Chapter 15

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Before John had even called Harold, he had employed all tactics he could think of to shake a tail - even though he hadn't seen anyone following him. But one could never be too sure. He hadn't seen any suspicious cars following him and Carter before falling asleep. He mentally berated himself for allowing his body to give into its exhaustion. Maybe he was getting soft after all? Instead of going straight to Finch's safe-house he walked past it and followed the street for a few more blocks, while inconspicuously scanning his surroundings for unwanted company.

Reese circled back and used a shortcut through an inner courtyard that he knew had a second exit. He waited for several minutes. If someone was indeed following him, he would have no choice but to step out into the open area eventually. After a few minutes a couple of kids with a basketball entered the yard at the other end, noisily making their way to one of the apartment building's entrances. Satisfied that he was on his own, John stepped out of his hiding place and hurried back towards Harold's safe-house at as fast a pace as his knee would allow.

John knew something was wrong the moment he entered the building. Bear's agitated barks were echoing through the stairwell and his hand instinctively went for his gun at his back only to come up empty. Silently cursing, he hugged the walls and carefully made his way up the flight of stairs. As he reached the hallway Bear started to alternate between high-pitched barking and pitiful whining, and a cold shiver ran down John's spine. He looked around for something he could use as a weapon, but the hallway was as barren as he had remembered it. With all of his senses on high-alert and his adrenalin-fueled heart pumping rapidly in his chest, John slowly crept towards the cracked-open door of their safe-house.

Bear stopped barking as he picked up his Alpha's scent and the hallway turned unsettlingly quiet. With his back towards the heavy door, Reese slowly pushed inwards. Something was in the way. The door only moved enough to open a crack large enough for John to slip through. He knew the layout. There was a short flight of stairs leading down to the open and spacious living room area. Plenty of cover for whoever might be waiting for him on the other side of the door. And absolutely no cover for him.

Risking a glance, Reese quickly withdrew again and replayed what he had seen in his mind's eye. The apartment had appeared to be empty. Taking a last deep breath, he whirled around the door and quickly dropped into a low crouch, scanning the open area in front of him. He stayed where he was for a few seconds, listening and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of movement. All he could hear was Bear starting to whine again and his nails scratching at the expensive wood of the bathroom door.

Slowly righting himself, John stopped in mid-motion as his eye fell on the object that had hindered the door from opening. A pair of shoes. Made of expensive leather. Finch's shoes. For a moment Reese stared at them, not willing to let his eyes travel along the still legs of his friend for fear of what he might see.

Harold lay awkwardly sprawled on the floor. His glasses had gone flying, lying almost a foot from his head. His eyes were closed. His face was unnaturally pale. And he wasn't moving.

It took Reese a staggering effort to control his emotions, but he pushed them down like he had been trained to do. He took a few steps, and crouched down again beside his friend's head. With one eye still on the living room area, John reached for Harold's neck and gently placed two fingers on his carotid. The skin he touched was warm and it fluttered along with a strong heartbeat. Closing his eyes in relief John exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He's still alive.

Harold jerked underneath John's touch and his eyes flew open. With his breath coming in short, shallow gasps, Finch's wide and unfocused eyes stared up at John as the older man tried to squirm away from him.

"Harold, it's me," John whispered and placed a calming hand on Harold's shoulder. Finch stopped his squirming and squinted myopically up at him, "Mr. Reese?"

Reese reached for the pair of glasses on the floor and handed them to his employer. They were bent and crooked, allowing John to surmise the strength of the blow they must have absorbed.

Harold looked around confusedly until a sharp stab of pain in his head reminded him of what had happened. He groaned and reached to the painfully pulsing spot where Candrall had connected the butt of the gun with his forehead. He could already feel a lump forming and his fingertips came away with blood. John's jaw muscles flexed at the sight, but he silenced Harold with a forefinger to his lips before Finch could reassure him that he was fine. "Stay here," John ordered in a soft yet firm voice.

Harold nodded. Although he doubted that Mr. Candrall was still around he knew Mr. Reese would only be satisfied once he had cleared the entire apartment himself. He sat up and watched as John stealthily checked the few rooms before crouching down besides the sofa. With a stab of guilt Finch realized that he had forgotten about the detective. Stiffly and with a pounding head Harold got onto his feet. "Is he alright?" he asked, as he limped down the steps.

"He'll live," John said tersely as he straightened.

Limping over to the detective, Harold knelt down beside him. "Detective?" He tried to rouse the unconscious man. Despite Mr. Reese's unconcern regarding the detective's well-being, Finch was beginning to worry. How long had he been unconscious already?

He tried gently shaking Fusco's shoulder. Lionel moaned, but didn't seem to be in any kind of a hurry to return to the conscious world. Bear - who had finally been freed by Reese - trotted towards Finch with his head and tail low. With a soft whine he started licking the detective's face. Clearly a technique Finch would not have thought of, but it seemed to be doing the trick. Fusco's face wrinkled in a grimace. He moaned again - this time louder - and moved a hand towards his head.

"Detective?" Harold asked again.

"Gnnnh, my head." Fusco blinked his eyes a few times and seriously considered just keeping them closed for a few more minutes - or perhaps a couple of days. But even in his befuddled state - where he was having trouble remembering how he'd ended up on the floor with a splitting headache - something told him that now was not the time to pass out again. And had Finch just licked his face?

Eventually the fuzzy blob looming over him turned somewhat sharp and Lionel was able to discern Finch's apprehensive-looking face from Bear's. A third head bent over him. And this time Fusco immediately recognized the sour-looking face.

"You had one job, Lionel," Reese rasped in that tone of voice he seemed to primarily reserve for making Fusco's life miserable. Lionel blinked up at Mr. Tall, Dark and Vexed and tried to make sense of the situation. And as the memories slowly returned, Fusco grimaced. Yep, one job and you blew it.

Fusco tried to push himself off the floor, but had to still his movements when the room started to turn into a merry-go-round. Both Finch and Reese helped him the rest of the way and guided him to the sofa, where he sat down with his head in his hands.

"I think the detective needs to see a doctor," Finch said.

"He can wait," John replied and tossed Fusco an ice pack. Harold allowed himself to be gently coaxed into sitting down beside the detective, and he watched Mr. Reese ready anti-septic wipes and band aids. He grimaced as he gave his associate a thorough once over, taking note of the marks the events of the last 24 hours had left on his clothes and body. John knelt down in front of him and started to gently attend to the cut on Finch's forehead.

Harold sighed. When he had first received the Number of an 82-year old he had actually entertained the idea, that with their track record this case couldn't be all that difficult. Overconfidence indeed precedes carelessness ...

"So," Harold said and John stopped what he was doing to look at him. "Mr. Candrall ... not a former bookkeeper, I assume?"

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To be continued ...