"Freddy Tipton, COME ON DOWN! You're the next contestant on The Price is Right." Squinting at the small screen, Jack Raydor is nursing a tiny headache, but he's up and thinking about getting ready for the day. He doesn't have to meet his one, and only, client in court for another two hours, so he has time to watch the Showcase Showdown before he has to leave the crummy, rent by the week, furnished apartment he's currently calling home. Sipping a bit of the hair-of-the-dog that bit him last night, he's trying not to move around too much when he hears someone banging on the front door, and shouting his name. Before he can make himself move off the stained couch, the front door is kicked in, and two uniformed cops enter followed by his favorite person in the whole world, Andy Flynn.
Lunging at Jack, Andy shouts, "Where is she?"
Moving quickly to avoid Andy, Jack spills Bloody Mary down the front of the grubby t-shirt he's wearing. The two cops pull Andy off Jack; Andy's face is contorted; his fists are clenched.
Jack says, "What the hell are you talking about?" The other men in the tiny room essentially ignore him.
"It's okay; I'm good; just find her," Andy says to the cops who finally let go of him. Glaring at Jack, Andy says, "I swear to God if you've hurt Sharon, I'll kill you."
"Why would I hurt Sharon?" asks Jack.
"Why did you take her from the hospital at gunpoint this morning?"
Jack replies, "I'm going to ask you one more time; what the hell are you talking about?"
One of the cops says, "An LAPD detective saw you abduct your ex-wife at gunpoint this morning at Cedars-Sinai."
The bedroom door opens; all the men turn and stare as a woman, wrapped in a dingy sheet, stumbles into the living room. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she says, "Jack, what's going on?"
He replies, "That's what I'd like to know."
Some of the tension and anger in Andy starts to fade as he eyeballs the woman with long, auburn hair, and a sleepy look on her face. Jack definitely has a type; Andy thinks to himself. The woman looks like a slightly younger version of Sharon, but not as smart, delicate, graceful, or formidable.
"Gentlemen, I just got out of bed with Gina. I've been nowhere near Cedars-Sinai hospital this morning."
"Is that true?" Andy asks Sharon's look-alike.
"Yes," Gina answers.
"We're going to have a look around before we just take your word for it," says the cop who was the first through the front door two minutes ago.
While the two cops search the small apartment, Jack studies Andy's face, and asks him, "Why was she at the hospital?"
"Supposedly visiting you," Andy answers with a sneer. "I haven't seen her since I left her early this morning to go to a crime scene; she texted me to let me know she was going to the hospital to check on you." Andy doesn't have to actually say the words for Jack to understand that Andy is telling him he hasn't seen Sharon since he got out of bed with her early this morning.
With a look of genuine concern on his face, Jack is about to ask another question when Gina begins to whine about needing coffee and cab fare. Jack just rolls his eyes, and continues to stare at Andy as Gina makes her way to the tiny kitchen. It's hard for Jack to come to grips with the fact that Sharon is with Andy. In his heart of hearts, Jack always believed Sharon would be there for him no matter what; no matter how much booze he drank; no matter how much money he gambled away; no matter how many lies he told; no matter how many women he took to bed. She put up with him for years, and got so little in return; he always felt guilt and shame, but not to the degree that he was willing to change for her. Gina, and all the women like her, don't need or want him to change. All they need or want is a good time, and Jack can most certainly provide a good time until the money, and booze, runs out. For purely selfish reasons, Jack will always love Sharon; this prompts him to poke a pudgy finger in Andy's chest and tell him, "You better find her."
Andy would love to plant his fist in Jack's face, but that wouldn't help Sharon, and finding her is the priority. Earlier this morning, amidst all the confusion, Andy was incredulous upon hearing that Jack had kidnapped Sharon at gunpoint. He knew Jack was capable of despicable behavior; however, Andy really didn't believe that Jack was capable of such violence. He expressed that opinion multiple times; nevertheless, law enforcement had to check out the wild story told by the detective on the bathroom floor in Room 933 of Cedars-Sinai.
It's obvious to Andy that Jack has nothing to do with Sharon's disappearance. "Come on guys; we're wasting our time; let's get out of here," he says to the two cops before stepping through the battered front door, and heading to his vehicle.
Over the sound of the TV, Jack hollers, "Hey, who's going to pay to fix my door?"
"Not my problem," Andy yells back without turning around.
Driving away from Jack's apartment, it hits Andy that his nightmare from two nights ago is actually happening. In his sleep, he had spent hours trying to find Sharon to no avail. He had emerged from the nightmare covered in sweat and full of anxiety until he realized that Sharon was spooned against him in the dark with his front attached to her back. His arm was draped possessively in the deep curve created in her torso as she lay on her side. He slid the tips of his fingers from the swell of her hip down into the valley, and back up the alluring slope of her shoulder until his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, and his anxiety melted away. She sighed softly in her sleep. She was safe; she was in his arms where no harm could come to her. That was his last coherent thought before he'd drifted back to sleep. It makes him shudder now to think that he's living his nightmare in real life. He's a practical man; he doesn't believe in premonitions, but it seems as if his subconscious mind was warning him.
Curled on her side in the trunk, Sharon is trying hard to keep track of which direction she is being driven, and how long she has been tied up in the dark. If she can focus her thinking; she can keep the panic at bay, but the longer she's in the claustrophobic space, the more her mind wanders. She has lost track of all the turns the car has made; she has lost track of the time. Has she been in the trunk 15 minutes or two hours? She has no idea. To calm herself, she pictures Emily at dance rehearsal; Ricky working at his new company, and Rusty sitting in class. Thinking about her happy, successful children fills her with a sense of purpose. She has to stay alive for them, and for Andy. She can almost feel his arm around her; feel the stubble on his chin rubbing against her forehead as his voice lulls her to sleep in bed, but she's not in bed. She's being held captive in a small, enclosed space, and she's remembering how she felt when Andy told her that he loved her right before he left for work. She was only semi-conscious; right on the brink of falling back asleep when Andy emerged from the bathroom, smelling like soap, and minty toothpaste. He leaned in, and ghosted his lips across hers before whispering, "I love you." She didn't speak or open her eyes for fear of breaking the spell. It almost felt like a dream, but it was very real. Now, she's wishing she had said the same words to him before he walked out of the bedroom to go to the crime scene.
Mark Evans is driving slowly and carefully through the streets of LA. He doesn't want to get pulled over for exceeding the speed limit, or not using his turn signal. He hates that Sharon isn't in the front seat with him; he has so much to tell her, but it will just have to wait a little bit longer. They will arrive at their first destination soon enough. He has waited over two decades for her; he can certainly wait a few more minutes. Two decades in prison has taught him infinite patience. The first few years were rough, but eventually he trained his mind and disciplined his body to such a degree he became a feared and respected member of the prison hierarchy. Truth be told, he thrived behind bars in a way he never did as a free man. The very qualities that made him a pariah in society, made him a king in prison. The fact that he used his considerable brain, and knowledge of the law, to help his fellow inmates meant that he did easy time. He even managed to make friends with many of the prison staff by providing free legal and financial advice to them.
He was a very successful failure, and when he was introduced to his new cellmate towards the end of his prison term, his life only got better. He hadn't even realized how lonely and starved for intellectual companionship he was until the lanky man, destined to become his best friend, shuffled into the cell, and proceeded to tell him, in great detail, exactly how he ended up behind bars. His new best friend/cellmate kept him awake their first night locked in the same space together by divulging intimate details of the sexual assaults he'd committed. Mark Evans was elated. He'd finally found a kindred spirit, and they had so much in common. They'd both been lawyers in their former lives, and they even knew some of the same movers and shakers in Los Angeles. Of course, his new cellmate was much better connected; the man loved to drop names, and upon hearing him utter the name of Sharon Raydor, Evans actually thought he might faint. His pulse and respiration rates increased; he broke out in a sweat on his upper lip, and as he listened to his friend describe the last encounter he'd had with the woman of his dreams, he felt himself growing hard for the first time in a very long time.
Lt. Provenza is still clutching the phone with a stunned look on his face when Tao walks by his desk and asks him what's wrong.
"You're not going to believe this," answers Provenza, "but I just found out the identity of the dead man in the morgue."
"You mean the man with the limp who went to great lengths to disguise his identity," replies Tao.
"That's the one," says Provenza. "He's Phillip Stroh, and he was shot with Flynn's gun."
