3.
Alex saw only Trevor Langan's retreating back. She hurried up to grab his elbow, oblivious to the rush of lawyers and bikers streaming past them. "Where is she?"
Trevor turned. "Quarter of a million."
"Ridenour? He—what?"
"ROR was a long shot, Alex. We knew that going in." Trevor looked tired. Alex didn't want to notice that—Trevor was probably Olivia's best hope—but she did. His shoulders sagged beneath the crisp lines of his suit.
Alex swallowed. "What happens now?"
"I've talked to people. I'll talk to some more. She'll spend a night or two at Rikers, but I'll—"
"She can't."
"I'm doing everything I can—"
"No. Trevor. You aren't thinking about this clearly. She's a cop, and, and, and—"
Once again, Alex's mind rushed with terrifying images. Some perp from the past recognizing Liv on the bus to Rikers. Olivia chained and helpless as she entered the prison, not undercover, no rescue and no recourse, unable to suppress the traumatic flashbacks that would show her cellmates how vulnerable she was. Some psychotic biker chick holding a strip of contraband metal to Olivia's throat—
Langan was staring at her, with his head at an odd angle; she realized it might be the first time he had seen her at a loss for words. Alex shook her head, trying to clear the horror. "She can't go to Rikers. That's why I needed you to represent her, so this didn't happen!" When she heard her voice echo off the vaulted ceiling, she glanced around to see if anyone was listening, but the hallway seemed to have cleared around them.
Trevor's grey eyes looked tired, too. "What do you want me to do?"
Alex couldn't even think straight. "When's the next bus? When are they taking her?"
"Supposed to leave at five." Trevor's eyes were still searching her, and she guessed he had just put it all together—Alex's panic was too severe to be justified by even the closest friendship. She and Olivia had tried to keep it in the closet—it was just easier, at work, if no one knew who didn't have to—but right now Alex didn't care.
"Give me an hour or two," she said, thinking through her finances and assets. "Maybe I can free up—"
Langan had picked up his phone. "Hello, Trevor Langan—Detective Stabler, what's up?"
Alex paced a few steps away, trying not to overhear. Elliot. Who could do more for Olivia now than Alex could. Her hands were tied as a prosecutor. Or maybe Elliot just had more courage than she—after all, a suspect was in custody, and technically SVU shouldn't be investigating anymore. But Olivia's dogged partner was still at it. Probably the whole squad was.
"Yeah, I guess word travels fast … Really? Sure, sure, of course. You should get over here right away … Yeah. Ten minutes." Langan slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket.
Alex turned. "Is Elliot—"
"Oh, crap," said Trevor. "You shouldn't have heard that."
Alex didn't care. "But is everything—"
"Yes, Alex. Someone's taking care of it. You don't have to worry."
"She won't have to spend the night there?"
"If he hurries, she won't go there at all."
Alex nodded, and for a few seconds she couldn't stop nodding. Trevor looked curiously at her, and she composed herself enough to still the movement. Her helplessness had started to scream in her ears: the woman she loved was in danger, her life on the line—no safer than she would have been pursuing an armed killer—and Alex could do nothing, nothing, nothing to help her, nothing to save her. She wanted her lover in her arms, but really, the truth, though she knew it was twisted, was that Alex wanted Olivia to comfort her—wanted Olivia to hold her in her arms and assure her that it would be all right.