Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The second bedroom of the hotel suite. Very early in the morning, before dawn.
Emma was sleeping, too. For the first time in weeks she had sunk into deep, nightmare-free slumber. One could argue it was from sheer exhaustion – remember, among other things she had blown an operation, risked a pandemic, confessed murder, gotten handcuffed and blindfolded, all in one day – but there was more to it. As soon as she had finally lain down, an intense feeling of comfort and safety had covered her like a warm blanket.
She'd rather have bitten her tongue off than attribute that feeling to Christopher Chance's arrival, of course, but there she was, dreaming away comfortably, undisturbed, peacefully.
Ames, whose turn it was to keep guard, greatly envied her.
On the other hand, sleeping while on sentry duty was a no-no.
So, the one good thing about fearing what Guerrero might come up with as punishment for her blatant disobedience in the back alley was that sleeping was out of question and thus she at least wouldn't have trouble watching properly over Emma.
Guerrero hadn't spoken a word to her since the shootout with the blackmailer. Not that he usually talked that much with her, but tonight his silence on the way to the hotel had been unnerving. If at least his face had given away something! But no, nothing but the noncommittal mask he always wore.
Damn! She could live with being yelled at, even with being punished, but him saying nothing, that was torture.
Torture, hm?
Give it a little more thought, Ames, you'll figure it out…
A soft knock on the door. Ilsa slipped into the room. "I'd like a moment of privacy with Ms. Barnes", she said rather coldly. Ames stifled a sigh. She had almost forgotten that the boss was angry with her, too. Not so much because of her blunder in the alley but because she hadn't backed her up in the lock picking issue.
"You've really done a bang-up job tonight", she thought resignedly as she closed the door behind her.
Quietly Ilsa walked over to Emma's bedside. Her original plan had been to shake her awake and tell her right away what was on her mind, but now, looming over her sleeping form, she hesitated. That woman had been through a bloody hard time lately. Granted, she had brought it upon herself, but nevertheless… Ilsa could only guess what the photos had shown, but judging from Ames' facial expression and the extreme taciturnity of the men it wasn't difficult to come up with a scenario or two.
And now, on top of everything else, she would tell her to…
Ilsa decided for the sensitive approach and softly touched Emma's shoulder. Emma stirred, turned over and moaned...
… something …
… a name? …
Had she just let out a deep sigh or had she moaned a name?
A particular name…
Ilsa returned to her original plan and gave Emma's shoulder a forceful shove. "Ms. Barnes, wake up!"
Emma slowly blinked her way back into consciousness. Why was somebody waking her? She'd just had a beautiful dream. Details eluded her, but she did remember feeling very comfortable, like sleeping cat on fuzzy rug in front of warm stove comfortable.
Waking up and finding Ilsa violently shaking her was somewhat of a damper.
"What in the world…?"
Ilsa didn't waste time with polite niceties. "Guerrero managed to lift fingerprints from the shell casings he found in the back alley. He's running them now."
"And you wanted to bring me the good news...?" Emma seriously had no idea what this was about.
"Have you wasted a single thought on the question what happens once we know who your blackmailer is?"
Emma's initial reaction was opening her mouth to tell Ilsa in no uncertain terms that after the hell of the day she'd had she wasn't in the mood for playing twenty questions.
Then it dawned on her.
Damn, this Pucci woman had a point.
"Once we know who is behind this, there are exactly three options: Number one, you go to the police and report him. But that would also mean confessing what you have done. You would have to face a trial and most likely go to prison. Number two, you keep playing along, you continue giving him everything you want. This would not only mean bankruptcy but also immense physical harm." Ilsa took a deep breath. "Number three, your blackmailer dies a sudden, unexpected death."
Emma opened her mouth in protest.
"Which option, do you think, will Chance consider?"
Emma shook her head vigorously. "I'd never ask something like that of him!"
Ilsa sighed. "Of course you wouldn't. But I've seen the look on his face. He wants you safe. And that means in his mind neither confessing nor playing along are an option."
"He's not a killer anymore", Emma countered, but deep inside she knew what the other woman was talking about.
"To ensure your happiness, he would compromise his principles. I can't let that happen. I can't let you drag him down with you. Not after I've seen how much he suffers for the things he's already done. You took the law into your hands, so it's up to you to face the consequences." Ilsa closed her eyes briefly. She didn't like this Barnes woman, but this felt like stabbing her. "I sedated Chance. End this whole thing and confess before he wakes up and does something he'll regret forever."
To Emma it felt as if somebody had just pulled the rug from under her feet and she was free falling.
For a long moment, neither of them said a word. Finally, Ilsa got up.
"I trust you do the right thing." There was nothing more to say. She left Emma to her own devices.
Prison. This would mean prison. Emma pressed her hand against her mouth. Of course, there had always, from the first moment onwards, been the chance she would get caught, even without the blackmailer in the picture. But now suddenly all other possibilities had vanished into thin air.
Dawn was breaking outside, but to her, the world was pitch black.
At this very moment the door opened again. Not bothering to explain himself, completely ignoring Emma's devastated condition, Guerrero casually walked over to her bedside, pulled up a chair and sat down. "I've got a name to the prints I lifted off the shell casings. Ever heard of a man named Dean Robinson?"
"He's a colleague of mine, from the bureau." Emma was shocked, even more shocked than she had already been by Ilsa's visit. "He always seemed like a nice guy."
"Well, Chance is out cold for the next twelve to fourteen hours. That means we've got a little time on our hands to decide what to do with the nice guy."
Emma turned her face away. "I know, I've got three options: Confession, continuation or another murder."
If Guerrero was surprised at her precise reply, he didn't show it. "Good to hear you've already thought this through. You've got ten hours to make up your mind. I want this to be already over and done when Chance becomes coherent again. He'd do it for you, to save your ass from prison. Can't let that happen. Not with his conscience issues." He got up. "In case you're interested in my opinion: I suggest you finish what you've started. Clean up the mess you've caused and kill the guy." He paused. "Against a small fee I'd help you. I'll accept payment by installments."
"What if I don't make a decision in the next ten hours?"
Guerrero's face didn't change, neither did his voice. But the message was loud and clear nevertheless.
"I've got my priorities straight."
A/N: Thank you, jackattack, for leaving a comment, I can't stress how much feedback means to me!