Chapter 5

Killian would recognize that blonde hair anywhere, along with the assets both he and Robin had so crudely admired, half covered by hands shoved into her back pockets. A zing of irrational jealously licked at his conscious thought, imagining his friend earning Emma Swan's favor by not being a perpetual fuck-up every time he was in her company.

Seeing her in person brought a wave of emotions for which Killian was not quite prepared. He expected the rush of adrenaline, but not the schoolboy nervousness that rendered his palms clammy, or the sudden chagrin over the blatant objectification of her that accompanied his fantasies (a method he'd only admit under Gitmo-style torture was to keep him from thinking of words like dating and future.)

Thirty feet away, all flesh and bone, Emma looked every inch as he remembered her, right down to the tense stance of her shoulders that left no doubt in Killian's mind that she would be a tremendous asset given where this case was headed. It was the depth of distress he saw on her face as she turned in his direction that was new.

Again breaking his famed languid stride, Killian crossed the bullpen, fighting the urge to pull her aside (or into his arms) as he approached the group with whom she was standing.

"Conference room, guys." He walked past, knowing his unit would follow and that Emma wouldn't be far behind.

The white board had already been set up with the standard fare: photo of the missing child, along with stats and identifiable markers, the same for the non-custodial parent. A BOLO had already gone out to Bangor PD and surrounding areas. He'd already been briefed by the brass upstairs and was ready to take the helm.

"Alright, listen up." Killian's tone commanded attention. Everyone in the room turned toward the front. "Our missing kid is Grace Paige of Storybrooke, Maine. DOB is November 26, 2006, which makes her tender-age. A non-custodial parent abduction has moved past possible into probable territory." He pointed to the photo next to Grace's. "Jefferson Hatmacher, age 34. He has a history of arrests and run-ins with the law. There is a mental illness angle at play here as well. For more on that, Sheriff Emma Swan from Storybrooke PD."

Killian caught Emma's eye as she stood to address the room and she nodded at him before speaking.

"Thank you. Jefferson Hatmacher suffers from paranoid schizophrenia, a condition that makes it difficult for him to separate his delusions from reality. He has been under the care of Dr. Archie Hopper, who has informed me Jefferson went off his medication during a downward spiral after becoming hyper-focused on his belief that his ex-wife Priscilla has abandoned Grace. As Captain Jones mentioned, I've had many dealings with Jefferson in the past and the majority of his arrests have been for theft. I don't want to overstep, but given his propensity to support himself through shoplifting and stealing from easy targets, it may be beneficial to the investigation to conduct interviews and check surveillance footage in convenience stores and smaller shops between here and Storybrooke."

She paused to glance at a yellow notepad on the table.

"The decision to take Grace may have been premeditated, but it's likely Jefferson is gathering resources on the fly. His ex says she left work early after receiving a call that Grace was missing to find her car had been stolen out of the parking lot. "

She slid a copy of Priscilla's DMV registration across the table and one of the detectives taped it to the board.

"One more thing before I turn the room back over to the Captain: Jefferson does have a history of violent behavior toward law enforcement."

Everyone else may have missed the way her throat worked over the words and how she fiddled with the pendant on her necklace, but Killian didn't.

She continued quickly, "Although it is the exception to the rule. That being said, there is no reason to believe Jefferson would hurt his daughter purposely, but he may act unpredictably when caught off guard or surrounded by people he doesn't know."

Emma shot Killian a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes as he took the floor once more.

She had to admit the way Jones ran his unit was impressive. Emma had never had such an inclusive, collaborative commanding officer. The trust he had in his detectives was clear as the unit methodically laid out the first leg of the investigation as a team then broke off according to strengths.

Robin and a guy named Will, enthusiastically embracing her suggestion to backtrack Jefferson's steps toward Storybrooke, were already making phone calls to the other towns, paving the way for their presence and giving the police departments a heads up on the situation. Both had completed stints in Robbery and their connections in Bangor and the surrounding areas would come in handy.

A handful of other detectives shuffled out, some thanking Emma for coming in on the investigation, others said nothing but shook her hand. Their exit left her in the conference room with Killian and one other member of his squad. Zelena, a striking woman who came off as more than a little haughty, dissolved Emma's first impression with some good-natured teasing at her boss's expense regarding his inability to work the digital aspect of the investigation.

"If you handle the warrant, I'll just go work my magic on Hatmacher's phone in the Green Room." Zelena gestured to a cubicle across the bullpen to a cubicle. Every inch that wasn't part of a complex desktop computer with dual screens was decorated in shades of the color. "Unless you'd like to have first crack, sir. I promise it's no more complex than figuring out how to change the ring tone on your department-issued cell."

Jones childishly stuck his tongue out at her and waved her off. "Begone, witch, before someone drops a house on you."

Zelena wide-mouth, toothy laugh would have bordered on scary if it hadn't been so completely genuine. She winked conspiratorially at Emma as she exited the conference room.

Alone with Killian, they worked different angles. She took the field trip chaperones since they were all from her town; he worked on obtaining a warrant for Jefferson's cell phone. After a few hours, she had spoken to three teachers and six parents, all of who were hysterical and felt responsible for not keeping a closer eye on Grace. Arching her back in a stretch and rolling her neck, Emma allowed her mind to wander to the man sitting across the conference room table, twisting his hair into spikes as he scribbled notes in a leather bound book.

She appreciated Jones hadn't outed them as anything more than newly acquainted professionals in front of his squad. NOT that they were anything more than acquainted professionals. She absolutely had not felt a jolt when she saw Jones walk into the bullpen area, nor had she allowed herself a split second to appreciate how he looked in that blue button-up plaid shirt that matched his eyes. She was here for Jefferson and Grace and nothing else.

Lost in thought, it took a second for Emma to realize he had said something to her, and that her inner monologue that had overlapped him speaking long to be awkward.

"I'm sorry, what?" Emma busied herself gathering a new set of notes, a blush staining her cheeks.

"I asked if you were involved in any of Hatmacher's more aggressive altercations."

Painstakingly tearing sheets of notes off the yellow pad and tucking them next to various color-coded tabs in the thick binder she'd brought from her office, Emma stalled.

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer," she quoted.

"Open book. I'd like to know more about your past…experiences with him."

The softness of his tone gave her the push she needed to not follow him toward familiarity. Adopting the same rigidity she used when presenting to her own superiors in another time and place, Emma laid it all out.

"Dr. Hopper went out of town and asked if I would facilitate a scheduled visitation between Jefferson and Grace. He told me Jefferson had been going through a rough patch and that Priscilla was leery of keeping the appointment. At first, everything seemed to be on schedule. Jefferson appeared to have his wits about him. He made tea me a cup of Earl Gray, telling me Grace and her stuffed rabbit loved to have tea parties. Priscilla canceled at the last minute and it pushed him over the edge. He accused me of working with her to keep Grace away from him. I realized too late the tea was drugged. It made me woozy enough for him to get me in a chokehold. When I woke up, I was laying on a mattress, bound and gagged. He was gone"

Out of papers to fiddle with, she looked up to see Killian staring at her, a horrified look on his face.

"He didn't…"

"NO! No. Nothing like that. It was just to buy time to go over to Priscilla's. My deputy responded to a call from her; Jefferson was pacing in front of her house, ranting. With Dr. Hopper on the phone and Dr. Whale from the hospital on scene, we were able to talk him down after a few hours. Jefferson was sedated and put on an involuntary hold. Ever since then, he hasn't trusted me. Aside from providing backstory, I'm not sure how much help I'm going to be."

Emma could see the tension leaving his body as Jones put an ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair.

"Nonsense. You're good police, save for your errors in judgment regarding cads gracing your jurisdiction with their drunken presence."

"You had to bring it up." Emma leaned back in her own chair, swinging gently from side to side.

"Of course, lass. Not in front of witnesses, mind you. But it's nice to see you again, Swan. I just wish it were under different circumstances."

"You look good." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Emma wanted to kick herself and waited to see how he'd take it. She expected the preening peacock she'd known Jones to be, but he answered without his usual tsunami of swagger.

"I feel good. May have taken our last encounter as something of adivine intervention." He whistled a tune she recognized as the refrain from Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus."

"Did you just refer to me as your savior, Jones? That's a lot of responsibility considering how far into hot mess territory you were. I think I'll pass on that particular job."

"No worries, darling. There are a few other jobs I have in mind for you."

The look he gave her left no question as to his meaning and Jones laughed as her mouth dropped open. She quickly transitioned from startled to smirking, shooting him one of the coy looks she added to her arsenal back in the day when chasing skips meant showing up to a date in a slinky red dress and stilettos, her gun strapped to her inner thigh.

"Please. You couldn't handle it."

The way his lips twisted upward before as leaned toward her felt like a dare.

"Perhaps you are the one who couldn't handle it."

Just as Jones put the emphasis on the "t" and Emma was starting to wonder how the hell they'd gone from discussing the case to something akin to flirting, a loud bang came from behind her. Whirling around in her chair, she saw a tennis ball rolling away from the glass wall of the conference center and Zelena across the bullpen, waving at them. At the same time, Killian's phone started to buzz and he dove to answer it, mouthing shut the fuck up to Emma as she laughed at the ringtone.

"Rob. Really, already? Hold on a second, Zelena's got something."

Emma turned toward the door as the other woman stuck her head in.

"Apologizes for startling you, Sheriff. He won't let me toss fireballs around the office." She looked to Jones. "Last cell signal bounced off a tower up north off I-95 an hour and a half ago. I'm not getting anything past that, but it gets remote quickly."

He nodded and spoke into the phone.

"You heard that? Mmmhmm." He listened as Robin spoke, lifting a finger to the women, silently asking them to hold on another moment.

"Got it. Good work, Locksley." He ended the call and looked at Zelena. "A convenience store clerk halfway between here and Storybrooke says he spotted Jefferson earlier this morning. Said he looked shifty and was mumbling to himself. Guy thought he may have been on drugs and followed him around the store making small talk so he couldn't steal anything. He says he overheard Jefferson say something about camping with his daughter, and that he drove off in a 'new-ish' blue sedan."

"If it was a Chevy Malibu, that's Priscilla's car. License plate 326-CVB."

Emma and Jones pushed their chairs back at the same time and stood. He motioned her through the conference room door out into the bullpen where Zelena was waiting.

"Border Patrol is already aware of the Amber Alert. So far, there is no record of a vehicle with that plate crossing into Canada."

Emma shook her head as they started walking. "Jefferson has spent a lot of time in the woods. If he said something about camping, it's most likely he'll try going off the grid. If his phone stopped pinging at a certain point, it's because he turned it off or went out of signal range. Either way, it's a place to start."

Zelena peeled off at her cubicle, telling Jones she'd send him the location of the cell tower. He raised a double thumbs up at her over his head and motioned for Emma to follow him and walked into an office. The dominant wall decoration was a large poster of a large ship silhouetted within a full moon, sails unfurled, rigging stretched tight. A vast collection of department commendations and certificates were mounted around it; at closer look, they all bore the name of Liam Jones.

"It's nice you kept these up."

Killian didn't say anything at first, bending to pull well-worn leather duffel out of a cabinet and setting it on the desk. He didn't look at her as he unzipped it and took stock.

"I found them all collecting dust in Liam's attic after – when he was gone."

Apparently satisfied with the contents of his to-go bag, he closed it, picking it up with a swing and grabbing a set of keys off a hook by the door.

"Liam wasn't much for accolades. Hated them, in fact. When I moved into the unit, I hung them up as a reminder."

Emma followed him through the room down a long hallway, fingers curled around her necklace. Jones wasn't going to get any crap from her about talismans or holding onto the past; they were kind of her thing, too.

"I didn't see any with your name." She brushed past him as he held an exterior door open for her, shielding her eyes from the setting sun out in the parking lot. The days were getting shorter and she thanked a slew of mythology gods she'd thought to add a heavier coat, hat and gloves to her own to-go bag.

He popped the trunk on an unmarked sedan and nestled his duffle between a rifle case and a first aid kit. He slammed the trunk and nudged her out of the way, coming around the passenger side of the car and opening the door for her.

Emma settled into the car with a dramatic flourish. "Two doors in the last thirty seconds? I had no idea you were such a gentleman, Jones," she teased, deciding he was purposely dropping the commendation talk.

He leaned into the doorframe. It was reminiscent of the last moments they'd spent together all those months ago, this time in much closer proximity. So close, in fact, that his breath moved the strands that had escaped her ponytail as he whispered lowly in her ear, "I'm always a gentleman."

The pull in Emma's belly was fierce as he straightened, trotting around the front of the car and getting in behind the wheel. After a fastidious check of his mirrors, the click of his seatbelt and a sassy eyebrow waggle in her direction once he'd donned a pair of Ray Bans, Jones started the car and pulled out of the lot. Keeping her face neutral, Emma looked out the window as Bangor passed by.

They were a few miles down the freeway before he spoke again.

"About the awards - I've a few. But Liam was the real Captain Jones. I'm just a cheap imitation."

The ringing of his phone kept Emma from responding, not that she had any idea what the hell to say.

"Can you hold that for me? Thanks. This is Jones," he said as she held the phone to his ear. "Legit? How long ago? Ah, fuck. Okay, we'll head that direction. Local knows we're coming? Thanks."

She disconnected the call and put the phone back in the cup holder from which she'd picked it up.

"So?"

"A woman camping with her family heard the Amber Alert and remembers seeing a man matching Jefferson's description hanging outside the women's bathroom at a rest stop northeast of where the tower last pinged a signal. She didn't notice what car he was driving, but it's the best lead we have at the moment."

He patted her knee then put the pedal to the metal. Focusing on the road ahead, Emma did her best to ignore the warmth left behind by his fingers.

To be continued…