Head notes: Sorry it took so long. it took a while to type it up. I really hope the wait hasn't dampened anyone's enthusiasm. And there are more references to my Donnelly story. In fact it might help to peruse it a little. Now onto the story! Enjoy!

Chapter 6

John rushed out of the building to get to Simmons. As he approached Simmons' motionless form, he crouched down and placed two fingers on his carotid artery. There was a definite pulse there. Suddenly, Simmons groaned as he pushed himself off the ground.

"What happened?" John asked him.

"Quinn got the drop on me," Simmons slurred. "Where were you? I thought you said you'd protect me."

"Well, forgive me for taking care of the snipers that would have shot you," John whispered.
Simmons scoffed but didn't reply.

"Now can you get up?" John asked him.

Simmons nodded and forced his legs under him so he could stand up. John heard the familiar ringtone and tapped his earpiece.

"Yeah, Finch?" he answered.

"Mr. Reese, you had better get to Carter and Fusco immediately," he said. His partner's voice was soft and John could tell that he was trying to hide his fear.

"What happened?" John asked.

"They were just taken by a member of HR," Finch said simply. "I fear he intends to silence them. They need your assistance."

"Come on," John ordered Simmons. Then he replied to Finch as he walked up to a car. "We have another problem. Quinn got away."

"Well you take care of the detectives," Finch said. "I will take care of Quinn."

"What exactly do you plan to do, Finch," he asked. "Talk him to death?"

"Not exactly," Finch answered. "But rest assured, I have something in mind."

He heard a click as Finch hung up. Then he hot-wired the car and began hightailing it to help the detectives. As he drove he couldn't stop the uneasy feeling he getting. What exactly did Finch have in mind? He hoped he didn't plan on confronting Quinn. The man had killed Szymanski himself and hadn't been afraid to kill Beecher to cover it up. He didn't want Finch to put himself in the hands of such a dangerous man. But that's exactly what he was doing. Images of a helpless Finch crying out for help rose unbidden in his mind. He tried to stop them, but they were forcing themselves to the forefront of his mind.

For one fleeting moment he considered ignoring Finch's advice and going after him instead of the detectives. But he quickly brushed the thought away. He had to save the detectives, which meant he had to send someone after Finch. Simmons was out of the question. He didn't trust him. But who could he trust?

A single name skirted across his mind. One that made him hesitate for a moment. There was someone he could trust. Someone who hated HR almost as much as he did and would do anything to take them down. He hesitated a moment longer.

Donnelly was a good man, there was no doubt in his mind about that. But calling him now was like playing with fire. And he wasn't quite sure if trusted him enough to tell him about Harold. But he had no other options. Besides, he didn't have to tell him about Harold. He could just give him information on Quinn. If he was as determined to bring down HR as he was to catch him, the man wouldn't wait until morning to talk to Quinn.

He took a chance. He took out his phone and dialed a number. There was still a chance this could blow up in their face, but instinct was telling him to trust Donnelly. And he had come to rely on his instincts.

"Who are you calling?" Simmons asked.

"An old friend," John answered. Then he turned his attention to the man answering the phone. "Hey, Nick." He began, trying to force all remaining doubt from his mind. "You know how I said HR hates both our guts? I have information that could bring them down permanently."

XxXxXx

Carter and Fusco stared at the gun in Terney's hand. Neither one of them had thought to grab their weapons before going into the not-so-private office. It hadn't seemed necessary. But now they were both wishing they had.

"Now we are all going to go on a little drive," Terney said, lowering his weapon so he could conceal it. "Don't attract attention or I'll kill you both right here."

They all walked out to Terney's car; Fusco making sure that he was always in between Carter and Terney.

"So when did you become a rotten scumbag?" Fusco asked Terney.

"You're one to talk, Fusco," Terney said as he drove. "You're just as dirty I am. The fact that you're all goody-goody now doesn't make you a good cop."

"What?" The shock was evident in Carter's voice and Fusco could feel her gaze turn onto him. He didn't dare meet Carter's eyes. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment, the distrust, in his partner's eyes.

"And I thought you had a nose for dirty cops Carter," Terney said, relishing Fusco's shame. "Your partner here was dirty long before he met you. He helped cover up murders of lowlife drug dealers, and as I recall he even killed a few of them himself. Didn't you, Fusco?"

Fusco was glaring at Terney. A few moments passed before Fusco could think of what to say.

"Yeah, you dirty sack, I was dirty cop," Fusco began. "I'm not proud of my past. I've done things that I pray my son doesn't find out about. But it's a crazy thing when life gives you a second chance to be the good guy. At first you're forced into it kicking and screaming. Then you realize that you like bein' the good guy. 'cause that's how your kid sees you. No matter what you are. And before you know it, you are that guy."

Fusco risked a look at Carter's face. Her expression was unreadable. As if she couldn't decide whether to be disgusted at his past or impressed by his evolution from dirty cop to good cop.

He looked back at Terney and continued. "And if I die, I want my kid to be proud of me. I want him to know that I died trying to take you guys down. I want him to know that his old man died doing something right."

"You think your son's going to know whether you died doing something good or not?" Terney laughed. "You, too, Carter. You think anyone's going to know if you died doing something good?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "But I will."

XxXxXx

John stepped on the gas, following the GPS coordinates on the detectives' phones. It seemed Terney wasn't the smartest dirty cop out there. He hadn't even bothered to take the phones' batteries. He seemed to be going into the outskirts of the city. The dark corners of it. He stepped harder on the gas, surely going over the speed limit. So help him, if Terney killed Carter and Fusco, John would see to it that he saw the error of his ways.

"What's your plan?" Simmons asked.

"The direct approach," John said.

Finally he seemed to be catching up to them. The little dots on the GPS were getting closer together. Then up ahead, he saw Terney's tail lights turn into an alleyway. He stopped the car and got out. He heard Simmons' door close and stopped.

"Do you have your handcuffs, Officer?" he asked, without turning to look at Simmons.

Sighing in annoyance, Simmons handed his cuffs over to John, only to have them close unexpectedly around his wrists.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Simmons demanded as John snapped the other cuff on the steering wheel of the car.

"I have to go save my friends," John said, fishing around in Simmons' pockets for the keys, amid his protests. "And since I can't trust you not to come up with any ideas, you're staying here."

His fingers closed around the keys and he threw them as far as he could before taking off to find Carter and Fusco, cocking his gun as he rounded the corner.

XxXxXx

Terney finally stopped the car and got out. He pointed his gun at the two detectives and ordered them to come out. Fusco kept himself between Carter and Terney. Terney pulled out a second gun.

"You will never get away with this, Terney," Carter said.

"Actually, Carter," Terney began. "I will get away with this. Which is a shame, really. Because, I always liked you, Carter. But you just had to keep on asking questions. Like your boyfriend. You just never figured out when not to ask questions."

"You're not gonna lay a finger on her, you dirtbag," Fusco snapped.

"Of course not, Fusco," Terney said calmly. "You are."

Carter and Fusco stared at Terney for a few moments before he continued.

"I think it rather tragic what happened here," Terney said in mock sympathy. "One good cop, one dirty cop. The dirty cop shot his trusting partner in the back," he said indicating Carter with the second gun. "Detective Terney came around at the right time, heard the gun go off and shot the dirty cop with his gun." He indicated Fusco with his own gun. "Unfortunately, he was too late to save the noble Detective Carter."

"Do you really think anyone's going to fall for that, Terney," Carter asked.
Terney smiled.

"Everybody fell for the Szymanski set up," he said shrugging. "Even you fell for it. Any last words?" He asked pointing the gun at Carter.

Without a word, Fusco stepped forward and placed himself directly in front of the gun, flashing Terney a defiant gaze. Terney shrugged.

"Fine with me," he said simply.

Terney cocked his gun as Fusco took a deep breath that he was sure would be his last. Carter and Fusco both flinched as a gunshot rang out. But Fusco wasn't the one who collapsed on the alley floor. It was Terney, who was moaning and grasping his shoulder in pain.

Fusco and carter didn't waste any time. Fusco quickly picked up both of Terney's guns and Carter forced Terney onto his stomach. She got out her handcuffs and put them on Terney's wrists as Fusco turned to greet John who was coming up to them.

"You always have show up at the last possible second, don't you," Fusco growled, clearly annoyed.

"At least I show up on time," came the dry response. "Simmons is back there," he said pointing in the direction he came from. "I thought you might want to do the honors."

"Sure thing, boss," Fusco replied.

Terney stood up and turned to Fusco, his hands cuffed behind his back.

"This isn't over, Fusco," he threatened. "HR isn't out. We never will be. You and your partner will be the first to go."

"Oh yeah," Fusco returned, shooting his 'I don't give a crap' face at Terney. "Well, get in line."

"Besides," John added. "Your boss isn't the only chess player in the city."

XxXxXx

Quinn sat at his desk in his office cursing the idiot sniper. Shooting at Simmons before he had located the guy in the suit. Quinn had been sure the moment he had heard the shot that the guy had thrown off the other man's aim. Then he'd been forced to knock out Simmons in order to give himself time to escape. Perhaps, if he was lucky, the blow had been strong enough to kill him. But he doubted it and now he had given himself away to Simmons.

At that moment, Mrs. Jones came on the speaker.

"Mr. Quinn, there is a Norman Hawkins here to meet with you," she said.

Quinn didn't recognize the name but he figured it wouldn't hurt to talk with him.

"Send him in," he said.

The door to his office opened and Mr. Hawkins came in. He was a short fellow dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, wearing glasses and carrying a briefcase. After a few steps, Quinn noticed that he was limping even though Mr. Hawkins himself didn't seem to notice it. As if he had grown accustomed to his disability and didn't feel the need to acknowledge it.

But what got his attention most of all was Hawkins' eyes. There was an intensity burning behind his glasses that might have made the toughest criminals think twice about attacking him; even though he probably couldn't do much to them physically. Mr. Hawkins sat down across from him and greeted him politely, his eyes flashing with calm anger.

End notes: I love coming up with aliases for Harold. usually involves looking up birds. Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter. the next one will be posted soon.