DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CSI:NY OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. I DO HOWEVER OWN SAMANTHA ROSS.
A/N: THANKS TO ALL OF MY LOYAL READERS AND FRIENDS! AND ALL OF THOSE ADDING ME TO ALERTS AND FAVS!
Sealing the deal
"The broken clock is a comfort, it helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow from stealing all my time
I am here still waiting though I still have my doubts
I am damaged at best, like you've already figured out
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain there is healing
In your name I find meaning
The broken locks were a warning you got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded,
I'm an open book instead
And I still see your reflection inside of my eyes
That are looking for purpose, they're still looking for life
I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing
With a broken heart that's still beating
In the pain is the healing
In your name I find meaning
So I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on, I'm holdin' on
I'm barely holdin' on to you."
-Broken, Lifehouse
Terrence Davis lived on the upper east side of Manhattan. In a luxurious glass and steel high rise less than a decade old and home to some of the city's upper echelon. Criminal lawyers, heads of brokerage firms and advertising agencies. Specialists in various medical fields and the conductor of the New York Philharmonic. A wide range of upstanding, wealthy and law abiding professionals.
To Flack, it both made no sense, and made him sick to his stomach that someone like Davis, who seemed as if he'd been on the wrong side of the law since he'd arrived kicking and screaming in the world, could be living the high life. Fancy cars, beautiful women, money to burn. That someone like that, who got rich by screwing over other people and capitalizing in crime, could have so much while others who worked damn hard for a living and put blood, sweat and tears into their professions and struggled to hold their lives together had to live pay check to pay check and fight to make ends meet.
"This is just so wrong," Flack commented, as an elderly door man, in a burgundy uniform complete with a top coat with tails, gold piping on his lapels and down the sides of his pant legs and white gloves and a hat, gave them a slight bow as he held the door open wide.
"Why?" Sam asked, as they stepped into the lobby hand in hand. "It's just a doorman."
"I'm not talking about the doorman. Look at this place. Marble floors, brocade drapes. Antique furniture. Massive crystal chandelier. This is just not right at all."
"Think we should tip him?" Sam whispered.
"Who?"
"The doorman."
"What? No. Why? It's his job to open the door for people. It's what he gets paid to do."
"But it seems so unfair," she said. "I mean, he's standing out there in the freezing cold in just that uniform opening doors for people that don't appreciate it. He's going to catch pneumonia. He should have a coat on."
"Sam, we are not having this conversation."
"It's an observation. Maybe I should give him a few bucks so he knows there are some nice people out there."
"Babe, listen to me. It is his job to open the door. It's what he does. And he probably gets paid damn good to do it, too."
"Just wait here for a second," she said and dropped his hand.
"Samantha…where are you going?" Flack asked, watching as she scurried for the front doors while opening up her purse.
She didn't respond. But he stood there, a bemused smirk on his face, as she stepped out into the bitter cold and blowing snow and engaged in a lively, friendly conversation with the initially startled doorman. A smile quickly spread across the elderly man's face as he was easily charmed by her golden eyes and her musical giggling that could warm even the coldest of hearts. At first he adamantly refused the ten dollars that was being held out to him, but in the end, beauty prevailed over age and Sam folded the bill and tucked it into the breast pocket of his top coat before clasping both his hands and saying farewell.
"Feel better now?" Flack asked as she rejoined him, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "You did your good deed for the day?"
"His name's Alfred," she told her boyfriend, peeling off her winter hat and shaking out her hair. "He's been working here for five years. Before here, he was the doorman at the Hyatt for fifty five years. He lives in Jersey City with his wife, Betty. They've been married sixty years in September and have six kids, twelve grand kids and two great grand kids."
"And he told you all of this?"
Sam nodded. "Well I did ask some questions."
"Your Arizona is poking through, Sammie. Because no one from Brooklyn, let alone New York City would tip a doorman and have a personal conversation with him."
"Well just think of it this way," she said, as she unzipped her jacket. "You can brag to your friends that your little Brooklyn isn't such a raging bitch after all."
"I've never said or thought you were a raging bitch. It's just that…you being like this? This whole naïve, little girl thing you've got going on sometimes? I find it endearing and all that 'cause trust me, there's not a lot of people out there as compassionate as you are, but we're going into Terrence Davis' apartment and you're down here worrying about some doorman and his extended family."
"I just thought that…."
"This isn't time to be worrying about peoples' sob stories or playing shrink to them. You have any idea what is about to go down? The kind of person we're going to be dealing with?"
"I'm not stupid, Don. Stop talking to me and treating me like I'm an idiot."
"I'm not talking to you or treating you like an idiot. I'm just asking you to think about what we're walking into. To get your head on straight and your game face on. To be less like the Sammie outside of work and more like the smart, hard ass Sammie that you are at work most days."
"Fine," she said, giving a sigh and hiking her purse up onto her shoulder. "Sue me for being a human being once in a while."
"Sam, I'm not judging you or criticizing you."
"I know," she assured him, although the slight choke in her voice and the glistening of her eyes gave away the fact that he'd unintentionally wounded her.
And wounded her quite deep. It was a hazard of dating someone so damn sensitive when you yourself were abrasive and aggressive on your best day. It was hard to believe that someone like Samantha Ross, who could chase down perps and lead an intense interrogation and hold her own against murderers and child molesters and violent, persistent felons, actually was reduced to tears by Hallmark commercials and arguments over the simplest, most ridiculous things. She got her feelings hurt easily and despite the tough little Brooklyn girl persona she fought so hard to retain, didn't do a very good job of hiding her hurt from people.
"I just think it's good to go up there a little more hard core," he told her.
"I heard you the first time, Don. I get it. I'm sorry. Alright? I'm sorry that I'm not some mean bitch. I'll try harder to be the way you want me to be."
"I don't want you to be anyway, babe. I love you the way you are. Just at this moment I need you to be…I need you to be like you are at work. Like how you were when you went toe to toe with Davis at his club. That's what I need from you. Okay?"
She nodded. "I'll try harder," she said and turned and headed for the elevator.
He sighed heavily. Feeling like the biggest asshole on the face of the planet as he followed behind her. He found her hurt her feelings a lot. He didn't mean to and certainly didn't want to. It seemed to be a hazard every time he opened his mouth and hated seeing the look that came over her when he said something she took entirely the wrong way. He wasn't gentle enough with her. He knew that. Danny had already warned him that Samantha wasn't like the other women he'd been with. He couldn't walk all over her and expect her to take it. She fought back or simply shut down and avoided him for days.
Not healthy in the slightest. And something he was desperate to change.
He stepped beside her as she waited for the elevator. Laying a hand on the back of her neck, he leaned sideways and pressed a tender kiss to her temple.
"That's not at all hard core and bad ass," she informed him, brushing his hand off of her and taking two steps away from him.
"Don't be like that," he said, and reaching out, he tucked some hair behind her ear. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, babe. I just don't want you going up there all emotional and stuff. I need you to be able to hold your own against this guy. I know you can. I've seen it with my own two eyes at work. I need you to be that way now, okay?"
She nodded.
"Come here," he said, and placing his hand on her shoulder, pulled her into his side. "I love you," he told her, kissing the top of her head. "You know I do. You know I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm sorry that I'm mean when you need more to be more gentle. I'm just not used to having to be that way."
"I think there's a few things we both need to work on," she said. "I don't think either of us know enough about each other yet."
"I thought we knew a lot about each other," he tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. "I mean, we've known each other over a year now. We used to hang out with Danny and Linds all the time when were doing out just friends thing."
"But we don't know each other that well intimately," she argued. "And before you say it, I mean intimately outside of sex."
"So I guess we have to get to know each other that way then," he said. "Spend more time together alone instead of having Danny and Linds around us so much. You know, talk about stuff more. Like what makes us tick and feelings and…"
She grinned up at him. "You're going to talk about feelings?"
"Well…I can try talking about them," he said. "I'm just not very good at that kind of thing."
"Oh I don't know," she curled an arm around his waist. "You've been doing alright."
He smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head. "You're nervous aren't you," he commented, as he felt her shiver despite her heavy winter coat and the warm temperatures in the building.
She nodded. "I've never been in a situation like this."
"We can still back out. There's nothing set in stone here. You don't want to go through with it, we walk out of here."
Sam shook her head. "He needs to be taught a lesson."
"But is hiring Terrence Davis the way to teach him that lesson? Do you really think that it's the best idea, Sammie?"
"Donnie, if you're worried about losing your job, then don't come upstairs with me. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself. That way if I get busted, you can honestly say you had nothing to do with any of this."
"I'm not worried about losing my job. I'm worried about you getting mixed up with people like Terrence Davis. I'm not abandoning you in this, Sam. I told you that I had your back no matter what and I meant it. I just don't think you've thought this through. That you called Davis while you were in a state and now you're afraid to pull the plug on the thing."
She bit her lip and didn't respond. The chime for the elevators sounded and the doors to their left opened up. Passengers flowed out into the lobby and she waited for it to completely empty before stepping on.
Flack paused at the edge of the elevator. Giving her a chance to change her mind.
"He needs to be taught a lesson," she said. "And this is the only way to do it."
Flack just nodded slowly and stepped onto the elevator. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said, and reaching out, hit the button for the twenty-seventh floor.
An young African American guy the size of an NFL linebacker answered the insistent knock to the loft style apartment on the twenty-seventh floor. He was big and intimidating and looked strong enough to pull a Sherman Tank. As did his buddy that joined him shortly after, the two monstrous men escorting Sam and Flack through the spacious apartment and into the living room. Marble floors that matched those in the downstairs lobby and soaring cathedral ceilings, windows that stretched the entire length of the apartment and showed off quite the view of the upper East side. The loft was immaculately tidy and boasted simple, yet obviously expensive furniture. Black leather couches and chairs decorated with white and red throw cushions. White bear skin rugs lay underneath polished chrome and glass coffee and end tables. An enormous plasma television currently showcasing sports scores and highlights from the night before was mounted on one of the walls and surrounded by a state of the arm home theatre system and every video game console imaginable.
Terrence Davis, minus his normally present sunglasses, was clad in a pair of navy blue tear away Adidas pants and matching jacket over a white t-shirt as he sat on the couch, nursing a JD and Coke while keeping an eye on the television and talking on his cell phone.
Probably to one of his bitches, Flack surmised, by the suave, flirtatious way in which Davis chatted the caller up. Flack himself remained unimpressed. By both his surroundings and the two bodyguards hovering over him and Sam as if they were afraid the visitors were going to do something to their boss. He kept the cocky and confident smirk on his face the entire time, glaring at the other man to his right if the young man even so much as made a move to lay a hand on him.
"I'll have to catch up with you later, boo," Davis said into the phone while flashing Sam a wink. "I've got some very important people here to discuss some very important business. We'll hook up later on tonight. Bye."
Flipping the cell phone closed, Davis tossed it onto the glass coffee table with a clatter and stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head as he looked his guests up and down.
"My two favourite business partners," he said. "Sorry about that. One of my ladies calling me to offer up some late night company."
"I'm surprised you got enough money to live here, Terrence," Flack commented as he surveyed his surroundings. "Considering all the money you must be shelling out for that kind of company."
Davis smirked. "You know Flack. That's the thing I love the most about you. You're sense of humour and your outrageous imagination. Why don't you both take your coats off and sit down and relax. You're going to be staying a while. You want something to drink?"
"We're fine," Flack answered before Sam even had the chance to.
"I insist," Davis said.
"We don't want anything to drink," Flack told him.
"How about you, baby girl?" Davis asked, eyeing Sam from head to toe as she stripped off her window coat.
He was liking what he was seeing before him, even though she was clad in a simple pair of skinny legged jeans and a black turtleneck and pink Ugg boots. It was the way that those jeans hugged that ass and the curves that that top showed off that caught his eye. She was a alluring, sexy woman underneath that girl next door, bring home to momma vibe she gave off. The tongue ring along spoke a thousand words. He bet she was a wild thing when it mattered most.
"I'm fine," she replied, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of the other man's gaze. It was somewhat frightening being on his territory, under the watchful eye of his people. At the club she'd felt completely in control of the situation. Now, standing there in that fancy apartment, she felt like a lost little girl who'd gotten into something way over her head.
"Get them both some ice water," Davis ordered his one bodyguard. "I hate for my guests to feel unwelcome," he added, looking at Sam and Flack.
"And I hate for us to feel awkward by having your boys watching our every move, Terrence." Flack told him. "So either tell them to take a hike or we're not discussing anything with you."
"I'm in control here," Davis calmly informed the detective. "You asked for my help, remember?"
"I didn't ask for shit," Flack responded. "Samantha called you. I didn't know about it until afterwards. And I can easily call this whole thing off and take her on out of here quicker then we walked in. So you either tell your boys to take a walk or we'll take our business elsewhere."
"My boys are here for my protection," Davis said.
"What do you think we're going to do?" Flack laughed. "If I wanted to beat your ass or do anything to you, I would have done it along time ago. But I'm telling you right now, you wipe that smug look off your face and quit checking out my girl or any deal me and you had is gone. Kapish? Don't tempt me, Terrence. Knock this shit off or you'll be on the next bus to Sing-Sing."
Davis held his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right," he said. "Take it easy, Flack."
The bodyguard set the glasses of ice water down on the coffee table and Davis ordered both from the room. They balked at first, but after patting Flack down to make sure he wasn't armed and checking Sam's purse to make sure she carried no weapons, reluctantly obeyed their boss' orders.
"Have a seat, baby girl," Davis said to Sam, patting the cushion beside him.
She hesitated, then took a cautious step towards him.
Flack grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him and the love seat across from Davis. Not releasing his firm grip until she sat down.
"Don't be so damn protective," Davis told him. "I'm not going to bite. Not unless she likes that sort of thing. You like that sort of thing, baby girl?"
"Hey, Terrence," Flack said. "I'm the one that gets to call her pet names. Not you. So knock your shit off and let's get down to business. You agreed to meet with us so let's cut to the chase and talk about why we're here."
"Is that what the ex did to you?" Davis asked the petite brunette sitting across from him.
She nodded and laid a self-conscious hand over her bruised cheek and the small cut under her eye. She had wanted to hide it and the slight bruises on her jaw with makeup, but Flack had suggested that not covering them, using them as proof to what Zack had done, was the best thing to do when going to meet with Davis.
"Your face down there too?" he inquired, gesturing to his own jaw line.
She nodded again.
"You said last night that this guy is crazy. That during whatever went down between the two of you in Arizona he used to knock you around, call you names. All kind of brutal, sick shit."
"He was my fiance," Sam explained. "And he got off on beating me and disrespecting me and treating me like a piece of garbage. He had me so scared to leave. I didn't know what end was up anymore and he closed me off from all of my family and my friends. And finally I just had enough and I took off. Came to New York to be with my brother. Start a new life."
Davis nodded slowly. "And he came to your apartment last night to do what, exactly?"
"He said he was there to convince me to go back to him. That he wasn't there to hurt me and he wanted us to get back together. And then he kissed me and…."
Davis' eyes narrowed. "He do anything else to you?"
She shook her head. "I would have killed him and he knows it."
"So what makes you think this asshole is even in New York City still?" Davis asked. "That he just didn't get back on the first plane out here and book it. Knowing that someone would most likely come after his ass for what he did?"
"He came to see me yesterday afternoon. Offered up some threats. Talked some shit. I've got uniforms sitting on his doorstep," Flack replied. "He moved here two weeks ago. Got a change in profession working out of New York City."
"What's he do?" Davis asked.
"He was a state trooper," Sam said. "Now he's apparently working with the US Marshal Service. Chasing federal fugitives."
Davis gave a grin. "I've had a run in with those bastards more then once. So is this guy a bad ass or does he just pretend he is?"
"He's insane," Sam told him.
"What do you think of him, Flack? What impression did you get when you met this bastard? He nuts? Just talk a lot? Little bit of both?"
"Honestly?" Flack asked. "He's a fucking wackjob and I'm worried he's going to get a hold of her on the street when no one is around and that will be the last we ever hear from her or see of her again. "
"So he's capable of some sick, heavy duty shit," Davis stated.
Flack nodded.
The other man sipped his drink slowly, mulling over the information, and his options, in his head. "What is it exactly you want done to this guy? You want the shit kicked out of him? A straight up beating? Or do you want something worse then that?"
"I don't want him dead," Samantha said. "I just want someone to teach him a lesson. I want someone to lay a beating on him like he used to do to me. Someone to make him grovel and beg for mercy. I want him to know what it felt like when he used to…" emotion choked at her and she laid a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry…" she said. "I don't mean to get like this."
Flack sighed heavily and laid a hand on the small of her back and rubbed softly and comfortingly.
"It's okay," Davis assured her, in a gentle, soothing tone that took Flack by surprise. "It's a hell of a thing to live through. My mother…she was a battered spouse. Stayed with my father for years until she finally did the right thing and packed the kids up and left in the middle of the night while he was passed out on the couch. Still chokes her up to talk about what he put her through. So it's okay to be like this."
Flack ran his hand up to the back of her neck and squeezed lightly before running his hand over her hair and pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
She sniffled and wiped at her eyes and leaned into him, reaching for his other hand and holding it tightly on his thigh.
Davis cleared his throat noisily. Attempting to wash away the lump of emotion in his own throat.
"What can you do for us?" Flack asked.
"I got some boys that would be more than willing to take care of your problem," Davis replied. "Make it look like a mugging out on the street. Put the boots to him. Make him think they're going to do worse. Maybe hold a gun on him, make him piss his pants. Sound like something you both can live with?"
They nodded.
"What do you want for all of this, Davis?" Flack asked bluntly.
The other man shrugged. "What you got to offer me?"
"You don't expect me to sleep with you, do you?" Sam inquired, sounding horrified at the thought.
Davis gave a small chuckle. "No offence, baby girl. You're hot and all that. But you're just not my type."
"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" Flack asked, sounding defensive.
"Easy, Flack, easy. I just said she was hot. She's just not my kind of hot. She's got that whole wild child mixed with bring home to momma thing going on. She ain't no trifling ho. And that's more my speed. I don't need the girl you marry and have babies with if you know what I'm saying. And I'd never do that to you or expect that from you. Me and you are tight, dawg."
"As much as I appreciate the mutual respect, I'd rather you be telling me what you want from us," Flack said.
"Like I said. What do you have to offer me? I'll tell you if that's enough."
She pulled away from Flack and grabbed her purse from its resting place on the coffee table. Zipping it open, she reached in and pulled out the velvet box and wrinkled tissue she'd packed inside before she'd left her apartment. She held the tissue out to Davis. "This is my old engagement ring," she said. "It has to be worth at least ten grand."
He leaned forward and took the item from her. Unwrapping the Kleenex, he dumped the sparkling ring into the palm of his hand. Holding the band between his thumb and forefinger, he held the ring up to the light and nodded approvingly.
"What you got in that box there?" he asked.
She sighed and looked down at the item clutched tightly in her hand. It was breaking her heart to have to part with the earrings. Sarge had given them to her and had made her promise to wear them on her wedding day like his mother and grandmother had before her, and to pass them down to a daughter if she managed to have one. Or a future daughter in law if she had a son.
Flack saw the hesitation in her eyes. He knew it was killing her to part with those earrings. But it wasn't his place to step in and order her to keep them. Because if Davis backed out on his deal to take care of Zack because of their failure to meet his needs, Sam would never, ever forgive him. And as badly as he wanted to take control of the situation, to snatch those earrings from her hand and take over, he knew that it was best if he let her handle things on her own. She was a big girl who made grown up decisions. And she deserved to be treated as such.
She held the box out to Davis, then took it back before he had the chance to grab it.
"What do you have in the box?" he asked gently.
She swallowed noisily and reluctantly passed the earrings over. "They're antique," she explained, as he flipped the lid open to inspect the contents. "Originally from Tiffany's. They're worth a fortune and they've been passed down through my step-dad's family. He gave them to me a while ago. And I was keeping them for the future."
"So they obviously mean a lot," Davis stated.
She nodded.
He snapped the lid closed. Breaking her heart as he laid the box down alongside the ring. "I'll take care of that little problem," he said. Finality in his voice. "I'll call you when it's done and I'll send some proof that my boys handled the situation."
Flack simply nodded and stood up and motioned for Sam to do that same. "Wish I could say thanks for this, Terrence."
Davis waved it off. "This kind of thing always leaves a sour taste in my mouth too. But judging by what you told me and what your girl told me last night, this bastard deserves what's coming to him. He deserves more, but with respect to the lady I'll have my boys do exactly what she wants."
"Such a gentleman," Flack snorted, snagging Sam's coat from the back of the love seat and helping her into it.
"You mind if I have a talk with your man?" Davis asked the pretty brunette. "Me and him have some things to discuss."
"Anything you have to say you can say in front of her," Flack said, slipping into his own jacket.
"This is a boys only talk," Davis informed him. "I'll get one of my guys to walk her to your car and make sure she's safe until you get down there."
Flack sighed and looked down at Sam.
She gave a nod and a small, reassuring smile.
Davis waved to one of his body guards- the one who'd answered the door- as he lingered in the doorway. Out of earshot, but still close enough to lend a hand if his boss got in trouble.
"Make sure she gets to her car and stay with her until my friend gets there," Davis ordered the other man. "Don't wanna take no chances with her. Understand me?"
"No problem, boss," the bodyguard said and laid a hand on Sam's back and motioned for her to go ahead of him.
"I won't be long," Flack promised, kissing her softly before handing over the keys to his SUV.
"I'll be okay," she assured him, her hand lingering on his arm, her eyes locked with his for several seconds before she stepped away. Her hand drifting down his arm, her fingers brushing along his before they lost all physical contact.
He stood and watched her go. Accompanied by a man that towered over her by a good foot and half and outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds. A man more than capable of taking care of her.
And he better do just fucking that, he thought. Because anything happens to her, he's a dead man.
"So?" Flack asked, as he took a seat across from Davis once more. "What do you want to talk about? I don't have any money Terrence, so either that stuff my girlfriend gave you is enough or you might as well forget about doing this thing."
"I don't want any of your money," Davis told him. "Do I look like I need your money, Flack? You work for the city. Trust me, you don't have a damn thing I could want. Your monthly take home is pocket change to me. I just wanted to have a word."
"About?"
"I've got some information for you."
"What kind of information?"
"There's some word out on the street. One of my reliable sources has been feeding me the goods."
"Wanna be a little more specific, Terrence?"
"One of New York's biggest names in drugs is about to make a huge haul," Davis spoke quietly. "He's a rival of mine and I'd like to see him go down for some past ills he's done towards me."
"What kind of drugs and how much are we talking about?" Flack asked.
"Coke and heroin. And from what I heard, we're looking at five hundred key's coming into the city within the next month."
"Where's it coming in from?" Flack asked.
"Coming in through the Port Authority. On a cargo ship from Detroit. Hauling steel. Or suppose to be anyway. This guy is tight with the owners of the ship. He's going to cut them in on the cash he gets from selling the stuff."
"What's the dealer's name?"
"Paulo DiFrancesco. Big name in the biz. Been moving the shit for years. Multimillionaire."
"I'm going to need details, Terrence. I'm going to need to know date and exact time this shipment is expected at. I'm going to need all of this on paper, from you. Whatever you can tell me. Big or small."
"I know how this works, Flack. We've done business before."
"I'm going to have to take this to DHS and DEA. I'm homicide."
"I know that. I'll get the information and you tell who you need to. A'ight?"
Flack nodded and stood up.
"I've got something else," Davis said, nodding at the love seat, indicating for Flack to sit down.
"You're a fountain of info today," the detective said, taking his seat once more.
"I got the name of that PI that's been following you and your girl," Davis told him. "And apparently, he's got some pretty heavy shit on you two."
"What kind of heavy shit?"
"Photographs. Of you and her in some very private situations."
Flack snorted and shook his head. "Motherfucker….who in the hell cares about our sex life?"
"Apparently this ex does. And from what I heard, these pics? X-rated website material."
"Did you see them?"
Davis shook his head. "Just heard about them."
"What's this prick's name so I can go and nail his ass to the wall?"
"Anthony Martino."
Flack gave a laugh. "You shitting me?"
"You know him?"
"I've got personal ties to him. I interrogated him when I caught him in a vic's apartment. Turns out he was gathering info on her because she was busy gathering info on people this guy worked for. Made a comment to one of my buddies that he was there looking for my buddy's sister. Guy's a real scumbag."
"You want me to, I can take care of him, too," Davis offered.
Flack waved it off and stood up. "I'll take care of him myself. Thanks for the info."
Davis nodded and stood up as well. "Glad I could be of service."
"None of this gets back to the NYPD, Terrence. Me and Sam were never here."
"My boys will make sure no ties can be made to either of you," he assured the detective,
Flack offered his hand.
Davis smiled and shook it. "And here," he turned and scooped the ring and the velvet box up off of the couch. "Take these. That ring there is worth at least fifteen g's and those earrings at least three times that. I could tell they mean a lot to her. Give them back to her. And if she doesn't want that ring, sell the thing and get something for it. Treat herself to something nice."
"Terrence, I don't have anything else to give you…."
Davis sighed exasperatedly and grabbed a hold of Flack's hand and turned it palm up. "Take 'em," he demanded, setting the items down in the other man's hand. "They're yours. I don't want anything. You saved my ass big time. Consider this a favour."
Flack nodded in appreciation and tucked the ring and earrings into his pocket.
"I'll hit you up when I get that info," Davis said, walking the taller, stronger man to the door. "Don't go too bad cop on that PI, okay? Know you probably want to."
"Talk soon, Terrence," Flack told his CI as Davis opened the door and Flack stepped out into the hall.
"Don't do anything stupid," Davis warned him.
Flack didn't respond. He simply turned on his heel and headed for the elevator.
Anthony Martino was a good as dead and both Don Flack and Terrence Davis knew it.
No words were spoken on the drive home. Eye contact had barely been made since the moment Flack had arrived at the SUV and dismissed the guard that stood outside of Sam's door as she sat in the passenger's seat with the engine running and the heat and stereo on. She knew that he was pissed the moment she'd caught a glimpse of him out of her window. The cold, blunt way in which he'd dismissed the man watching over her and the way he'd slammed the door hard enough to rattle the windows as he slipped behind the wheel. There'd been a permanent scowl on his face as he clipped on his seat belt and tossed the SUV into drive and peeled out into traffic.
She had been terrified to speak. Afraid he'd bite her head off if she even dared to utter a peep. No doubt furious with her for her behaviour in front of Terrence Davis. For breaking down and making herself appear fragile and vulnerable. Weak. Don Flack Jr didn't do weak and he expected those around him to follow his example.
So she had decided it was in her best interest to remain silent.
Which was how they had spent the entire drive and the elevator ride up to her apartment. Where Flack let them in using the spare key that she had given him just days before. It had felt surreal at the time. The two of them exchanging keys to their respective places. Those simple pieces of metal had signified a huge leap in their relationship.
She hadn't trusted a man that completely in her entire life and allowing him access to her home, her safe haven, was in essence like given him access into her innermost feelings and thoughts. Flack had never, in any of his previous relationships, ever come close to giving a woman a key to his place. Or accepting one from them. That was a massive step that he'd never been ready for. Living together was a huge deal. Even if co-habituating at that point in time meant splitting time at their individual apartments. With Sam, the key exchange signified a future. One he was hell bent on holding onto.
"I'm going to to and take a shower," Sam said, after they'd toed off their boots and he'd hung up their jackets and they stood in her small foyer.
They were less than a foot apart, but to her it seemed thousands of miles. She did her best to hide the tears that threatened and the fact her heart felt as if it was about to shatter into a million pieces.
"Danny and Lindsay will be here in a couple of hours," she reminded him when he didn't respond.
"I've got some catch up to do on my homework," Flack said. "Those case files I brought over need some serious attention before the dragon lady gets on my ass."
"Okay…" she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her sweater as she paused in the doorway to the living room. "Ummm…you're going to be here when I get out of the shower, right?" she asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, pulling off his baseball cap and hanging it on the knob of the front door. He ran a hand through his hair. "Unless you don't want me to be here. Danny and I were going to hang out while you and Monroe went shopping. And I thought we were going to try a few nights at your place and a few nights at mine…"
"We are," she responded. "I just…I guess I thought maybe you'd want to take off because you're so pissed off at me."
"What makes you think I'm pissed at you?" he asked, not looking at her as he pulled his cell phone from the holder and flipped it open.
For some reason, the indifference he was showing by checking for messages on his phone was the straw that broke the camel's back. Because that indifference, whether he meant it or not, seemed cold and mean. And undeserving.
"Maybe because you'd rather check your goddamn phone then have a conversation with me."
"I'm just checking some missed calls to make sure no one important was trying to get a hold of me," he reasoned.
Her heart literally crumbled. The tears she'd been fighting so valiantly now sprung to her eyes in full force.
"And here I was thinking I was that someone important," she said, and turned her back on him and left. She refused to give any man the satisfaction of knowing she was crying over them. No man deserved to know that they had that effect on you.
"Samantha, what is the big deal?!" he called after her.
"Please just leave me alone!" she responded. Her words shortly followed by the slamming of her bedroom door.
Fucking women, Flack thought and tossed his cell phone on the kitchen counter and went after her. The bedroom itself was empty. Her clothes and undergarments were thrown on top of the unmade bed. His eyes fell on the astonishingly sexy pink and white lace bra and g-string ensemble she'd purchased at Fredrick's of Hollywood, her favourite store in the world. The woman didn't own a normal pair of underwear. Underneath her often conservative attire, was some majorly hot barely there panties and bras. First time he'd ever seen her work clothes come off to reveal a crotchless pair of red lace undies, he'd nearly died and gone to heaven.
As much as he would have liked to have been the one to pull off those clothes and underwear on the bed, he had bigger fish to fry at the moment. The shower wasn't going in the ensuite bath, but the water in the sink was running.
And the door was locked.
"Babe," he said, jiggling the doorknob. "Open up."
"Please," she begged. "I need some time alone."
"And I need you to open the door and talk to me."
"Donnie, please. Just leave me alone."
He sighed and leaned his forehead against the door. "Sammie…I know I'm not the most sensitive guy in the world."
She snorted.
"And I know I do some dumb ass things. I shouldn't have been on the phone while you were trying to talk to me. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," she said. "Now can you please…."
"Leave you alone? If that's what you want."
"It is," she insisted.
"Okay. Fine. Do you actually want me to leave or just go in another room or what?"
No response. Silence was always a bad thing. It meant she was contemplating her options. And there shouldn't have been an option. It she really wanted him there, she would have said so.
"I'll call you later, okay?" he said through the door. "I'll give you some alone time and I'll call you this evening sometime."
Again no response.
"I'll call you," he told her and backed away from the bathroom and turned to head to the door. His hand barely coming in contact with the handle when he heard the soft click of the bathroom door opening behind him.
He turned and saw her standing in the doorway. Her hair flowing down her back, a stark contrast against the white bath towel wrapped around her slender body.
"I don't want you to go," she said, her voice quiet, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please don't go."
"What's wrong, Sammie?" he asked, slowly walking towards her.
"I'm sorry," she said in response. "I'm sorry if I let you down."
"What? What do you mean by that? Why….?"
"I never should have cried in front of Terrence Davis. I know how I must have looked. Like some weak and pathetic little girl and…"
"It made you look human. Like a young woman who put up with too much bullshit in her life. You actually thought that I was pissed at you?"
She nodded. "I thought I'd disappointed you and that…"
He took her face in his hands and kissed her tears away. "I could never be disappointed in you. I thought you were amazing and that you were strong and that you handled the entire thing with dignity and self respect. I know it wasn't easy for you. Going there today. Making the decisions you did."
"I just don't want you to be mad at me," she said.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm not mad at you," he told her. "I can't believe you thought that."
"You came out of Terrence's apartment and you seemed so angry," she said. "I just thought that…."
"I was pissed because of some stuff he told me after you left. Work related stuff. Information he's getting for me. It had nothing to do with you or what's going on with Zack. It's job crap."
"Really?" she asked with a sniffle.
He nodded and stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. "Really."
"I just thought that you were…."
He silenced her with a long, soft kiss. "You think too much," he informed her. "You know that, don't you?"
"One of my many faults," she said with a small smile.
"You need to stop being so hard on yourself."
"Another one of my many faults," she laughed. "Boy, I am one fucked up human being."
"You've just got issues, Sammie. Hell, we all do. Just…you need to stop trying to deal with them all on your own. I'm here. Right in front of you. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"
She nodded. "Okay."
"Go and take your shower," he said, giving her a chaste kiss. "I'll just go and…."
She grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a searing, toe curling kiss.
"Are those case files really that important?" she asked.
"Well they need to get done," he replied, breathless from the kiss.
"You can always stay up late tonight to do them," she reasoned, pulling away from him and walking backwards towards the bathroom door.
"I could," he said. "But what if I get called in?" he asked.
"Don't answer the damn phone," she replied, stopping in the doorway to the bathroom.
"I could get in shit with the dragon lady for that."
"Oh well," she said with a sigh and dropped her towel.
A slow grin spread across his face. "Are you a sex maniac?" he asked.
She gave a devilish smile. "You're turning me into one," she replied and crooking her finger, motioned at him to come towards her.
"I'm one hell of a lucky guy," he declared, yanking of his shirt and hurying for the bathroom.
"Yes," she said, kicking the door closed behind him. "You are."
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