Chapter 9

It was another long night, another fruitless venture. The agents had roamed the streets, the kick boxing ring, and surrounding areas. They had no hits. The one agent in the entire group who felt the most disturbed by this was Donovan. He believed Rachel's view of the whole thing had poisoned his position. He told her he thought it was ridiculous of her and IA to assume another agent was behind these murders. Now, he didn't know. Suddenly, he was looking at everybody, nobody, and those who fell in between. Perhaps Rachel Sloane was on to something. Perhaps the killer was a member of law enforcement, even the FBI.

Thanks Rachel, he thought bitterly. It was easy to lay it all at her feet. For all his years working for the feds and the state department, he grew to loathe the IA faction of both agencies. It was easy for them to point the finger at another agent. They weren't out in the trenches investigating cases, risking their lives. None of it. It was easy to hate them. It was easy to hate Rachel. It was easy to hate everyone at this juncture.

After they finished a few hours setting up decoy, they all called it a night. Donovan had sought out Lily to see if she would simply join him later at Dobson's for a quick bite. She begged off, stating that she had other plans. At first, he didn't think anything about it. She was a young woman, beautiful, outgoing, and probably had scads of friends who still hit the bars. Even professional ladies often prowled the club scene. Just when he was convinced that Lily had plans with her friends, Ashcroft entered the room, getting close to Lily, whispering in her ear. Donovan watched them curiously, suddenly realizing that her plans were with Jack Ashcroft. The look on her face told him something different, though. However, he was too stunned to say anything about it. He completely let it go. If she wanted to be with Jack Ashcroft, who was he to tell her he thought the other man was all wrong for her?

It left Donovan feeling more than irritated. Again, he wasn't married to Lily, they had a brief thing, and then there was nothing. It all boiled down to his insistence on hanging near Rachel. But she had shown her true colors, hadn't she? She had been in betrayal mode this whole time. With Lily? He hadn't expected it, but he also couldn't blame her. He had hurt her first.

Donovan went to his car, revved up the engine, and began to drive toward home. It was the only place he wanted to be right now. He didn't want to do anything except dive into his small apartment, pour himself a drink, and then slide into bed, possibly sleeping sixteen hours straight. It sounded like a heavenly plan. He had no interest in returning to the office tomorrow morning to discuss a case that was quickly getting out of hand.

When he parked his car toward the back of the building, his eyes identified a hybrid that didn't belong there. He knew Rachel drove one similar to it. Surely, she wouldn't be here. After what happened between them at Favron Resort, he didn't expect to see her in a private manner whatsoever. She was IA. She had overstepped her bounds and pointed the finger at the agents who actually worked a case. He hoped beyond all scope of the human range of emotions that the hybrid belonged to someone else. Of course, as soon as he entered the lobby, those hopes were quickly dashed.

It was almost twenty minutes before it was time for Bruce to leave. He sat behind the concierge desk, chatting casually with Rachel. He couldn't hear what was being said, but he was positive Bruce was telling Rachel all about his grandchildren. Tonight, she was dressed casually again, and her head was cocked to the side, as if she was really interested in what Bruce had to say. She was good at that, she always had been. Then again, he mused bitterly, turn coats usually were.

Donovan ignored them, hoping that Rachel would sense that he wanted to be alone. He thought if he walked past them without a word, they wouldn't notice. What a fool he was. No sooner did he begin walking toward the stairs, did Bruce notice him.

"Mr. Donovan," Bruce said brightly. "You have a guest."

He stopped just feet away from escape. He had three options. One of them involved simply ignoring Rachel and heading on up to his apartment. The other, of course, was the less attractive approach. He could acknowledge her existence and invite her to come up with him. Then came his third option. He could say a few choice words to her, then ask her to leave. Donovan was in a complete quandary. He had no idea what to do. He was facing her direction and saw her leave the sofa. She walked carefully his way, as if sensing what he really thought and felt. She had a lot of nerve coming to him like this. He needed a shave, shower, stiff drink, and then bed. What he didn't need was spending five minutes alone with her. In his state, he might kill her. Yes. He just might do that.

Rachel was three or four steps away from facing him when she stopped walking. She sensed his anger. Who was she kidding? It was exuding from his pores. She tried speaking to Director Fitzgerald who completely shot her request down. She wanted to tell Donovan this, to let him know she had tried letting go of the case. A part of her wanted to stubbornly insist to him that she thought she was on to something. He hated IA, there was no doubt about that. He simply did not understand she wasn't his enemy. She was far from it.

"I know it's late," she began. "Will you give me five minutes?"

Donovan's eyes flicked from her face to Bruce's. He was a curious fellow, noting that Donovan had had two female guests in a short amount of time. Bruce was a talker, something of a gossip. He shifted his gaze to Rachel. "That will be all I give you. If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly fit for company tonight."

She saw that he wore his overcoat. Beneath it was a pair of baggy pants and a tee-shirt. He had an overgrowth of beard. His hair was unkempt and shaggy. He had obviously been working UC tonight. He looked tired, but mostly seemed pissed off. "That's fine, Frank."

Without a glance toward either Rachel or Bruce, Donovan turned and began tromping upstairs. He didn't care whether Rachel was behind him or not. However, he heard the quick rap of her steps. She was in pretty good shape and had no trouble keeping up with his pounding footsteps. He lived on the sixth floor, though, and thought with gleeful malice that he hoped she couldn't make the trip all the way up. Donovan was sadly disappointed when he saw that she was right behind him.

He unlocked the front door, pushed it open, and stalked inside the apartment. Just as he flicked on the overhead fluorescents in the kitchen, Rachel came in and closed the door behind her. Ignoring her for the time being, Donovan went to the drainer, grabbed a glass, and carried it over to the counter. He dug out a bottle of vodka from the freezer and poured himself a stiff drink. He swallowed it down like water as Rachel stood silently nearby, watching him quietly, waiting for him to notice she was still there.

As soon as he drained the glass, he turned to look her way. He held his empty glass up toward her. "You want a drink?"

There was nothing she wanted more, actually, but she couldn't. "No, Donovan. I don't. I still have a long ride ahead of me tonight."

He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "Whatever you wish." He placed the glass in the sink and walked slowly toward her. "Do you mind if I clean up first?"

"No," she said quietly. "I think you need it."

He said nothing else to her. He simply walked down the hall, turned left, and disappeared into the bathroom. Sighing, Rachel moved further into the apartment to get a quick look around. It wasn't much. It seemed to be something close to what men chose to live in when they first became single again. Her eyes fell on a short shelf in the living area. She saw pictures of Donovan with his sons. She couldn't believe how much they looked like him. Fascinated, she picked up the small photo in its ornate frame. This picture had been taken years ago, probably when he was still in Chicago. His hair was short then, but one thing never changed. His eyes. They were piercing, even in a photograph. No wonder he had made such an accomplished interrogator. One look with those eyes and the world would open up for him.

The only light on in the apartment was that in the kitchen. He likely had turned on the one in his bedroom, but she couldn't see that far down the hall. She moved into the living area and sat on the couch. It was one of those leather pieces often seen in a psychiatrist's office. This one, however, was more comfortable. It was easy to sink down into the cushions. It reminded her of the chair she had at home. She reached out near her to turn on a lamp. The room was then bathed in dim light. She wondered when he would move out of this depressing building. It was antiseptic, cold, nothing like a real home should be. Then again, how much time had he really spent here?

When Donovan finished in the bathroom, he threw on a pair of pajama bottoms and a robe. He made his way toward the living room, noticing that Rachel was sitting on the couch, with one leg curled under her. She always sat like that, and it never ceased to amaze him that her legs never grew numb. If he attempted it, he wouldn't be able to walk normally for an hour or more. She looked his way when he came out, but he didn't immediately join her. Instead, he retrieved his glass, poured another drink, and carried it into the living room.

He sat on the couch with her at the other end. He drank some vodka before focusing his eyes on her face. "What are you doing here? What more is there to say?"

"Dear God, this is weird," she said. "You should really move or get some other furniture."

Yes, it was certainly weird. They hadn't been alone together like this for a very long time. "Other than criticizing the way I live, Rachel, what do you want?"

"I went to see Director Fitzgerald earlier today. I asked to be removed from this case, from this line of work, but he refused my resignation. He felt that if I left at this juncture, we may never find the culprits."

Her words seemed slurred somewhat. He knew she wasn't drinking, but something else was definitely going on. She seemed tired, distracted. "Why didn't you tell me you were working UC, Rachel? I'm angry as hell at you for lying. I'm still somewhat tempted to catapult your ass out of my home."

Thoughtfully, she nodded. Her hand was at the back of her head. Every now and again, he could see her fingering pieces of her hair. "And I wouldn't blame you if you did. If I told you, I would have put the whole operation in jeopardy. I simply didn't know you were on the case until you came to see me."

He banged the glass down onto the coffee table. He did this was such force that some vodka slopped out of the glass and splashed onto the table. "I know now," he said angrily, even though his words came out calmly. "All I would have to do is go see your director and tell him that your case is compromised. He would drop you off it so fast your head would spin clear off your shoulders."

"Frank, if you think it would help, be my guest. I could call him for you, if you'd like. I want off it."

"Don't tempt me," he threatened.

She shifted her position on the couch, placing her feet flat on the floor. She scooted close to the edge and folded her fingers together. Her body was bent awkwardly forward. She seemed comfortable despite this. "I'm sorry, Frank. I'm also sick of apologizing. You don't understand how much I want this to end. I want it as much as you. Probably more. I'm vested now. Two people relatively close to me have been murdered. Don't you think I want it to be over?"

Donovan said nothing, he kept staring down intently on the spilled vodka. At this, Rachel brought herself up to a standing position. She walked around the table so she could stand directly in front of him.

"Are you going to answer me," she asked huffily.

He slid back, crossed his legs, and glared up her way. "You attorney types and IA people sicken me," he began slowly, his words dripping with venom. "You criticize and analyze every little thing without ever seeing what truly happens behind the scene. In that process, you don't know what it takes. You never did. You never deal with anything that might make your hands dirty. You make deals, you hurt people, but in the end, you just don't give a fuck about the people you represent."

She knew exactly where his hurt was coming from. It was coming from a very young boy whose brother had been brutally murdered by a madman. "Do you want to know who the first person was that I managed to help send to prison?"

Her arms were crossed before her, her eyes were on fire. He had apparently stepped on her toes. Good. "What does that have to do with this?"

"Nothing, Frank. I'm going to tell you, because you have such a low opinion of me right now," she said. "Ramon Rivera. Does the name ring a bell?"

It did. It rang a huge bell. It was one of the men in the gang Donovan had been a part of in his CIA days. It was the same man who shot him down. He didn't know what to say at that point.

"Yes," she said, as if knowing that her words had shut him up for good. "That's right. I was a law clerk for the DA's office. He was arrested for smuggling cocaine. When I was helping the DA dig for evidence, I stumbled upon some. I breached confidentiality, Frank, but I didn't give a shit. This was the guy who almost killed you. This was the guy who made me lose you. I wanted him dead as much as you wanted the man who killed your brother dead."

Rachel turned from him and stomped her way into the kitchen. She found another clean glass and eyed the vodka for a very long time. She wanted it, but really shouldn't drink it. She went to the fridge, opened it, and found orange juice. She poured her own drink. It didn't matter that it was a virgin drink. Anything would do to soothe her throat. She stomped back into the living room, glass in hand, and glared down at him. He sat silently, shocked. Good. She wanted him shocked.

"So, you have nothing to say about that? I damned near went to jail over that. No one ever found out, if they had, I wouldn't have cared. I wanted that son of a bitch prosecuted, sent under the jail. It worked. That's how I first came to the attention of the IA division. They discovered that I could find shit they wanted to know. I didn't want to get a career with that. In a way, I was glad to do it. I thought if I could help in some capacity, I would. I would do anything to help you, for you. Don't you know that?"

When he didn't speak, she shook her head again. Slowly, she walked back around the table to the end of the couch. She sat back down. She finished her juice in one gulp, grimacing as it slid down her throat as if it were particularly strong bourbon. Rachel set the empty glass on the table next to his. Perhaps she should have brought the bottle along with her in case he needed another. She immediately felt the need to go back and grab the vodka, taking her own true drink. She wouldn't. She couldn't.

"I think your girl is with Jack now," she began. "That was my fault, too. If you want my opinion, she's only with him because she's hurt. I really think she cares about you." She took a deep breath, watching him from the corner of her eye. His silence was deafening her. "On that note, I suppose I should go."

Before she could move, he clamped his hand down onto her wrist. "Answer one question," he demanded.

She focused her eyes on his face. He didn't seem angry anymore, just solemn, and so very tired. "If I can."

He might regret what he was about to say, what he was about to do. If that was the case, he would deal with it when it happened. "What about you?"

Her brow furrowed with confusion. "What about me what?"

"Do you care?"

It made her wonder how much was true emotion and how much was vodka fueled. His gaze was sincere, more so than she had seen in some time. "What have I been trying to tell you all night?" She placed her hand on top of his. "I should go," she repeated. "You look tired."

He tightened his grasp on her hand. It stunned him how quickly old feelings could resurface. "I'd like you to stay."

She could flee if she wished. Although he had tightened his grip, it was light enough, more so than the last time he held onto her. "Do you think that would be a good idea?"

He met her question with a slight sardonic grin. "Probably not," he said. "I don't care. I still want you to stay."

For the first time since he came back into her life, she wanted nothing more than to fall into his arms, allow him to make love to her. It struck her that they were both lonely, desiring each other to dull the pain from rejection. Jack had left solely based on his own ideas about her relationship with Donovan. Lily had latched onto Jack for the very same reason. Part of her wanted to yank her hand out of his and run away into the night. This was something neither of them needed right now. It would only complicate things in the long run. The night he found her shield, she had another issue to deal with, one she wanted to discuss with him first. She wanted to bring it up again, but she wouldn't. She wanted something else tonight. Tomorrow might be different. Who was she kidding? It would definitely be different.

One speck of resistance dwelled within her. She would give him a chance to escape this if he wanted. "Are you sure?"

"Completely, Rachel," he answered earnestly. "You?"

She chuckled bitterly. "No, I'm not sure about anything." His hand was still in hers. She lifted it up to the center of her chest. "You feel that?"

Her heart was beating hard beneath his hand, her breath had quickened. "Certainly."

"It's telling me I'm sure. You might want to try and knock it into my head."

His hand moved from the middle of her chest, where it cupped her breast gently. "I can try."

The touch of his large hand sent shivers racing down her spine. If she stayed in this position long enough, she might lose her mind. "I'd like you to do just that."

She moved her body toward his, the space between them decreasing until his lips were fully on hers. She figured she would immediately taste the vodka he had consumed just moments ago. She was completely wrong. His lips were warm, his mouth warmer. He tasted heavenly sweet. For a brief moment, she lost herself in his kiss, in his strong embrace.

The tricks the mind played on people were amazing. Rachel remembered little in the next stage of time. She didn't remember Donovan leading her to his bedroom, their lips barely apart for a moment. She couldn't exactly recall who undressed whom. At one moment, both of them were decently covered. At another, they were totally bare. After that, she was aware of every touch, every emotion.

They went to the bed, kneeling before each other. For a long time, they simply gazed at each other, not speaking or moving, only breathing heavily. They kissed again, his tongue entering her mouth, seeking hers, touching it, plundering the depths inside. His hands found her breasts and began a wicked caress. Moaning, she broke the kiss and began moving both their bodies to the bed. She tugged his arm gently. Somehow, she laid back, straightening her legs, pulling his body over hers. Their kiss broken, his tongue made a line down the slope of her throat to the area between her breasts. He suckled each nipple gently, grazing them with this teeth before allowing his mouth to move lower. She felt his lips moving over her rib cage, tickling her, until they settled briefly at her stomach. He dipped his tongue in her navel, going no further. It seemed as if he wanted to love her, but also torture her. He moved his lips upward until they met hers again for another explosive kiss.

She suddenly became aware of his hands, one of which settled on her shoulder. The other moved lower in a caressing touch, lower still until it settled gently between her legs. His wicked caress left her panting against his lips. She would break the kiss, beg him to stop, when he did, she would beg him to continue. This went on until she thought she would lose her mind. He stopped after her hand found him, giving her an opportunity to conduct some torture of her own. How quickly she had gained the upper hand. He raised his body, using his hands and lifting upward, almost miming a push up. Her caress continued, but not for long. He placed his hand over hers, discontinuing a touch that he didn't want to, knowing if he didn't, their lovemaking would end before it began.

She mused that he certainly hadn't lost his touch. He still knew what she liked, where she loved to be kissed, the small tickle at her lower back whenever his lips touched her flesh. It was crazy wicked, but whenever he did that, she couldn't help but cry out. Would he stop? Certainly not. It was easy for him to please her, it was an advantage of having been with him so long. He knew what to do, what to say, and how to make her feel completely alive. It had taken Jack a very long time to learn those tricks. He never could do to her what Frank Donovan did.

In a sense, it felt like she was a virgin again. She remembered that Donovan had been her first lover. Sure, she had had plenty of dates where boys had groped her and thought they knew what they were doing. So, that was exactly what she expected on the first night she spent with him. How wrong she was. Their age difference taught her that he knew more about pleasing a woman than those teenaged boys she dated throughout high school and a few dorky ones in college. He set her on fire easily, where she had completely forgotten it was supposed to hurt the first time. Oddly, it didn't. She barely felt him enter, but once he did, every part of her body seemed to sing. At his entrance inside her tonight, her body sang again. Louder than ever.

While moving within her, in that timeless cycle of love, he had his own thoughts about one of their 'first times' together, especially right after he was shot. It took a while for him to recover. The last time they made love was right before she left him the final time. Having nearly gone mad when he was shot, she argued about making love with him. She thought he was delicate, that he might break. When he assured her it wasn't the case, she went with him willingly enough. The first thing she did was kiss his chest where he had been injured. It was one of the most touching moments of his life. It was a feeling he couldn't explain, but the feeling of her lips on the scar was an incredible sensation. He could safely say it felt the same tonight. She knew. She still knew after all these years. God help him, he loved her for remembering.

At her climax, she couldn't avoid bursting into tears. She felt them streaming down her face. He kissed them away, causing her to experience another shuddering climax. Most men were selfish lovers, they didn't try to do anything to help their partners along. The instant they were finished, it was finished. Literally. He had the personal distinction of being completely different than that. He would love his partner long after his release. She had forgotten this about him. How could she? How could she forget this?

At his, his body froze over hers, his intake of breath ceased. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes tightly. Despite whatever incompatibilities existed between them, she fit him so amazingly well. It was hard to remember what tore them apart so many times in the past. Hadn't they learned anything since their break up? He didn't know, but at this moment, it seemed to be so. When his body recovered, he kissed her deeply, wanting to revel in the sensation as long as he could. He wondered vaguely if he had been leading them into this the moment he saw her again.

Later, Donovan awoke at the slight shift of his bed. He leaned up on one elbow and watched as Rachel donned his robe. "Are you okay?"

She jumped a bit at his voice. She sat on the side of the bed and turned toward him. "I didn't mean to wake you. I got cold."

She slid back into bed, watching Donovan with a smile as he threw the covers back over them both. She laid her head on his shoulder and reached across him to grasp his hand in hers. It felt completely natural to her to be in this position. However, she didn't know where to go from here. She thought with some certainty that neither of them could go back to the past. For once, she drove those thoughts out of her head.

"Better?"

She laughed and planted a soft kiss on his chest. "Lots."

"I think I owe you an apology," he said.

"No you don't, Frank. I completely understand why you were so angry. Whatever you said, whatever you did, I deserved it. All of it."

"No Rachel, you didn't," Donovan insisted. "I've been in the game long enough to know what happens to those who open their mouths. You're doing what you were asked to do. I have no right to criticize it."

She pulled away from his comforting embrace to lean up on her elbow. He was looking up at her with the same solemn gaze he used earlier tonight before they fell into bed. "You have valid reasons to feel the way you do, Frank. I could have refused the assignment. I obviously have a conflict of interest going here."

"You do if I'm on your short list," he said. "Otherwise, you don't."

"You're not, Frank," she admitted. "But I do have a definite conflict. The very group I'm watching includes a man I'm now in bed with. It also involves a man I lived with for several years. What does that tell you?"

"That you have a shitty case," he said. "I don't need to know the details of what you're doing. But if you knew all along, why did you show up at Favron Resort wearing a red wig?"

"Stupidity, I suppose," she said with a shameful grin. "I'm sorry, Frank. I'm sorry for everything." She leaned forward to kiss him. He accepted it willingly enough. "I want you to know a couple of things. First, of course, is that I'll always love you. You'll always have a place in my heart."

He ran his hand through her hair, caressing her silky locks, holding a few strands for good measure. "You too, Rachel. Always. What else? I know something has been bothering you tonight. I could sense it."

"I know you could," she said softly. "I should have told you earlier before you made love to me. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I'm pregnant."

It struck him from left field. With anything she could say to him, this was definitely not what he expected. He gazed at her for a very long time, unsure what to say, where to go with this news. "Pregnant?"

She nodded, lowering her head in shame for a few minutes before meeting his gaze again. "That's the other thing I had buried with my shield. It was a pregnancy test."

"I suppose you haven't told Jack," he said evenly.

"No. With the way things are going now, I probably won't. I should have told you, Frank, before we got this far. It's another thing in a series of them that I'm sorry for."

"I'm surprised, but I don't regret this. I don't regret tonight or how I still feel about you. Don't you think you should tell Jack?"

She shook her head. "No way. The way we ended things, he would probably think I was trying to trap him. I certainly don't intend to do that. He's not interested in marriage or having children. He has never said so, but I can tell with the way he talks."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know, Frank. I don't know." She sat on the side of the bed and dropped the robe. She started to get up, but she felt him take hold of her arm. "What is it?"

"Where are you going?"

"Home," she incredulously. "Where else?"

"No," he said. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

He took her back to bed and made love to her again. It was something she didn't expect, especially after telling him about her little stranger. It said a lot about his character, about the type of man he was. Any woman would be lucky to have his attention.

In another part of town, Lincoln sat alone. He wasn't sure where Holly was, but when he saw her again, she would be sorry for leaving him alone tonight. When he was in the planning stage, she was always required to be here. He knew a certain accomplice who would be unable to sit for at least three days.

He sat with an open newspaper. It was one of those small town community type things. In another part of the state, there would be some type of county fair. Most small towns had them every year with animal exhibits, elderly rides, and lots of people. He knew a lot about serial killers, knew that some of them often wrote letters to newspapers about their lives and crimes in an attempt to be caught. As of today, he hadn't done such a thing. He thought it was how people got caught. Tonight, though, he didn't give a ripe fuck. The death of Nona Pope gave him plenty of press, but he wanted more. He wanted them to be afraid, to be very afraid.

Lincoln read the story about the county fair again. On the opening night, the paper boasted, they were expecting record numbers. Oh. And look at this. There would be some type of pageant. This event would draw many types of women. The women who entered wouldn't all be fluffy blondes, either. Many of them would have dark hair. Perhaps he and Holly could nab more than one in a night. That would make things harder for them, but way more interesting. Wouldn't it? It was perfect. A perfect night. A perfect plan. More perfect murders.

He pushed away from the kitchen table and walked into the living room. Somewhere in the house, he had an old electric typewriter. If he stupidly decided to email a letter, he might be caught before he was ready. Mailing it the old fashioned way was the only avenue to travel. Off to the right of the room was a closet. He threw all types of things in there, including out of date electronics. When he peered into the small closet, he found the typewriter at the bottom buried under a couple of old sweaters Holly owned. He lifted it with some effort and carried it into the kitchen. It was covered with dust. It was of no consequence to him. After dusting it off, he put on a pair of rubber gloves. Once the machine was wiped clean, he sat down and typed out a letter to the Brandonvale Courier. He knew with certainty that it would find its way to the Miami office. It would go right where he wanted it to. The FBI may believe it a fraud, but all he needed was some interest. Once the bodies were found, they would know it was as genuine as his smile. Yes indeed.