NOTE: I'm sorry for the delay, this chapter just wouldn't cooperate with me at first (I was planning on having more Olivia in this one, but the other detectives demanded my attention which threw me through a loop). As for this chapter: any geography stuff is very loosely based on reality or made up (I don't know New York) and TW: some groping and evil threats. Thank you for all the lovely reviews on that last chapter, I hope this one satisfies! Constructive criticism is welcome, and don't worry, a Barba/Benson reunion is coming soon. I pinky promise ;)
"Because I promise you, you'll never see him again."
His hot breath hit her neck as Jones whispered in her ear, the feeling as sinister as his deadly promise. Maybe it was this, or perhaps the threat itself, but any escape to better times became impossible as goosebumps ran along Olivia's crawling skin.
"Don't give me that look," Jones frowned, cocking his head to the side in an attempt to catch her eyes, "It's your own fault, detective. I'd let you live if you weren't a cop."
Her body jolted as his fingers brushed some hair from her neck. He laughed a little as she squeezed her eyes shut, swiftly moving behind the chair and out of view.
"It's a shame, really... You are lovely to look at. Oh well. What to do to you first..."
Olivia could feel the heat of his body pressed against the back of the chair. The sensation only intensified her fear as she braced herself for more chilling details of what was to come. No words came.
As silence fell, she became acutely aware of her harsh breathing, just noticeable over the ringing in her ears. Her breathing and his. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. He was just…breathing. The suspense, the ringing silence: it was almost worse than his words. What was he doing?
Warm hands slid under her shirt.
Olivia's eyes shot open, instinctually flinching away from his unexpected touch to no avail with a small yelp of surprise.
He let out a low chuckle, pressing his lips to her neck softly while his hands roamed. Another whine escaped her throat as his movements became more aggressive. "Oh yeah, do that again." He was grabbing at her roughly, enjoying the way she pulled on the tape attempting to buck away from him. He wouldn't stop talking. "You have an amazing body, Olivia, I can't wait to see it—" she gasped sharply as he pinched her nipple, "—oh no, don't pull away, we're just getting started baby, look at me now. Look at me!"
Goosebumps broke out on her arms at the chill air on her stomach as he pulled his hand out from under her shirt and brought it up to grip her face, twisting it backward as she desperately shook her head until she slipped from his grip and—
"Agh! You bitch!"
Olivia spat on the floor with a fierce glare as he yanked his hands away from her. He emerged from behind the chair, shaking his stinging hand with a furious yet oddly triumphant smirk. Her stomach dropped.
"I can't believe you actually bit me! Not a smart move detective." Shaking his head, Albert walked over to the table and picked up the gun. She instinctively flinched away from him as he dropped to a crouch in front of her; that gleam in his eyes promised pain.
"You'll pay for that."
Olivia swallowed heavily, frozen. Her eyes nervously flicked between his face and the gun.
"Unless…" His voice trailed off and her eyebrows involuntarily crinkled with confusion. He smirked.
Her voice was a rough whisper, "Unless what?"
"Unless you give me a reason not to hurt you, Olivia. Well, a reason not to hurt you much."
Oh god. She did not like the sound of that.
"No? Nothing?" He shook his head with exaggerated disappointment. "Fine. How's this? You can either make this up to me and be a good girl or I can shoot you." He gave a wicked grin as he shrugged, "Your choice."
"You won't shoot me." She sounded more confident than she was.
Albert rolled his eyes with amusement, "Maybe not to kill, yeah. But legs, arms, feet… Those are free game," He shoved the gun between her legs watching her face as her body jolted once more, "Choose, Olivia. I'll rape you either way."
When she gave no response, his face darkened and he reached into his pocket pulling out Rafael's cufflinks for the second time. She kept her eyes trained resolutely over his shoulder ignoring the ache in her chest. "Fine. You make this up to me and I won't leave these in your mouth as a little gift for your boyfriend to find. You thought the others looked bad? They'll be nothing compared to how I leave you."
To her horror, Olivia's voice shook, "N-No. You wouldn't."
"Oh, but I would. So what will it be, Detective? The easy way or the hard way?"
She balked at his words, panic squeezing the air from her lungs. She couldn't deny it anymore: she was trapped. Utterly trapped. Oh god... Am I going to die here?
No.
The answer came unbidden, an angry, stubborn, resounding no. An odd mix of grim determination and clarity washed over her as it hit her: Jones is just another perp. She'd been thinking like a victim when she needed to be thinking like a detective. A detective who's dealt with hundreds of creeps similar to him in her many years on the job. She could handle this. She just needed to breathe, to find what made Jones tick.
She sucked in a shaky breath.
His face was inches from hers now, the gun against her chest.
"Choose Olivia. The easy way. Or the hard way."
She needed time.
"The easy way."
Rafael compulsively ran his tongue along the ragged skin of his inner cheek as he leaned against the table, his eyebrows furrowed. While the bite had long stopped bleeding, the sting was still painfully acute. Rafael didn't wince. The pain was a reminder of what was at stake here. He—no, Olivia—couldn't afford for him to break again and he was worryingly close. The drive over had given him the time he needed to pull himself together but the tightness still hadn't left his chest; the fear loomed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him at any second.
"Barba."
He startled, vaguely recognizing concerned expressions on Munch and Rollin's faces before turning his head to meet Amaro's sharp glare. Rafael's eyes narrowed. Amaro. Where the hell had he been? He was supposed to have her back, to protect her. As Rafael glared back at the man, Amaro bristled, unable to miss the accusatory heat behind the lawyer's angry glower.
Before either man could speak, Munch quickly intervened, sensing the palpable tension between the two. "Barba, Rollins has something to show you." He didn't miss the sharp look Munch set Amaro as he diverted his attention to Rollins.
Rafael shook his anger off, clearing his throat before speaking, "Go ahead."
"Okay, we'll, we got the license plate from the street cams near her apartment pretty quickly," Amanda explained, her voice unnaturally strained, "But we haven't had any luck yet figuring out where he's taking her."
Munch turned to Barba as he spoke, having caught the flicker of panic that had crossed his face at Rollins's words, "That said, Barba, we do have an alarm out on the car and a photo of Liv out to every tool booth in the city. We may not know where he's taking her yet, but we've been tracking them on the street cams out of the city. Hell, Fin's still tracking them as we speak."
"Exactly," Rollins added while Amaro tapped his pencil anxiously against his leg, "As of now, we're fairly certain he's heading towards one of these regions which should help us narrow things down a bit." She pointed over towards the cork board which still had the map from earlier, regions marked based on Melinda's findings from the pollen and dirt samples they'd found on Susie Cutler. "If we could just get a warrant..."
Barba's eyebrows shot up at her vague request, "A warrant, Rollins? For what? For who?" he retorted, crossing his arms as he shot her an irritated look, "I thought Amaro said you knew who did this." The detective let out an indignant "Hey!" from behind him as Barba pressed on, "Do we know anything about the man who took her?" he exclaimed. He turned to Munch, his voice growing higher as the tightness in chest grew. "Tell me you were at least able to identify the bastard!" It was taking everything in him not to scream, demanding to know how the hell they could've let this happen.
"Calm down, Barba, we were just getting to that," Rollins snapped, walking across the bullpen towards the screen. "The perp kept the ski mask on for several blocks but I just got video of him without it. I didn't recognize him but if his hunch is right, I'm pretty sure Amaro will."
She pulled up the still from the grainy street cam video onto the screen, looking at Nick expectantly as she zoomed in on the driver. Barba's frown deepened as he stared at the unfamiliar man on the screen, rage bubbling in his stomach. Unsurprisingly, he wasn't the only one who was furious; he felt the wave of anger rolling off of Nick just seconds before he heard the sharp snap of a pencil.
"That fucking bastard!"
Several heads turned towards him as Nick stalked up to the screen, carelessly tossing the broken remains of the pencil on the floor.
Rollins ignored his anger, looking to him with cautious hope, "You recognize him then? Is that—?"
He cut her off, whirling around to face the others as he pointed at the man, "We were RIGHT THERE! We HAD HIM! No. No...You gotta be fucking kidding me," Nick brought his hand up to his forehead as a bitter laugh burst unwillingly from his lips. "That BASTARD! We actually gave him his own fucking police sketch! HIS OWN FUCKING—!"
"NICK!" Barba had had enough. The detective's mouth dropped open; the shock of Barba using his first name had struck Amaro dumb, "Shut up and tell us. Who. Is it?"
Amaro's gaping mouth settled into an irate scowl that only deepened as he let out a breath through the nose, attempting to calm himself. "That scum. Is Albert Jones."
Barba and Munch's voices overlapped, "Who—?" "You were right!"
Rafael swallowed his questions as the sergeant turned to Rollins and Amaro with a newfound purpose. "Rollins, go get your partner and get him up to date—" she nodded and turned immediately, "—and Amaro. Can I trust you to keep your cool? For Olivia?"
Amaro's face was somber as he nodded, his jaw clenched stubbornly.
Munch looked satisfied. "Good. You and Fin will search his apartment then while Rollins and I will get everything we can on the guy; financials, his rental car records, everything. I'll call the captain to update him and send him a photo, he's with 1PP and state police now," he pointed at their still-reeling ADA, "We'll need warrants for that. What do you need Barba?"
The most desperate part of him was still screaming for answers but Rafael pushed his questions down, recognizing that now was not the time. For Olivia. He pointed at Nick, "We're thinking he's our Pinky Pervert then?" Both men nodded, "Okay. Get me any records you can on the guy, anything connecting him to the other victims if you can, and a screenshot of that," he pointed at the screen, "and you'll have a warrant by the time you get on the scene, guaranteed."
"Good, now go," Munch said to Amaro who nodded stiffly and stalked off leaving Barba and Munch alone.
A brief but heavy silence fell before the sergeant caught Rafael's eyes. "Barba?"
He eyed him warily. "Yes?"
"I promise I'll fill you in as soon as possible," he said, a knowing look in his eyes. Rafael simply stared back before he gave him a curt nod. The one look confirmed what Olivia had suspected. Munch knew about them.
"Thank you."
Munch waved his thank you away, "Don't. We'll get her back, Barba." He paused. "We have to."
The hallway was quiet for early evening as Amaro and Fin approached Albert Jones's apartment. Before Fin could knock, Nick put his arm out to stop him, pressing his ear to the door. He pulled away, shaking his head with a frown, "Nothing. There's no way they're here."
Fin shot him a dark look, "I know. Still." He banged his fist on the door. "Albert Jones, NYPD! Open up!"
There was no answer. Fin eyed Nick who nodded, taking his gun from his holster.
Fin banged on the door again. "NYPD! We have a warrant!" Nothing. "Okay. Let's go."
The door flew open with a slam as Nick's shoulder rammed into it, breaking the peaceful quiet of the unassuming living area. As Fin checked the closet, Amaro entered with his back to the wall, scanning the room with his gun drawn. He jerked his head at Fin to follow him before ducking his head around to catch a glimpse of the small kitchen area. As he swept past it into the small hallway, they split up, Fin ducking into one room while Nick checked the other.
"Clear!"
"Clear here too," Amaro said as he joined Fin in the living room, swallowing an unexpected wave of crushing disappointment. Fuck. They knew she wasn't going to be here and yet… it hurt. A small, naïve part of him had really hoped this was it. That their search might be over.
Amaro waspishly kicked at the couch as his eyes swept over the apartment, searching for a distraction. At first glance, it was obvious that Albert Jones's apartment was meticulously organized. Besides the shoes lined neatly by the door, the floor was bare. The kitchen counters gleamed and the walls were devoid of anything but decorative and expensive-looking art. Nick wandered into the kitchen where Fin was flipping through a stack of papers.
"Anything?" Amaro asked over his shoulder as he pulled open one of the cupboards.
"Just regular bills and junk mail."
"Damn." Amaro's eyebrows shot up as he turned back to find a highly organized spice cabinet. "Hey look. They're alphabetical," he commented as he opened the neighboring cupboard, "He's even labeled where his dishes go," he added.
"Neat freak. Figures," Fin rolled his eyes as he abandoned the kitchen for the room he'd cleared. Nick took the opportunity to examine the living area.
Unsurprisingly, it was as oddly perfect as the rest of the apartment. The pillows matched the rug, the wooden frame on the couch matched the bookshelves. The only thing missing was photographs. If he hadn't known otherwise, Nick would've thought the apartment was prepped for an apartment showing: it was so... impersonal. As he looked closer he realized that even the books on the shelves were organized by size. He walked over to examine the books, frowning deeply as he read some of the titles.
"The Casebook of Forensic Detection"
"Introduction to Forensic Crime Scene Investigation"
"The Organic Chemistry of Anesthesia"
"Forensic—"
"Amaro, you gotta see this."
The tone of Fin's voice only exacerbated Amaro's growing sense of dread as he pulled away from the telling bookshelf.
"What is it?" he asked as he entered the study. Fin was standing near the desk, his face grim, his hands gloved.
"Look."
Fin had opened one of the thick folders laid out on the desk.
"Damn."
Amaro immediately recognized the photocopied driver's license on top of the pile, the page marked with a sticky note that read "Olivia Margaret Benson" in even block letters. His partner stared up at him in black and white, her address carefully highlighted above carefully organized notes. A quick scan confirmed it. Her schedule was lined out in detail; Jones had been stalking her for over a week. Nick's eyes blurred as he pulled gloves from his pocket, slipping them on before he flipped to the next page marked with another sticky note that read "Heather Jane Cline". And the next, "Susan Claire Cutler". He kept flipping. "Sophia Lee Waterhouse", "Emily Renee Hardwick", "Katherine Ann Moss". They were all there.
His chest tightened, suddenly hyper-aware of Fin's eyes on his face. "Well don't just stand here," he snapped, "Check the bathroom for ketamine or chloroform or something."
Fin's lips tightened. "Fine."
Amaro watched him leave before he sucked in a shaky breath as he turned back to the file on the desk.
This... was terrifying. How had they missed this? How had HE missed this? Guilt and dread swirled in his stomach. God if anything happens... Amaro set the file down carefully before pulling out his cell. They'd need to bag everything.
Rollins stepped back from the corkboard to survey her work with a frown of concentration. She had spent the last hour painstakingly plotting Albert Jones's route out of the city and while she was sure this newest map would be key to locating Olivia, she also knew there were still too many missing variables at play.
The sound of Amanda's heavy sigh caught Munch's attention and consequently so did this newest addition to the board.
"What have you got there Rollins?" Munch asked, standing up to look at the map with a critical eye.
She sighed, "A start. Between Fin and I, we managed to track Jones and Liv through the city before we lost them in the upper Bronx area. Now before you say anything, I think we have enough to narrow down where he's headed."
Munch looked intrigued, "Okay, I'm listening."
"All of the areas that had both the pollen and dirt found on our 4th vic are found more than two to three hours from the city which leaves us with only a couple options of what major roads he could've taken if he wanted to get there in any reasonable amount of time. If you look here," Amanda pointed along a road on the map that split off into four others, one of which was blue, "he only had four options that make sense."
"What do you mean?" he asked, his finger following the route out of Manhattan into the Bronx. "This doesn't narrow anything down, Rollins. There's still too much area to cover."
"Ah, but remember," Rollins countered, "we've got his photo and hers out to every tollbooth in the state. So yes, I've marked all the major roads they could've taken that lead to these areas, but more importantly, I've marked the one road without a single tollbooth. And before you say anything, I've already talked to the highway patrol and they haven't seen any sign of either of them along the other roads. Odds are, he took this one," she pointed at the road in blue, "which gets us down to this one area."
Munch, who had started nodding along to her explanation, looked inspired. "You might be onto something here. And where is this?"
"Forest area up near Utica."
"Wait," Munch looked as if he'd been struck in the face. "Did you say Utica?"
"Yeah, why?" Amanda asked with growing hope as Munch started searching frantically through the many papers spread out on the table.
"I've been looking through his finances and he had something… oh, where is it? I didn't—Ah! Here!" He pulled out a file full of receipts and handed them to Rollins who started flipping through with interest. "I've been tracking his spending and, more specifically, where he was spending." He peered over her shoulder as she flipped through, "If I remember correctly, I think it was over a month ago—Yes! Those ones!"
Amanda's eyes were narrowed as she studied the receipts. "It looks like he stayed at a hotel for about a week. But look. If he's staying at a hotel, why the hell is he buying nails and hand tools? And plywood?"
Munch was already pulling his phone out to call Fin and Amaro, "He had to have been fixing up wherever he takes his victims."
"Don't call her that."
Their heads whipped around to find Barba standing there briefcase in hand, his eyes flashing. Guilt squirmed in Munch's stomach as he took in the thinly-veiled pain in the lawyer's eyes; he hadn't expected him back so soon. Rafael had ducked out for a while to update his bosses, but apparently, it hadn't taken long.
"Barba, I wasn't saying—"
Rafael cut him off, his jaw still clenched, "Don't. Forget it. Make your call."
Munch gave him a searching look before he complied, dialing Amaro as he walked towards someplace quieter.
Amanda's voice was annoying placating as she reasoned with him, "We've narrowed down a possible location to about 20-30 square miles, Barba. We'll find her." His expression remained unchanged as she faltered under his scowl. "We're going to keep combing through his life, through everything. We'll find her," she repeated. Even she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
Their awkward silence was broken as Munch came back, a grin on his face. "We've got him now!"
Anxious hope stole Rafael's breath as Amanda spoke, "What is it?"
"Amaro and Fin... They found maps. And one of them matches yours."