressed.
"I guess I was still pissed about what I'd heard the night before and..."
"Tell me again what you heard," Artie said.
She shuddered.
"Brody in the throes..."
Artie grimaced.
"Other than that."
Sam took in Mercedes' expression.
She wasn't sad, she was pissed, and he was glad. Wesson didn't deserve a piece of her heart.
'Neither do you,' a small voice internally said.
"Anyway," Mercedes said. "I set his things on his desk."
"I read the police report, Merce, that's not all you did," Artie said.
She winced.
"So, I left him a sticky note, telling him what he could do with his text breakup, where to stick it, how to stick it...that sort of thing. Big deal."
Sam already knew this, but he felt the pride fill his chest again.
"Nicely done, by the way," he said.
She shifted, looking embarrassed.
"I threatened him. The police frown on that."
"You could plead temporary insanity," Sam said, wanting to lighten the mood.
She rolled her eyes, but looked far less vulnerable, and he nearly smiled, because damn, she didn't need her ceramic lion or the owl, she had guts and brains in spades.
It has been a long time, since he'd ached to be with a woman, for more than what they could give each other in bed.
This was the problem with Mercedes, she made him ache. There was just something about her that drew him in, leaving him defenseless against her.
"How bad is that note?" Mercedes asked Artie. "Bad? Or bad bad?"
"Bad isn't the right word," he said. "Let's go with…a little difficult."
She just looked at him.
"You don't want me to freak out, about writing that I was going to do something to him, and then something happened."
"I don't want you to worry," Artie said, and once again, Sam felt his reluctant respect for the guy increase.
Artie glanced at the time and rose.
"Gotta get to work." He turned to Sam. "If you learn anything else..." He pushed his business card towards him. "I'm all ears."
He gave Mercedes a kiss on the cheek and sent Sam a long, unmistakable look ,that said I'm watching you as he moved to the door. "Stay in touch, Al."
Sam walked him outside.
And at the end of the driveway, Artie faced him, eyes cool, and his smile gone.
"Not that I have to defend myself to you, but I can handle whatever happens here."
"You sure?" Sam asked. "Because, you need to be fucking sure. She trusts you."
"She should trust me. I've known her since grade school. And you've known her for what, five minutes?"
Sam had to give the puppy props. He had sharp teeth.
"Are you sleeping with her?" Artie asked.
"That's none of your business," Sam replied.
"She's my friend and my client. She's very much my business. And she's watching us right now, so try to look like you don't necessarily plan on kicking my ass."
Sam turned and glanced at the window, indeed finding Mercedes watching them.
He lifted a hand in greeting and she narrowed her eyes.
Artie too, smiled and waved at her, then turned his back to the house to slide Sam a measuring look.
"Don't even think about climbing into her bed," he said. "She's way too vulnerable for the likes of you right now."
Having been told almost the same thing by Jake, his grandfather, and his own conscience, Sam felt himself getting pissed off.
"I'll worry about me. You worry about the case."
"Fine. But I'll be watching you," Artie said.
"Yeah? Right back at ya."
Stay safe!
