Chapter Four

They worked the scene, which was as straightforward as they come. Both the bleach bottle blonde woman and her tattooed mate were naked when they were shot dead in their adulterous bed in a seedy motel. The most likely suspect was undoubtedly a spurned spouse, more likely her's than his – although both were married to another. Guns were much more a man's tool, they agreed as they waited for an address for Mr. Bottle Blonde.

"Why don't they just leave?" Charlie mused.

"They're dead," Reese replied annoyed and missing his point.

"Not here," he explained. "Why don't they just leave their spouse?"

"Oh," Reese's reply was subdued. Still a little close to home he reasoned.

"I guess it's easier to just keep lying," he continued down his line of thought. It was related to the case and it wasn't. She glared at him and he instantly knew that she was aware of what he was doing. "It's harder, but braver and somehow kinder - to leave," he plowed ahead despite the danger.

"Is that so?" she was pissed now – this time he was sure it was at him.

He chewed on his thoughts for a moment while he decided how hard to push her.

"That how it felt when she left you? Kinder?" Her comment was hard, biting, even mean. There was no question who the "she" Reese was referring to was – it was Jennifer, his ex-wife, the one who left him in prison to rot while he was serving a life sentence for a crime he did not commit. It was one of his Achilles heels and Reese knew it. Her message was strong and unmistakable – back off.

His eyes narrowed and darkened. He regarded her for a long moment before giving her an answer, one she didn't want and did not expect. "No," he admitted, "it didn't feel kind at all."

His eyes shifted colors from the vibrant blue of balance and calm to the greenish gray of trouble and she'd done it. She was instantly sorry for going after him, but not sorry enough to admit it or apologize. She'd only wanted to shut him up, but she'd wounded him and he was going to take it out of her hide metaphorically speaking. She didn't get to do that to him anymore; not like before. Not like when they'd met and she'd been so cruel to him. Not like before he'd given his life in trade for hers.

"You wanna talk about this?" she testily started.

"Do you?" he caustically remarked. Anger and pain flashed in his eyes like warning lights at a sharp turn. He'd felt the burn of the acid on her tongue too many times to tolerate it when he didn't deserve it.

"No," she replied in huff, "but you…"

He interrupted her brusquely, "Don't pick a fight with me because you're mad at him. I'm not your boyfriend or your lover." He was angry and he seldom showed anger, almost never at her.

"I'm not angry at him," she willed calm, "and I'm not angry at you." There was a challenge in the look he returned, "but I shouldn't have said that. It was mean," she confessed.

"Why'd you leave him?"

There it was. Crews' price – the one he'd exact for her insult - the truth he'd make her give him in exchange for being her punching bag. She'd walked right into it. Her sigh was telling – but he waited. She was honest and true in this regard and she'd pay him what she owed, an absolute truth for her wrong.

"I…." she stammered and looked down. When her eyes returned to his, the blue was back in them and concern filled his face. Even when she struck out metaphorically at him, she could never push him very far away. "I was playing at something that was real for him. I wanted more – for him; I wanted more - for me. I couldn't do it anymore." She gutted out her confession but his eyes never changed and never left hers.

He simply looked at her and listened and observed; then after a long pause, he commented simply, "good for you Reese. Good for you," turned on the balls of his feet and walked away leaving her puzzled and confused.

He was expecting more - expecting something else, some sign or signal that intimated what Tidwell asserted was true. But Dani never changed; she gave him nothing to go on. Not one scintilla more than was required and she was always this way when it came to herself; closed off, private, even with him, even after this long.