A.N. Sorry the updates have been taking so long. I've been trying to write the end and edit the beginning simultaneously and it resulted in great confusion. Hopefully, I'll be able to start posting faster after this chapter. Oh, yeah, still don't own anything.
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"You're kidding me," Danny said to the bookie, arms crossed over his chest. "You don't take bets from Styles?"
"He's blackballed," Al repeated, looking irritable.
"Why's that?" Lindsay asked. Her disdainful tone made Danny glance at her. Were they playing good cop bad cop again?
"It's what happens when you don't pay your bills, sweetheart."
"Don't talk to her like that," Danny said calmly, but he stepped a little closer to Lindsay, knowing she was about to blow. "So if he didn't make the bet with you, who could he have made it with?"
Al laughed. "Come out here on racing day, the place is littered with independents. You really think I keep track of those scum?"
"Your track, your clientele. Yeah, I think you're keeping tabs on 'em."
Danny's smirk made the guy deflate. "I seen Styles talkin to a guy, bad rep. Takes bets, but doesn't necessarily pay out, you know?"
"Need a name, man."
"Aw, come on." Al had a nervous look in his eye, and Danny glanced around to see if anyone else was close enough to hear the conversation. Place was empty.
"Name," Lindsay insisted stonily.
"Otis Meyers," Al said defeatedly. "Look, don't tell nobody I told you."
"Yeah, yeah. Our lips are sealed. Have a great day," Danny added sarcastically as Al scurried back inside the stadium. "What a looney toon."
"Something's bugging me," Lindsay murmured as they walked back to the SUV.
"Yeah, what's that?"
She waited until they'd both climbed in and were buckling their seatbelts before she spoke again. "We're assuming he was killed over one of his bets, right?"
"Right," Danny agreed carefully, turning the key in the ignition.
"And so we're assuming he was murdered by the person he owed money to."
Danny glanced at her as he looked over his shoulder to back out of the space. "Yeah? So?"
"So how would a bookie get a hold of Lady Fingers?" she asked, absently toying with her seatbelt as Danny pulled out onto the highway. "He would have to know when and on what route Lady Fingers was being transported not to mention that Styles was traveling with her."
"Is that so hard to find out?" Danny merged onto the freeway.
"I don't know. You'd think with a horse worth that much…" She stared out the window for a moment. "But it's weird to have the jockey traveling with the horse, right?"
Danny snorted. "You're asking me?"
A slight smile appeared on her face. "Sorry, city boy."
His stomach flipped at the nickname. "Maybe we should talk to McCullen again."
"Yeah," she murmured.
The case didn't seem to be what was bothering her recently, which eased his mind a little. Mac seemed to have backed off his hawk-like watch, as well, since he'd spoken to Danny. He wasn't sure that Lindsay had noticed, though.
Mac had kept her out of the field for almost three weeks after her psych eval, something that had made Danny nervous. Did she not get the green light from the doc? If not, what exactly had she said in there?
They were silent as they made the trip through Long Island and across the Williamsburg Bridge.
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Flack consulted his notebook then nodded at the two of them. "This is the place," he insisted.
"Does this look like a bookie's building to you?" Lindsay murmured to Danny as they followed Flack up the steps.
Taking in the brass knocker shaped like a lion's head, Danny shrugged. "You said he was taking high stakes bets. He's gotta have something to back it up right?"
"But Al said Meyers doesn't pay out," Lindsay said quietly as Flack rapped smartly on the door. Danny shrugged again and didn't answer, his eyes running over the building.
The man who answered the door definitely looked like he belonged at a horse race, with the classic ascot and—Lindsay blinked disbelievingly—pipe. "Can I help you?" he asked.
"Otis Meyers?"
"No, you're looking for my son," he said cordially, his face easy, but his eyes hard. "May I ask whose calling on him?"
"NYPD," Flack responded, holding up his badge. Danny and Lindsay followed suit. "I'm Detective Flack and these are detectives Messer and Monroe. We'd like to speak to your son if we may."
"In regards to?"
"Murder."
The word made Meyers freeze for a moment then he relaxed and waved them inside, his eyes glancing around the street behind them for witnesses. Flack led the way in with Danny and Lindsay close behind.
"Is your son home?"
"No, he's not," Meyers said stiffly, shutting and locking the door. With that, he moved past them out of the foyer and into a parlor on the right. Stepping in after him, Lindsay blinked at the walls lined with books, the wingback chairs and the blazing fire in the grate.
Did this guy think he was Sherlock Holmes?
"Do you know where he might be?" Danny asked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
The man's face darkened and he started to answer, but Lindsay cut him off. "We just need to ask him some questions."
"About what? A murder? My son had nothing to do with that," Meyers said haughtily, setting his pipe on the mantle.
"Sir, he was one of the last people to see our victim alive. We need to find out what he knows."
Meyers stared them down. At a stalemate, they faced off for long silent moments. Finally, Flack stirred. "Fine. We'll do it the hard way. I'll call the judge for the warrant," he told Danny and Lindsay, disappearing down the hallway.
"We'll wait." Danny settled himself against the wall and smiled dangerously at the man who was suddenly looking quite worried. "How ya doing?"
Lindsay hid a laugh behind a cough.
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"So, you like to take bets no one else'll touch," Danny said, leaning one hip against the table.
Otis Meyers slouched in his chair with a very sour expression. "You ain't got nothing on me."
They all paused. "Copper?" Lindsay asked.
The bookie raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry. It's just…that was so cliché." Lindsay felt Danny shaking with suppressed laughter.
"Look," Danny said when he'd managed to calm down. "We know you took a bet from Styles right before he died." He dropped a picture of the ticket they'd found on the table.
"That don't got my name on it."
"You do realize you're from the Upper East side, right?" Flack asked from behind them.
Otis glared at him while Danny came around the table and slid the picture closer. "Remember that handwriting sample we took a couple of hours ago?" He tapped the chicken scratch at the top of the ticket. "We matched it to this bet, placed with you, that implies Lady Fingers was out of the running. Now, why would Styles—Lady Fingers's jockey—make that bet?"
Meyers shrugged. "How should I know?"
"See, we think you two had a plan," Lindsay continued Danny's story blithely as Meyers eyed her warily. "Get the winning horse out of the way and split the profits from the bets."
Looking disgusted, Meyers shook his head. "No way would I share my profits with him."
"So you did know him," Danny said calmly, straightening from where he'd been leaning over the other man.
"Sure, I knew him. Guy like that, so free with money. Everybody knew him."
"I think it was a plan gone wrong," Danny offered, walking around the table to stand next to Lindsay's chair. "You were just s'posed to beat him up a bit, so when you took the horse, it looked like he put up a fight."
Meyers's eyes flickered and he started to sweat as Danny continued. "What happened? He ask for more of the profits? You wanted to teach him a lesson?"
Meyers licked his lips and shook his head. "I don't know what you're—"
"So you hit him a little harder and a little longer than you'd planned," Danny finished, placing a hand on the back of Lindsay's chair. She swallowed convulsively when he brushed against her shoulder as he leaned his weight forward.
"When I left, he was alive," Meyers shrieked, suddenly losing his cool.
"Then why didn't you take the horse, Otis?" Lindsay asked calmly as the man before them broke down, babbling everything.
Lindsay glanced up and caught Danny's eye. Flack stepped forward with a pad and a pen. "Mr. Meyers, why don't you write all this down for us?"
Standing, Lindsay followed Danny from the room. "That was almost disappointing," he said, wandering down the hall towards the elevators.
"The spoiled ones are always the easiest to crack."
Danny snorted. "But the hardest to find. I can't believe it took almost two days to get that guy in here."
Reaching up, Lindsay kneaded the muscle in one of her shoulders. "It feels like I haven't slept in a week," she moaned, locking her knees so she wouldn't collapse as they came to a stop in front of the elevator bank.
"I can finish the paperwork. You head on home."
Surprised, Lindsay glanced over at him, but Danny wasn't looking at her. His eyes were focused on the small numbers at the top of the elevator. "Thanks, but I'm not off shift yet. Still have four hours."
The doors swung open and they both stepped to the side as a hoard of people poured out of the car. When they finally stepped inside, they were the only ones in as the doors slid shut again. Reaching over, Danny jabbed the button for the thirty-fifth floor.
"Besides, aren't you coming off a double?" she asked, tucking the hair behind her ear as she looked at him. "Shouldn't I be the one offering to do your paperwork?"
"Are you?" he asked with a wicked grin.
Rolling her eyes, she laughed and leaned back against the side of the car, still facing him. She let her lids fall shut, wondering if Mac would send them on a new case or if she had a chance of getting through this day unscathed.
"Montana?"
Her eyes flew open at the nickname. It hadn't exactly been appearing very often recently. "Yeah?"
"How are you sleepin?" he asked, his eyes sharp as they searched hers, his face impassive.
Why did he have to be so smart? "Not very well," she answered honestly, her eyes refusing to leave his.
"Why's that?"
"Dreams." The stoic expression on his face softened to worry. "They haven't stopped for some reason," she told him, deciding not to mention his starring and disturbing role in them.
He stepped closer to her and she bit her lip. The urge to grab him and just hold on was overwhelming. "You need someone to talk to, you call me."
"Danny—"
"Anytime," he stressed, bending down to look her in the eye.
Sliding her eyes shut, she nodded. "Thanks," she whispered. Her lids flew up again as she felt his fingers brush against her cheek.
He smiled softly. "You're welcome."
The elevator came to a stop and the doors dinged. Lindsay expected him to pull away, but he didn't until the last possible moment, his eyes locked on hers. When anyone could see inside if they were standing near the doors, he dropped his hand and stepped back.
She followed him from the elevator in a bit of a daze. He paused to let her catch up, smiling down at her carelessly. Involuntarily, she smiled back. His smile had that sort of effect.
"Messer."
Lindsay turned when he did, stopped when he did, and immediately felt awkward. Angell was sashaying down the hallway, Stella waving goodbye to her as Adam pulled her inside a lab. Danny waited, folding his arms across his chest.
Unsure what to do, Lindsay hesitated then smiled politely at Angell—who smiled back—and continued down the hall to the office she shared with Danny. She didn't want to hear what they were saying, so she pulled the door closed behind her and hurriedly grabbed the paperwork for the case.
She didn't want to see them flirting any more than she wanted to hear it, but after a moment, she raised her head and glanced over her shoulder. They were still standing there, chatting about something that had Angell smiling widely—did she use bleach or something?—and Danny smirking.
She'd finished three pages of the report before Danny opened the door behind her. She barely controlled a start when he tossed the folder he'd been holding down on the pile on his desk.
"You could've waited for me to start," he said with a grin, pulling his chair across from hers.
She didn't look up. "I just want to get it done and get out of here."
His smile wavered before collapsing into a confused frown. "You okay?"
At that, she did glance up, trying to look innocently confused. "Yeah. Why?"
Shrugging, he picked up one of the pages she hadn't started yet. They were quiet for a few moments. Clearing his throat, Danny kept his eyes on the page in front of him as he asked quietly, "A few of us are going to Sullivan's tonight. You wanna come?"
Lindsay bit her lip. She wanted to say yes, she really did, but she was exhausted. And she didn't want to watch Angell hanging all over Danny for the entire night. "Thanks, but I really am tired. I rented a movie a few nights ago that I never watched. I think I'll just head home and do that."
"What movie?"
Surprised, Lindsay furrowed her forehead at him, but he still didn't look up from the paper. "I think it was Wedding Crashers."
"You've never seen that?" he asked, shock lighting his eyes as he raised his head.
Lindsay stifled a laugh. "Don't look so scandalized. I don't watch movies very often."
"Oh, Monroe. You don't know what you've been missing." His amused gaze locked with hers and they smiled at each other.
"You're a big fan, huh?" she asked, dropping her head back down.
"It's hilarious. You'll see," he promised, dramatically raising a finger in the air.
Sometimes she wondered how he did it, made her feel completely relaxed even on her worst days; other times, she told herself to just be thankful he could. For a second, she thought about inviting him to watch with her, even went so far as to open her mouth, only to snap it shut when he looked up at her.
She dropped her head down, furiously filling in the report. For just a moment, she'd forgotten he already had plans.
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She clicked her tongue softly, trying not to startle the horse as she stepped into the room. It had to be weird for Lady Fingers—almost as strange as it was for the precinct—to be locked in a lab rather than a stall. Hay had been spread across the floor for the horse, but Lindsay was pretty sure Lady Fingers hadn't slept since she'd been moved from the vet's office.
At the sight of Lindsay sliding the door shut behind her, Lady Fingers snorted softly and stepped forward to meet her. Lindsay smiled up at her and stroked her nose, eyes checking the cuts the horse had sustained during the attack. The last few days had given them time to heal; they'd hardly been more than scratches anyway. But she was fairly certain Lady wouldn't be taking part in the Belmont.
Her smile turned sad as she met the horse's eyes. "Strange how things change so suddenly, isn't it?"
The horse snorted again and danced a little bit in place. Lindsay snickered. "Sorry, honey. This is as good as it's gonna get until McCullen can get you out of here."
The door to the lab slid open behind her, but Lindsay didn't turn to see who it was. Lady stiffened under her fingers and Lindsay whispered soothing words.
"Thought I might find you here," Mac said, coming up next to her.
Lindsay glanced at him with a wry smile. "Why's that?"
He shrugged. "You've been a bit quiet since you got back."
It didn't sound like a question, but Lindsay knew what Mac was asking. "I still have some things to work out," she told him quietly.
"Lindsay—" Mac cut himself off. While he gathered his thoughts, he reached out and touched Lady's neck. Regally, the horse held her head a bit higher and let out a soft sound.
Amused, Lindsay shook her head. "You are such a flirt."
"Excuse me?" Mac turned incredulous eyes towards her.
"Oh, not you," she assured him, laughing. "The horse."
"Ah," he said mildly. "You did well on this case."
She shot him a look and hurriedly turned back to the horse, her voice quiet when she answered. "Thanks, Mac."
He nodded and patted the horse one last time. "You're gonna be fine, Lindsay Monroe."
She watched him walk out of the room and sighed. Leaning her head against Lady's warm neck, she stifled a groan. Everyone kept saying that, telling her she would be fine. But they'd been saying that for ten years. When was it supposed to get better?
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Stifling a yawn, Lindsay lifted the print and carefully packed it away before moving on to the next patch of desk. She'd barely managed to drag herself out of bed that morning, understandable considering Mac had called at close to four am. Why, oh why, did criminals strike so damn early?
She could feel Angell's eyes boring into the back of her head and she wondered for the umpteenth time that morning what she'd done to garner so much attention from the other woman. They'd exchanged civil, if not warm, greetings and each had focused on the tasks at hand.
Lindsay didn't see how it was possible that she was dragging this morning after staying at home with a movie when Angell had been out drinking with Danny. How could Angell not be hungover? It was the only decent thing the universe could do here.
Tired of the tension, Lindsay finally spoke. "Do you need something?" Looking up from her crouched position, she unerringly met Angell's eyes.
The other woman looked away, obviously embarrassed. "No, nothing. You almost done?"
Lindsay shrugged and didn't answer for a moment. "What'd the butler say?"
"Nothing of use, really. He said he locked up last night around ten, had a snack in the kitchen and was in bed by midnight. He found the body this morning around four when he got up for a glass of water and saw the light on."
"So, assuming he's telling the truth, we have a five hour window." She sighed and dusted the underside of the desk. "That narrows it down."
"Seriously," Angell groused, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Did he mention any visitors in the past couple of days?"
"A few. I got their names. One woman, Kyra Stilton, came back twice, but Mr. Matthews refused to see her."
"Oooh, scandalous."
Surprised laughter escaped Angell. Lindsay glanced at her with a wry smile and the tension eased a bit more.
"You finding any prints?" Angell asked after a pause.
"Not really," Lindsay admitted. "This place is kept pretty sterile."
"Damn."
"Well, it may not be so bad. I've found a couple and, given how frequently this place is cleaned, they're probably from last night."
"So I need to start rounding up suspects to print," Angell surmised.
Lindsay laughed at the relish in the detective's voice. "Go forth into battle," she intoned seriously and Angell chuckled.
"See you back at the lab."
The women glanced at each other and grinned as Angell turned to leave. Smiling to herself, Lindsay went back to finger printing.
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To all my reviewers: Sorry I didn't address each of you last time. For some reason, my review alert wasn't working, so I didn't even know I had any:-/
oddie33325: Hi! Thanks for reviewing! I'm glad you liked the beginning and I hope you keep enjoying the story! The updates should start coming in faster now, I promise.
chili-peppers: You're back! I'm so glad you decided to try out the sequel.
specialfrog: Thanks for the reviews! I know, I want Lindsay to give in to him, too. How can she resist, right?
mercy4vr: Hi again! I'm glad you're giving the sequel a go. I hope it's measuring up to the first installment.
The Little Corinthian: Sex is very good therapy. I bet for Lindsay, Danny sex would be amazing therapy. There must be supply closets in the lab somewhere, right? (looks thoughtful)
Tenley: Thanks for reviewing again! I didn't like Angell very much until I started this story. I mean, I didn't dislike her, she just didn't do much for me, you know? But…I like my version of her. I don't know if that makes sense. Oh, and, yes, Connor will be back. :-p
berta101: Sorry I made you wait so long! I'm hoping to be able to update almost everyday for a while, but this story is much longer than the last one so it's taking a while to edit it. I'm glad you're still enjoying my little Lindsay universe!
scoob2222: Welcome back! I'm glad you liked the last story! I hope this one is living up to it.
Muzzy-Olorea: The relationship does seem a little strained, doesn't it? I couldn't figure out why it was coming out that way, at first, but it's starting to get better, I think. Thanks for reviewing! (And I do appreciate the constructive criticism, by the way. Thanks!)
RachelHeidi: They're being pretty damn slow, aren't they? I hope you liked this chapter as much as the last!
Quigon: They do need to talk. They're just both being very stubborn, I suppose.
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A.N. You know, I think I'll put up another chapter a little later today. I'm feeling very motivated on this story for some reason.