A/N: Don't forget to read Chapter 18 "An Inconvenient Truth" if you haven't already. It was not uploaded correctly and some of you may have not seen it!
Tim was still trying to figure out whether he was annoyed or impressed by the woman sitting across from him. Despite the lamp, her face was still mostly shadowed, which he assumed was intentional. But what he could see still cut an intimidating figure; her long legs were gracefully crossed in a white pantsuit; bright blue stilettos adorned her feet. He couldn't be totally sure while she was sitting, but he guessed she was nearly six feet tall. It was impossible not to draw the stark contrasts between the woman seated in his bedroom and the short redhead he'd come to know prior.
"This bourbon is terrible," she remarked, as she took a sip from one of his glasses.
Definitely annoyed, he decided.
"Wasn't expecting guests," he said, and he licked his lips because all he wanted was a stiff drink of his own. Hearing about Kathryn's enigmatic boss or mentor or whatever was one thing; having her steal his weapons from literally under his body was another. "If I'd known I'd be entertaining, I would've sprung for something from the Speedway's second shelf."
He thought he saw Delia smile in the shadows, but he couldn't be sure. He shifted on his bed, hoping a new angle might provide a better look at her face while also bringing the sheet up a little higher so it covered his navel. Tim was by no means a prude, but he felt utterly naked without a shirt, a weapon, or a drink, while his uninvited guest enjoyed all three.
"So what can you tell me?" he asked, impatient and a little hopeful that a blunt question would invoke an equal response.
"That's not really how this works, Corporal."
Tim nearly flinched at the use of his Army rank. No one called him that anymore, and it left a sour taste in the back of his throat. "Then why don't you finish your drink and get the fuck out of my apartment." Tim fixed his fiercest glare in the general direction of Delia's face, hoping the effect was at least somewhat intimidating, despite the fact that he couldn't make direct eye contact. "I've got a day job, so if you don't have pertinent information to share, I have zero interest in losing sleep for some girls' night chitchat."
Tim watched as Delia traced the rim of her glass with one delicate—and, he noticed, well-manicured—finger. "You know, when she originally asked me to meet you, I said no."
Tim struggled not to roll his eyes. "What changed your mind?"
"She told me she'd lied to me about the work you did with her."
That certainly piqued Tim's interest for a moment and he watched as Delia's finger stilled against the glass. She leaned forward, carefully uncrossing her legs and resting her forearms against her knees. For the first time, Tim got a good, clear look at her face and while she was older than he'd been picturing, to say she was striking would have been an understatement. Tim wasn't totally sure what he'd been expecting from Kathryn's Naomi Campbell comparison, but Delia was undeniably beautiful; high cheekbones and dark, intelligent eyes he knew had been studying him the entire time. She wore bright pink lipstick, but no other makeup that he could discern. Still, her skin looked like it was lit from within, like when you place your hand over a flashlight and the beam makes your palm glow.
She also looked vaguely familiar, and Tim's brain screamed at him as he tried to figure out why.
"As long as I've known Kat, she has never lied to me," Delia said seriously, and Tim noted the nickname absently, "Not until now. She told me you'd left after your initial assignment, that she'd interrogated Ibsen alone, been in Daniel Boone alone. And then when I said I wouldn't meet you, she told me none of that was true. She lied to me to protect you."
Tim kept his face as neutral as possible, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain eye contact. Delia's gaze was penetrating, and it made him uncomfortable.
"I had to meet the man Kat lied for." She paused, weighing her next words. "Seeing you now, I'm not really surprised. You are exactly her type."
"Dashingly handsome and rugged?"
"Dangerous and broken," she answered evenly. And then she sat back, and her face settled once again in the shadows. Tim felt his shoulders relax a fraction. "And now that I know you were in Daniel Boone, I also know I have plenty of information to make sure you go to prison if anything happens to her."
Tim grinned. "Fair enough," he said.
"Now Corporal, I am about to tell you some things that are classified. I know that's a line Kat likes to use to avoid answering questions, but when I say it, I mean it. Do you understand?"
Tim nodded. "Who do you work for?"
"For a long time, I worked for the CIA as an undercover operative, primarily in Northern Africa, though my duties took me plenty of other places."
Tim sat up a bit straighter.
"The specific work I did for the Agency is not really important, but I think you should know that about me. After more than two decades, I was given the opportunity to retire from field work, and rather than continue with the Agency, I asked for a transfer to the Department of Homeland Security, which I was granted. DHS had recently reaffirmed its commitment to stopping human trafficking in the United States, and that's what I wanted to do."
Delia took a long, slow sip of her drink and Tim licked his lips again like a reflex, trying to taste the liquor himself.
"The one thing that remained constant throughout my time in the CIA—in every conflict, every country, and on every continent—was the exploitation of vulnerable people, particularly children. And I knew I wanted to be part of the solution to modern-day slavery in this country.
"Of course, it wasn't anything like I expected it to be. I'm sure I don't have to tell you the amount of bureaucratic red tape alone was a disgrace. I spent more time locking up victims for prostitution, returning them to the countries they'd been stolen from, or busting low-level offenders than anything else."
Tim wasn't surprised. He'd learned since his last tour ended that bureaucracy and paperwork were the two things federal law enforcement was best at.
"I made a little trouble at DHS because I felt like their whole campaign was just a PR stunt. I knew there was a lot more we could've been doing. All it earned me was a couple of write-ups and a demotion," Tim thought he detected a wry grin in Delia's words.
"The first time I met Kat was in West Virginia. I'd been kicked back to a regional position by then, and we'd finally busted this local group with 25 or 30 girls working for them," she paused, "Fuck, you hear that? Working for them, like that's what happened. It pisses me off how the work perpetuates that type of language."
Tim watched Delia toss back the rest of her drink and he wondered if he could get one of his own if she went for a second.
"This group had 30 girls, all teenagers, they were raping or having raped for money." Tim squirmed uncomfortably against his headboard. "And Kat was one of them. She was claiming to be sixteen at the time, and that's age of consent in a lot of states, including West Virginia. So there wasn't a goddamn thing I could do to protect her from being released into the custody of her abusers unless I wanted to have her arrested. Total bullshit, but there you have it.
"The next time I saw her was in Florida a few years later. I'd been brought in because I knew the guy they suspected as the head of the organization, and I saw her photo on the pile of known associates under a new name. I don't know why, but there was something in her eyes I couldn't shake."
Tim knew what she meant. He had found there was something about Kathryn that pulled him in, whether he liked it or not. He wasn't sure it was her eyes exactly, but her energy seemed to force a shift in his own center of gravity.
"How old was she by then?" he asked, genuinely curious. Kathryn had told him she'd been sixteen when Delia saved her, but according to Delia's account, she would have been older.
"Honestly, Corporal, I have no idea. I'd say she was probably nineteen by then, but she thinks she was younger. She was so scrawny, she could've easily passed for fourteen."
"You're telling me she didn't know how old she was?"
"It's not like her pimps were throwing her a party every year, and she was so addled from the drugs, I'm surprised she still remembered her name. I'm sure she figured it out once her mind was clear, but she never…" Delia trailed off and Tim couldn't help but prod her forward.
"A super sleuth like you never bothered to get her birth info?"
Delia leaned forward again, her mouth set in a hard line. "She had a different birth date listed on her info in Florida than she'd had in West Virginia, one of them might have been right, but I don't know for sure. Maybe the DOB she gave me when we set her up with the Sarah Geller identity is her real one. Kat only asked me for two things after I got her out; that I call her by her middle name, and I leave her past alone. She didn't want me digging around, and I agreed not to." Delia looked up at him. "I'd ask the same of you, as a matter of respect."
Tim thought about the newspaper clipping in the folder he'd taken, and how easy it would be to use that information to find Kathryn's birth certificate, her parents, her social, her birth date.
Instead, he nodded.
"Anyway, these guys in Florida knew we were after them, so they started moving everybody, including Kat, to a new location. While the rest of the office was looking up their assholes trying to figure out where they were headed, I found her in a Backdoor listing." Tim sensed some hesitation and then she elaborated, "I may have had a couple of drinks before I went in, guns blazing.
"Let me tell you, Corporal, I've killed plenty of people in war zones, committed other murders in more dangerous hotel rooms. But my hands never shook like they did when I was driving her out of there. I had no idea what I was doing, no clue where I was going to take her. So I just kept driving until we ended up at my house."
Delia leaned back in the chair and Tim noticed she was slouching for the first time, her posture collapsed and resigned. For a moment, she finally looked her age.
"By the time I got back, the whole task force was running around like the sky was falling, trying to figure out which rival group had gotten involved. They assumed someone had decided to make a statement by killing the guys on duty. They also assumed that several of the girls, including Kat, had taken advantage of the situation to escape. I let them think it."
Tim couldn't help the snort that escaped him. When he realized Delia was waiting for an explanation, he said, "I'm just glad I'm not the only one she's compromised professionally."
An amused smile spread across Delia's face. "Not by a long shot."
"How was Romero involved?"
"He didn't come into the picture until much later. Kat was the first victim I pulled out on my own, but she wasn't the last. Six of them still work for me."
"At DHS?"
Delia laughed as she settled back into her initial position; legs crossed and back straight. "I left DHS eight years ago. I'm an entrepreneur now. Run a cleaning company and own some rental properties—"
"Stephanie Riley, LLC." It wasn't a question.
"Among others," she said. "And I own a private security firm. Corporate stuff, mostly."
Tim rolled this information around, letting it tumble in his skull until it took on a new, more coherent shape.
"So you're telling me that you and Kat and whoever else are… vigilantes? You're fucking Batman?"
"You can call us the Justice League if you want. What matters is we get results."
"Romero?"
"You know as well as I do how instrumental a good CI can be. I met Romero at a conference. When you've worked like I have for as long as I have, you get a good read on people, and I identified him as someone who would be willing to bend the rules if it meant getting his man.
"He took on Kat as a CI, let her work her jobs for me using his resources, and she helped him make a good name for himself at the FBI."
"Jesus Fucking Christ." Tim leaned his head back against the headboard. He wished Kathryn were here so he could strangle her. What the hell had she gotten him tangled up in? Some puzzles, it turns out, were better left unfinished. Some were better left in the box they came in.
#
After the realization that he was talking with Bruce Wayne, Tim had requested a drink and a shirt, which Delia had graciously agreed to. He tugged on a dirty t-shirt from the hamper next to his bed before pouring himself a tall, stiff drink. Delia remained in his reading chair, where she could easily track his movements through the apartment when his bedroom door was left open.
Tim resettled on the bed, sitting cross legged on top of the duvet, and took a long sip from the cool glass in his hands.
"So Corporal, what have you got for me?"
Tim shrugged. "Nothing much, to be honest. What happened at the park, after we secured the truck?"
"Kat called me, and I called it into the State Police. They called the feds."
"So we're looking for at least two dirty cops?"
"I'd say so."
"Agent Reed?"
Delia shook her head. "No. Reed's a pain in the ass, but he's a good man. Any grief he's giving you is just because he's single-minded; focused on getting Kat for Romero's murder."
"What about Dawson?"
"I've only been in the same room as Vincent Dawson once, and it is not an experience I would like to recreate. He is a truly evil person, and not one to be taken lightly."
Tim had already surmised as much, but it was nice to have the confirmation from someone who'd met the man. "Do you have any thoughts on who hired him?"
"Not yet."
"So what do you suggest we do, then? My hands are mostly tied with the Marshals and Reed breathing down my neck. I don't even know where Kathryn is."
"Neither do I, and that's the way it should stay." Tim noticed Delia's expression soften before she added, "Don't worry about Kat. She can handle herself."
"Even if she can, that doesn't guarantee she won't make an even bigger mess by doing so." Tim was getting a headache just thinking about trying to explain away more dead bodies.
Delia leaned forward once more and levelled Tim with a serious gaze. "Tell Reed you have suspicions about what went down at Daniel Boone. Tell him you spoke with the Head Ranger—" of course Kathryn had told her, Tim realized, "and ask him for permission to follow those leads. If he thinks there's a chance there are dirty cops in his jurisdiction, he'll let you look into it. That will give you time to figure out that shit show while the rest of your comrades keep looking for Kat and Dawson."
Tim nodded. It wasn't a half-bad idea, and if Reed really was straight, then he had no reason to deny Tim the opportunity to investigate.
"I'll start with the names Kathryn gave me."
Delia nodded. "If I think of anyone else, I'll let you know."
They sat in a strange silence for a few moments. Tim spared a glace at the kitchen clock outside his bedroom door. It was nearly three am, and he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting any sleep even after Delia left. He wondered how early was too early to head to the diner down the street for breakfast.
"Corporal," Delia's voice brought his focus back into the bedroom. "I am trusting you to have Kat's best interests in mind, here. I don't know shit about you except your service record and what she's told me, so let me very clear: if anything happens to her, I will come for you and for anyone else who had even the slightest involvement." Tim watched as she pulled a pair of white driving gloves from inside her blazer and tugged them on. "I never had a family of my own. Kat is the closest thing I have to a daughter. A sister. A friend,"
Tim weighed those words as Delia picked up his Bowie knife and pistol. He noticed the magazine and the chambered round had both been removed from the latter.
Delia walked over to the bed and held the weapons out toward him; a gesture of trust. He took them carefully and set them on the bed next to him. "If anything happens to her," she continued, "someone is going to pay."
Tim understood. He didn't have any family of his own left, either. Maybe a stray uncle or cousin somewhere, but no one who meant anything. But if anyone ever came for someone from his Battalion, he imaged his response would be similar to Delia's now.
"I know you care about her." Tim was startled by how quiet Delia's voice had become. The softness didn't suit her. "I'm trusting you to help me bring her home, Corporal."
"I'll do my best, ma'am."
Delia chuckled. She picked up the glass she'd used as she headed for the door, and Tim wondered if she was going to take it with her. She was likely paranoid enough to.
"What was the anniversary for?" His own question startled him. He hadn't meant to ask it, but the lack of sleep, the booze, and the shock of the night's revelations had weakened the normal defense system between his brain and his mouth.
Delia stopped in the doorway and turned to look back at him. He wondered how small and unimpressive he looked, sitting like a child at circle time in a stained, smelly t-shirt and boxer shorts.
"I pulled Kat out fourteen years ago. I was so nervous driving afterward that I didn't realize how hungry I was until my stomach let out a rumble loud enough to make Kat jump in the passenger seat. So I pulled over at this dingy little pizza shop and ordered us each a slice.
"She just sat there, pulling the toppings off, but never eating them. I don't know why, but I told her we should celebrate, which got her attention. I grabbed a stale piece of cake from the fridge and handed it to her. Told her we could do whatever she wanted to celebrate her freedom." Delia smiled. It softened her face and Tim could see the obvious affection she had for Kathryn as she reminisced. Then she looked back at Tim and her smile grew even wider.
"She stood up and started dancing in the middle of the pizza shop." Delia laughed. "And my dumb ass stood up and danced with her to the oldies station they were playing."
Tim smiled, imaging this intimidating woman flailing her long limbs around to the crackle of The Flamingos or The Cadillacs.
"Every year since, she orders a pizza, eats some cake, and goes dancing. I usually celebrate with her, but couldn't this year, for obvious reasons."
"She made a helluva cake this year. You missed out."
"Kat always wanted to learn how to bake. It was the first thing she told me she wanted to do, besides get her GED. She started with boxed mix and tubs of Betty Crocker frosting, but she's gotten pretty good at it over the years," Delia looked at her watch. "Not surprising, considering how quickly she can pick up most anything."
Tim thought about the implications of that statement, coming from a person like Delia. He wondered what Kathryn's unofficial training must have looked like in the time between her rescue and when he'd met her.
Delia cleared her throat and Tim tugged himself away from his thoughts with some effort to look at her.
"Get a burner and give the number to Kat. She'll get it to me, and then I can contact you if I need to. You should have gotten one already, since you've spoken with her. You need a phone that can't be traced back to the Marshals."
Tim's stomach clenched at the light rebuke. He should have been smarter about speaking with her. Even the time he had called from her own house could likely be traced back to him eventually.
"You need to start thinking like the people you arrest, Corporal. Like the people you've killed." He flinched again.
And then Delia was gone, and Tim was left sitting alone with nothing but his racing thoughts and elevated heartrate.