Bo stared at Lauren, pain temporarily pushed back to the back of her mind. Lauren grown up. Lauren with a hint of lip-gloss. Lauren in a white lab coat over a crisp white shirt and black slacks. Lauren grown up, and so very different from the awkward teenager, yet so strangely familiar. Lauren grown up, but with those same kind, intelligent eyes. Lauren grown up but still shy, dropping her gaze under Bo's scrutiny.
Bo's eyes traced the strong line of Lauren's jaw to where it melted into the soft curve of her cheek, watching with amusement as it turned pink, then crimson in mere seconds. She marveled at how expressive Lauren looked, even when standing still and silent. And beautiful. Slender, with narrow hips and that same corn-yellow hair curling slightly just below her shoulder blades.
Unbidden, a quiet "wow" passed through Bo's dry lips, but to everyone else in the room it must have sounded more like a whimpered "ow", because suddenly Dyson was sliding into her view while inadvertently blocking out Lauren, scooping her up out of the wheelchair and depositing her on a nearby autopsy table. The jarring movement reminded her of the gaping wound in her leg, and this time a real "owww!" tore through her throat.
Lauren, too, had sprung into action, moving a tray with medical instruments to her side and snapping on a pair of sterile gloves. The first tool she picked up was a pair of scissors, and without asking permission or saying anything, she started cutting off Bo's pants to expose the wound.
Lauren was moving on autopilot. Seeing Bo after all those years was like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart, and she didn't trust herself at the moment to say anything, lest she blabber like a complete idiot. It was safer just to act or, in this case, react to the trauma case before her. Going into her doctor mode, she tried to concentrate on treatment and ignore the patient.
But Bo wasn't having it. "Uh, Lauren, I know this is the ME's office and not a hospital, and this -" she pointed to the hard, cold and bare surface of the slab she was laying on, "is an autopsy table and not a hospital gurney, but you do" she emphasized the last word – do "know I'm a live patient, right?"
Startled to be addressed directly, and not sure how to answer, Lauren darted her eyes at Dyson and then at Bo, trying to find something reasonable to say in response. Dyson looked back at her cheekily, a telltale smirk on his face a clear sign of his amusement at her discomfort. He wouldn't be any help, per usual. Bo too looked amused, but her expression was softer, not challenging, despite her words, and it helped ease Lauren's anxiety levels.
"Yes, my corpses usually don't question my methods, or say 'ow', so it's safe to assume I will not forget you are a live patient." Lauren said, smiling down at Bo and feeling years fall away, until they were two teenagers again, teasing each out about their lunch choices or something equally innocuous.
"And you've treated gunshot wounds before?" Bo pushed, not because she didn't trust Lauren, but to try to extract a bit of the blonde woman's history.
But good humor or not, Lauren didn't feel compelled to list her credentials at the moment, fearing that sharing any part of herself, or her past, would somehow leave her vulnerable. So she opted for basic facts.
"Yes, I'm a fully accredited physician, and I've treated a verity of injuries, including gunshot wounds."
"You can trust her with a scalpel," Dyson piped in, "but her bedside manners could use some improvements." He looked up at Lauren, ignoring the scowl that she could not keep off her face at his jab. "What do you say, Doc, is it safe to get some blankets under Bo before you get started?"
"Of course." Lauren grumbled, heading for a cabinet to retrieve some blankets and sheets.
When she returned, arms full of folded layers of coverings, Dyson lifted Bo, giving Lauren some clearance. Quickly she laid down several blankets, then a plastic sheet, followed by a bed sheet. As soon as she was done, Dyson lowered Bo back down. "Better?"
"Yes, thank you," Bo smiled up at her once-boyfriend. Dyson have aged well, she noticed. He wore a beard now, and his hair was a bit thinner, but still blond and curly, just like when he was a teenager. He still had the athletic build, but was broader in chest and shoulders, though the added bulk was all muscle. His eyes were just as blue as she remembered, twinkling with equal parts mischief and gentle humor. The lines on his face were deeper, giving him more character, and more appeal –the crow's feet around his eyes, the crinkle between his eyebrows, the lines around his lips – there were the imprints of live lived fully and with abandon.
Conscious of Bo's scrutiny – Bo's gaze felt almost tangible –Dyson thought that a little of his own gawking would be tolerated just then. Bo really haven't changed all that much. Her hair was longer now, and she wore her make up differently – heavy eyeliner brining out her eyes more than when she was a teenager, but she still had a look of fun-loving, care-free, sweet girl he fell in love with.
A little caught up in the moment, Dyson was startled by a phone ringing on his belt. He was the on-call detective that week, so when the number on the display read 'dispatch', he knew he was being summoned. Taking a few steps away from the two women to get some privacy, he answered the call.
Lauren was watching Bo's frank appraisal of Dyson with some uneasiness while she continued to cut away at the blood covered clothing around the wound. That task completed, she did a quick visual examination, then took an x-ray with a portable unit. The image needed only seconds to process and render on her computer screen, so by the time she rounded her desk, it was ready. She peered at it carefully, and was very pleased to see no visible bullet or bone debris. The bullet had passed a few inches from the femur, and though she wouldn't know the kind of tissue and blood vessel damage it caused, this alone bode well for Bo's speedy recovery.
She returned to Bo's bed side just as Dyson's phone rang. He stepped away, breaking the shared moment, and Bo turned to face her, one elegant eyebrow raised in question.
"It looks good so far, but I need to operate to repair the damage." Lauren comforted. She turned away to get a new pair of gloves and a few other supplies she would need for the surgery, missing Bo's intense look now directed back at her.
Bo was once again caught up with watching Lauren, having never seen this side of her - moving about confidently and with purpose. She felt torn between wanting to watch Lauren and trying to eavesdrop on the conversation Dyson was having, hoping to gain tidbits of information that could get her back in the hunt for the medical container that has now changed hands three times in three days. But the conversation was over quickly and she heard nothing useful.
"I need to leave now." Dyson announced as soon as he disconnected the call. "Another homicide, and I'm on-call." He walked over to the row of cabinets, familiar with most of the tools that were stored in this office, and retrieved a box of wipes, a handful of plastic slides and two evidence bags. Stepping back to Bo's side, he swiped both her hands before she was able to protest, and dropped the wipes into an evidence bag, sealing it and notating its contents.
"There is no gunshot residue on my hands," Bo griped, having guessed what the wipes were for.
"I need to be sure." Dyson responded, not unkindly. Next, he pressed a plastic slide to each of Bo's fingers on her right hand, making sure to get a good imprint, and sealed them in the second bag. This time Bo didn't protest, but she pulled her hand away as soon as he was done, eyeing him narrowly. Unperturbed, Dyson gripped both bags under one arm, moved to the foot of the bed, and suddenly attached a handcuff to her ankle (choosing her uninjured leg, thankfully). The other cuff he secured to the slit in the table for drainage.
"Hey, what's that for?" Bo protested, indignant at being cuffed to the autopsy table.
"I'm sorry, Bo, but I'm already risking my career, and more, for getting you out of the crime scene." Dyson explained, patiently. "You are – at worst – an accomplice, at best – a material witness to a major crime, and I need to have you stay close until the investigation is completed."
"Dyson, wait, I'll need to turn her over to close the exit wound!" It was Lauren's turn to protest.
Already half way to the door, Dyson turned back to face the women. "Lauren, improvise," he instructed. "Bo, I'll see you later!" When he reached the threshold, he stopped and turned back once more. "Lauren, say Hi to Evony for me."
"Will do." Lauren promised, her face sullen.
Bo picked up on the little exchange, knowing Dyson made a dig of some kind that Lauren was unhappy about. She started to wonder who this Evony was, and who she was to Lauren specifically, then she wondered if that's precisely what Dyson was trying to achieve with his parting comment. Deciding she wouldn't play into his hands, she bit off the questions that danced on the tip of her tongue, deciding instead to deal with a different issue.
"Hand me a paperclip, please" She pointed to the organizer on Lauren's desk. One section clearly held a handful of paperclips.
Lauren snapped off her gloves, handed Bo a clip, then reached for a new pair. Bo was sitting up, and Lauren rushed to get her to stop moving, but Bo waved her off. "Just give me a minute, doc." She unbent a part of the paperclip, then twisted it in two places, forming two small loops. Inserting the reshaped clip into the keyhole in the handcuff, she twisted until the locking mechanism opened, releasing her ankle. Throwing the cuffs aside with scorn, Bo stretched back on the autopsy table.
"Do your thing, doc." She said, looking up at her childhood friend, small smile playing on her lips.
Lauren nodded, and held up a small needle with a line already attached. "This is an anesthetic, it's mild, but you'll be much more comfortable if I administer it before we begin, OK?" She waited for the go ahead and carefully inserted the needle into the vein. "Just a few minutes before it takes effect." She promised, but Bo was already blinking sleepily.
Satisfied that the medicine was already working, though it would need a little longer to circulate through the bloodstream for full effect, Lauren proceeded to cut away the pants and the shirt. Both were marred in dried blood and would irritate Bo's skin is left on for much longer. She worked quietly, removing both garments carefully, until Bo was left in nothing but her underwear. Though she was fully in the doctor mode, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was working on a friend, and that awareness was causing her thoughts to shift from purely medical ones. That was the reason the doctors were not generally allowed to operate on their friends and loved ones – they lost the impartiality that was otherwise ingrained into them in med school.
Grabbing another blanket from the cabinet so she could lay it over Bo to make her more comfortable in the room that was kept cool for autopsies, Lauren had allowed her gaze to linger on Bo's body for a bit longer than was strictly necessary. Unbidden, her lips parted and a soft "You're beautiful" slipped through them.
Bo's eyes flattered opened, their gaze locking for just a second. Lauren was startled, having assumed that Bo would be well on her way to a drug-induced sleep by now. She swallowed nervously, wondering if Bo would comment, but the brunette's eyes fell closed again after only a second. With shaking fingers, Lauren placed the blanket over her friend, then attached the blood pressure cuff and the oxygen monitor. All indicators showed that drugs should be having full effect now. Satisfied, she proceeded with repairing the damage done by the bullet.
x
Groggy and thirsty, Bo came to some indeterminate amount of time later. Her wounded leg felt numb, and when she reached out to touch it she felt a bandage covering her thigh. She turned her head looking for Lauren, and found her just a few feet away, studying something intently through a microscope. Still a geek, Bo thought, smiling.
"Hey," she called out, startling the ME.
"You're awake!" Lauren beamed, raising and approaching her patient. She took Bo's blood pressure and pulse, asked about her pain level, checked to make sure the dressing was holding and let out a satisfied sigh when everything checked out.
Bo allowed all the pocking and prodding, content to let Lauren conduct her exam, relaxed and maybe still a little loopy from the anesthesia. She wouldn't have even realized she had spoken aloud, if it wasn't for Lauren's reaction.
"Who is Evony?"
The words hung in the air between them, potent and perilous.
It took a few moments for Lauren to respond. A few moments in which she revealed more about the relationship than she ever intended. "She's a Chief Medical Examiner, she's my boss." Lauren replied tersely.
"I see." Bo exhaled, looking away from the blonde. She didn't know what surprised and bothered her more – that Lauren accomplished so little with her life that she was working as a Medical Examiner; or that she was obviously sleeping with her boss, which meant they would have to hide the relationship from practically everyone to avoid being fired. The picture of Lauren's life that was forming in her mind looked bleak.
Noting the brooding look in Bo's eyes and wanting desperately to change the subject, Lauren thought it was long past due she informed her charge of her condition. "You were pretty lucky the bullet missed the bone and femoral artery, but it went through the great saphenous vein and some small arteries, and you lost a lot of blood. I had to transfuse you."
"You have a lot of blood bags laying around in the autopsy room? I thought most of your charges came here devoid of blood." She asked, sitting up on the table. She was being snarky, she knew, but just couldn't help it at the moment. The earlier revelation was unsettling her, and Lauren was a convenient target.
Lauren winced, taking a step back from her patient. Bo's words and the hardness of her eyes stung in a way that was more physical than emotional. Gone was the quiet humor of their earlier interaction. The Bo who looked at her now wasn't the girl who introduced her to friends and fed her free burgers and root beer floats. Instead she was facing a version of Bo that had pushed her away and then left everyone behind for 16 long years.
Lauren took a deep breath and tried to let the hurt wash over her. She too wasn't that broken girl anymore who cried for nights on end over a best friend's leaving. She'd seen much suffering and experience a fair share herself, and somewhere along the way she learned how to put that childhood pain in proper perspective.
Yet, it didn't mean that she'd let anyone, list of all this woman, make her feel small again. The walls she had erected over her heart in full force, she looked back and the brunette coldly. If Bo intended to mock her work, she would not tell her that transfused blood came from a supply of artificial blood she had on hand for research and testing. Or that, feeling the pressure of time, she had to design a way to turn the generic stock into Bo's type A+ in about half the time the process would usually take and succeeded. She wouldn't tell Bo about the intricate way she patched up the blood vessels, or how she used microfibers to stich the skin to make sure the scars would be nearly invisible.
"You came to me, Bo." Lauren said calmly, though her insides were churning. "Maybe you didn't know who would be treating you when Dyson rolled you in this office, but you didn't protest when I informed you I will operate. So you can say 'Thank you, Lauren, for taking care of me' or you can take your business elsewhere."
Not looking forward to Bo's eventual reply, Lauren turned her body and her gaze away from the woman on the table. 'Ha!' she thought resentfully, 'see, I can do snarky too!'
Bo's reaction to being pushed was to push back twice as hard. Never mind that she started the pissing contest. Now that it was on, she wasn't going to let anyone beat her.
"That's fine, Doc, I'm sure you have a freezer full of cadavers to prep for the gutting." Bo didn't even try to hide her scorn.
Just then the office phone rang on Lauren's desk and ME hurried to get it. "Yes, sure, I'll buzz you in." She pressed a button on the phone to release the entrance lock, then sat down at the computer and started typing rapidly. She steadfastly ignored the woman sitting on the autopsy bed, and was glad that she did not offer any more comments. After a minute, the printer on the counter came to life and a few sheets of paper came out just as the door to the autopsy room opened admitting an older man in a cotton shirt with rolled up sleeves and a bag under one arm.
"Trick?" Bo sounded just as young as she suddenly felt. She ran her eyes over his face, but to her dismay found that she was unable to concentrate on any feature. It was as if her adult mind was not capable of accepting the aged features, and instead insisted on replacing them with those of the grandfather she knew growing up. She gave up after a minute, deciding that she didn't need to catalog the differences. She just needed a hug.
Trick must have read it in her eyes, because in the next moment he was enveloping his grown up granddaughter in a bear hug, feeling her tremble and sob into his shoulder.
Lauren watched the display from her desk, memories of her own despair at finding out that Bo left town resurfacing. As if remembering they were not alone in the room, Trick and Bo separated, looking in her direction sheepishly.
Lauren returned Trick's gaze, still ignoring Bo. She picked up the pages off the printer and walked over to the pair, intent on providing a crisp report. "One of the things that worked in Bo's favor when she was shot, is that her blood clotted unusually fast. A bullet did a lot of damage and blood loss could have been lethal under normal circumstances. But Bo's clotting factors where twice as high as they should have been. I've administered a blood thinner when I transfused, but I'm afraid the condition is serious and needs to be managed. I recommend checking blood INR every tree weeks for at least 6 months. I've printed a list of anticoagulation clinics in the city that can administer the test and provide the necessary medication." She handed Trick the printed sheets.
Trick accepted the pages automatically, looking a little pale all of the sudden. "And INR is..?" he asked faintly.
"A measure of coagulation." Lauren supplied. Relieved of the papers, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her lab coat. "I have the information on that and most commonly used drugs in there too." She explained, nodding at the pages clutched in Trick's hand. "Bo's wound needs to be cleaned and re-dressed daily. Other than that, she's good to go. The pain killers I've administered will wear off in a couple of hours, you should probably get something for later. Over-the-counter stuff will do." Lauren concluded her report, still looking only at Trick. "I'll let you get reacquainted. Call if you need anything." She nodded in general direction of both, then turned and left the office, closing the door behind her.
"What was that about?" Trick asked, still looking at the door that Laure just walked out of.
"Another time." Bo hedged, not wanting to get into or even think about her fight she had with Lauren just prior to Trick's arrival. She had enough on her mind just dealing with the situation she was in now. Should she apologize? Should she ask Trick how he's been all these years? Or should she run – dressed as she was, just as long as she didn't have to look at her grandfather and think about all the pain she must have caused him by leaving the way she did.
Trick, for his part, had accepted the answer without protest. He handed Bo the bag he brought in. "Brought you some things from home so you have something to wear. I'll wait outside." He patted her on the arm, looking at her with his signature crooked smile.
Bo clenched her teeth, unnerved by the easy acceptance. Trick wasn't one to hold a grudge, but shouldn't he at least be a little mad? And how did he know to bring her new clothes?
"Trick, how did you know where I was?" She stopped him before he reached the door.
"Dyson called me, told me what happened." Bo looked surprised, and Trick hastened to amend the statement. "He told me some of what happened. I'm sure he withheld a lot of information – such as why he brought you here to treat a bullet wound instead of a hospital." He tried to appease his granddaughter, holding his hands in front of him, palms out.
Satisfied for the moment, Bo looked at the clothes Trick brought her. "Just give me a moment." She mumbled distractedly, recognizing her old things. Trick must have kept at least some of her things, it would seem.
She dressed quickly, feeling a bit uncomfortable in her old things, as if it was skin that didn't fit her anymore. She once again felt the urge to run, but she had too much unfinished business here. Swinging her legs off the table, she tested her wounded leg to see if it would support her. A shot of pain persuaded her to use the wheel chair for just a little longer.
"Trick!" She called out.
He returned immediately, but choked up for second at seeing Bo in her old shirt and jeans.
"Help me with a chair." Bo asked, ignoring the look she was getting from Trick. If she had any doubt about being missed by this man, it would have vanished then.
Bo didn't pretest when Trick drove her back to her childhood home without asking, too worn out emotionally. She got to her room with the help of her grandfather and fell asleep in her old bed as soon as her head hit the pillow. Time for apologies, questions, and hard truths would come later.
x
Bo awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon, disoriented at fist to find herself in surroundings that were familiar yet nothing like the place where she had woken up for the last eight months. The dull throbbing in her thigh facilitated the return of memories from the previous day, and she hobbled to the bathroom as fast as the leg would let her, thankfully reaching the sink in time to throw up.
She rinsed out her mouth and brushed her teeth twice, both to rid her mouth of the acidic aftertaste of her bile and to postpone the maneuvering that would have to be done to lower herself onto the toilet seat to pee. She tried squatting by holding on to the counter, but the pain in her leg increased tenfold as soon as she bent her knee even a little. Not for the first time she felt envious of men's ability to pee standing up.
Later, seated at the breakfast table with Trick scurrying around, she felt right with the world as she hasn't in a long time.
"Has Dyson called?" she enquired after pushing the empty breakfast plate away.
"Yes. Told me to keep an eye on you and asked that you call him."
"Anything else?" Bo fished, wondering if Dyson mentioned cuffing her to autopsy table. Trick just shrugged, so she assumed he hasn't. "Mind dialing him for me?" Trick grabbed the phone, neither of them mentioning how strange it was that Trick was the one who had Dyson's number.
Dyson answered on the third ring, obviously from the station, though they called him on the cell phone. "Detective Wolfs speaking."
"Dyson, it's Bo. Come by Trick's later, we should talk."
"Will do." He responded neutrally before closing the connection.
Looking at the screen that had gone dark, Bo tried in vain to classify and organize her feelings about the upcoming conversation. Whichever way it went, it would be painless, she thought desperately. Was she ready for it?
Her internal struggle must have been plain on her face, because Trick abandoned the Irish Whiskey Cake batter he was mixing and came to sit with her.
"Are you thinking of leaving again?" He asked straight out.
"I… " Bo didn't know how to explain the war she was fighting internally. There was a long pause while she tried to come up with something that was both true and yet not the whole story. "Things are complicated here." She finally said, looking down, away from the gentle eyes of her grandfather.
"I understand, and I won't try to stop you, but please remember that this is your home and there are people here who love you."
Bo wondered if Trick used the word 'people' to imply that Dyson still had feelings for her, or for some other reason. He never had trouble saying 'I love you' when she was young.
Bo remained silent, and Trick took it as a good sign. Trying to press his advantage, he added "Dyson, Lauren and me – we just found you, we can't lose you again."
"I was never lost, Trick." She retorted. Trick looked back at her incredulously. "What?" She spread her arms, a picture of innocence. "I always knew where I was!"
Trick looked as if he seriously considered putting his full-grown granddaughter over his knee and spanking her. He's never done it, and only gave her the look when she was a total brat. Which was certainly the case now, Bo had to admit.
Dropping the attitude, she put her hand over one of Trick's. "Gramps, I didn't come back here by choice. It was part work and part dumb luck, but maybe it was meant to be." She thought about how she parted ways with Dyson and Lauren – both 16 years ago, and again, just yesterday, neither memory a pleasant one. "I'll talk to Dyson, and if he agrees to work with me, I'll stay. For a little while, anyway."
Thinking that she'd dealt with enough emotions by breakfast and that Trick's famous Irish Whiskey Cake would get done quicker without her distracting presence in the kitchen, Bo excused herself back to her room. She needed to get her things sent over either way, so she tackled this first. It wouldn't take long - all her possessions could be packed in just a few boxes. Her car, too, would not be difficult to retrieve. It was probably still parked by the diner. Delivery arranged, she turned her attention to her latest assignment.
There were some things that were not adding up about the case. Firstly, there was a problem with the theft that started her manhunt. The men that held Bo captive were regular thugs, not the type of people who could pull off a sophisticated, high-tech theft from that medical research facility. Bo scouted the place and saw for herself the biometric scanners and three-step verification that was required for entry. When Bo was hired to track down the lost materials, she could find nothing on the thieves, and didn't pick up the trail until the goods were in the hands of the lesser criminals, who were obviously hired for transport services only. So, who were they delivering to?
Secondly, there was a question of who hired the second team and how did they find them so quickly. That second team came in just minutes after the cases were brought into the dilapidated building, and they knew enough to expect a gun fight. Bo concentrated and remembered a snippet of conversation she overheard while stuck in the vent – about the scanner that she used to find the right box in the van. Someone said it had the ability to transmit its location. That may have been how they were found so quickly. But she got the scanner from the people who hired her to retrieve the container, so why would they hire her, then send in an armed team to take the stuff by force? It was possible her employer didn't trust her to succeed, even though she'd never let him down before, and was setting her up to be killed along with the first team. Deep in thought, she remained in the room until Trick came to get her at dinner time.
x
Much later, after the sun had set, after dinner which included an outstanding Irish Whiskey Cake, after Trick had gone to tend the bar for the after-work crowd, and after Bo had settled down in front of the TV with a glass of red, the bottle placed conveniently nearby, a knock on the door announced Dyson's arrival.
He looked tired, and Bo considered for a moment offering him some of Trick's cake and a glass of Bourbon, but decided against it when the man reached out for her wine glass, uninvited, and drained it in one gulp.
"Sure, do help yourself to my wine and anything else you like, asshole." Bo said, eyeing him narrowly from the couch.
Dyson just gave her the look that said 'What else you're offering?' that she easily recognized from their teenage days.
Bo snorted in response. "As if!" she snatched her glass back and refilled it, holding both the glass and the bottle close and daring Dyson to try for either again.
"What if I offered the wear the handcuffs this time?" Dyson tried playfully.
Bo gave it a moment of thought. "OK," she said, clearly surprising Dyson with agreement.
Another man may have assumed the offer was genuine, but Dyson knew Bo well, back when they were young, and had no trouble detecting an edge in her tone that did not bode well for him. Getting the clear message to keep his hands off of her for the foreseeable future, Dyson decided that retreat was the only smart move left, and did just that by sitting himself across from Bo and changing the topic.
"Tell me about the shooting. How did you end up in that building?" He opened his jacket and produced a notepad and a pen.
Bo had spent a lot of time thinking about how much she should tell Dyson, knowing this question was inevitable. In the end, she decided that none of her actions were unlawful in this case (a little breaking and entering, trespassing and blackmail notwithstanding). She shared most of what took place, including her theory that the second group had been hired by the same people who hired her, and that they found them thanks to the GPS transmitter in the scanner. The only thing she withheld was the name of her employer.
Dyson listened attentively and took copious notes. When she finished, he reached for his briefcase and pulled out a stack of pictures. They were photographs of men who were killed in the shootout, taken in autopsy. "Tell me which bodies belong to the first group who transported the medical materials, and which ones to the group who had came in later."
Bo studied the photographs briefly – the men's faces were burnt into her eyes, and it took little effort to recognize them. "These three were from the original group." She said handing Dyson their photos. "The one on top is the guy who drove the van." She took a moment to study the remaining 2 photographs. "There were 5 men in the second group, including these two."
Dyson nodded and stashed the pictures back in the briefcase. "Did you get look at the other three who got away?"
"Yeah," Bo nodded grimly.
"You think you can sit down with a sketch artist?"
"Why not just pull a list of known associates? These guys don't look like upstanding citizen, surely they have records. You can bring me pictures, and I can tell you who was there with them." Bo hedged, not wanting to get involved with the investigation.
Instead of addressing Bo's question, Dyson pivoted to the proverbial elephant in the room. "If you weren't part of either group and did not participate in the shootout, why did you hide from the cops?"
"Can't a girl have some secrets?"
Dyson just looked back at her, silent and infinitely patient. This was interrogation technique 101 – most people are uncomfortable with silence, so if one person is quiet, the other feels the need to fill the silence with blabber, often revealing more than they wished.
Bo was aware of the technique, but it didn't mean she couldn't fall prey to it. "I'm sure you've run a background check on me, thanks to those fingerprints you took. You know my aliases. And you know I've never been convicted of a felony and there are no outstanding warrants for my arrest. Can't we leave it at that?"
Dyson stayed silent until he was sure Bo was absolutely done talking and would not divulge anything else. "I'm guessing some of the people you work for have access to police records, and if your name was to turn up in association with a case, it wouldn't be good for you."
Bo would neither deny nor confirm that he was right, so she opted for a vague "Something like that."
A sharp look from Dyson told Bo that this conversation was far from over. But he relented for now. "Last question, Bo. Do you think the men in the second group were aiming for you, or was it a stray bullet?"
"Hard to say." Bo admitted. "When the shooting started, I wasn't a threat to them, since I was unarmed. I got the impression they didn't have orders to execute me – one of them said it didn't matter if they found me – but who's to know for sure?"
Dyson absorbed the information, nodding at her reasoning. "OK, I'll keep you out of any records, just to be safe. And the sketch artist doesn't usually know what case they are working on, so that won't be a problem. I'll have him come here first thing tomorrow." He ignored the disgusted look he got from Bo. "Not negotiable, Bo."
"Fine," she bit out. "Are we done with the interrogation?"
"Sure," Dyson smiled, relaxing into the chair, now that the tough conversation was over and they could return to the semi-flirtatious tones.
"How about you answers some of my questions?" Bo challenged.
Dyson gestured with his hands for her to proceed. He was looking forward to getting reacquainted, and sharing some stories from the last 16 years of his life.
But Bo's first question burst that happy bubble right-quick. "What's going to happen to Lauren if it comes out that she's dating her boss?"
"What makes you think it's not public knowledge now?" Dyson parried, his mood souring.
"Because every employee handbook I've ever seen lists this as a dismissible offense."
"Why do you care?" Dyson sighed, getting up from the chairs and walking into the kitchen, when he unerringly located the cabinet with glasses and a liquor cabinet. Bo noted that Dyson must have visited Trick a fair number of times to be this familiar with his kitchen set up.
"You're the one who mentioned Evony. You wanted me to look into her." Bo watched Dyson as he ambled around the kitchen, making himself a sandwich to go with a double shot of whisky he already poured, keeping his back to her the whole time. "She's been a Chief Medical Examiner for about a year, and supervises two MEs – Lauren, who joined on the same day as Evony, and Robert, who's been the ME for 19 years." Bo continued, hoping for some reaction from Dyson. "She's got a PhD in forensic pathology from some second rate university, and is not very highly regarded by her peers in scientific circles. But since becoming the Chief ME, she's been in the news more than 20 times, always with an announcement of a breakthrough in the case, which is credited to her office. Anything you care to add?" The dry facts she glimpsed of Evony Morrigan's career, before she slammed shut the lid on her laptop, were underwhelming, at least until a year go. But the picture in her bio was anything but. Simply put, the woman was stunning.
"She's a better administrator than a forensic pathologist." Dyson supplied, unhelpfully.
"And that's enough for everyone to turn a blind eye on her sleeping with a subordinate?"
Dyson drained the double shot of whiskey and poured himself another.
"They turn the blind eye because of Lauren." He hissed through clenched teeth, not elaborating further.
Frustrated, Bo glared at the back of Dyson's head. He was reluctant to talk about the blonde doctor, reminding her of the silly, one-sided rivalry that Dyson had with Lauren in High School. Was he jealous again? She supposed she'd given him reason to be. It was time to change tactics.
"Maybe I should just ask Lauren herself. She's not going to hold a grudge over the silly argument we had before Trick took me home, not after I invite her over for dinner and promise her Trick's famous Irish Whiskey Cake, and what's left of his whiskey." Bo said offhandedly.
Dyson had no trouble reading between the lines of her message, and tried to curb the earlier stab of jealousy. Jealousy didn't look smart or sexy on any man, and Dyson strived to be a better man that most. He took another swig of the whisky, placing the empty glass on the counter next to the half-assembled sandwich. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned to face Bo, leaning heavily on the cabinet behind him.
"Lauren is the brains of the operation," he shared. "She only works part time at the ME office, but in the last year our clearance rate had gone up 40%. We now have the fourth highest clearance rate in the country, and will probably go up this year. The police chief, the district attorney and a mayor would shit a collective brick if she hinted at resignation. She gets all the toughest cases, leaving all the straightforward ones to Robert, the other ME; Evony handles administration and public relations. Lauren doesn't want any credit, and Evony loves to bask in public adoration, so that's why it's her on the news instead of Lauren. And no one cares who she sleeps with."
Bo sucked in a few deep, calming breaths. At least this version of Lauren – brilliant and unassuming – meshed better with the image of awkward teenager she remembered. And her indignation at Evony for stealing Lauren's credit, that was no different than if someone told her a bully was stealing Lauren's lunch in High School. She would probably never be rid of the protective instinct when it came to the younger woman.
"Why does she work part time?" Bo wondered out loud. Lauren was never one for leisure time.
"It's not common knowledge, but when she's not at the ME's office, she works for a bio lab. And Evony is the owner."
"That's hinky." Bo noted, grimacing.
"Hrmp" Dyson murmured, agreeing with Bo's assessment of the situation. Not much was known about the private lab were Lauren worked, but working two jobs under the same boss and sleeping with her – was raising all kinds of red flags in Bo's and Dyson's minds.
Draining his second glass of whiskey, Dyson reached back for the rapidly emptying bottle.
"Why don't you bring the bottle over here, and another glass for your wounded friend, while I make us some sandwiches? It's the least I can do to thank you for getting me out of the damn vent, and not handing me over to your cop buddies." Bo offered.
"Now we're talking!" Dyson brought over the bottle and glasses, and dropped onto the couch next to Bo, who used his shoulder and an armrest to get up. "Make mine with mayo!" Dyson instructed, pouring the shots and getting comfortable. For a second he thought about closing his eyes and pretending that the last 16 years didn't happen. Then he remembered what a dazzling woman Bo grew into, and decided he liked this version more.
TBC