Chapter Fifteen

Elliot checked his phone for what seemed like the five-hundredth time, and then tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him in his hotel room. He was still staying in New York, still working, but it was hard to concentrate on the case at hand when he was so obsessed with Olivia. It had been two weeks since he had talked to her, and he had no idea how she was doing, except for what he heard through Fin, which wasn't much. Fin had checked in with her two days ago, and he said she was recovering physically but had sounded guarded and off, not her usual confident, strong self.

Elliot wasn't sure why he expected a call from her. He hadn't been here to help her through the ordeal with Lewis, and no telling what emotional toll that had cost her or what she'd been through since then. But they had shared a moment of intimacy in the elevator of her building, and then all contact dropped off so quickly that he couldn't believe she'd never given him another thought.

But he wasn't going to stalk her. If she wanted to contact him, she would. Not hearing her voice didn't stop him from thinking of her silky dark hair and her longing eyes after their kiss, though. He tried not to imagine what her legs would do if they were wrapped around him . . . .

He thought he might just call it a night with work—it was getting too hard to make his mind focus on underage prostitute scandals. Maybe he would just get a drink.

His hand buzzed from his ringing phone, and he almost dropped it in alarm. Instead, he brought it to his ear and answered, saying, "Hello?"

A male voice said, "Elliot Stabler?"

"Speaking."

"Elliot, this is Buzz Goddard, from the Seventeenth Precinct."

Elliot's tone lightened. "Buzz! I haven't seen you in forever. What's going on, man?"

"Hey, Elliot—I know. Sorry it's been so long since we've talked."

"What can I do for you today?"

"Well, this is kind of awkward, Elliot, but I thought I needed to give you a head's up. And maybe you can help."

Elliot scratched his head and then started to pace the length of his hotel room. He didn't like the uneasiness in Buzz's voice. "Well, we're having a little problem with someone down here at a laundromat, and I think she's your partner, or was—"

Elliot perked up. "Olivia?"

"Yep. Pretty sure it's her. Last name's Benson, right?" Elliot nodded through the phone, but Buzz kept going even though he couldn't hear Elliot's confirmation. "I think you better get down here, man. She's acting very . . . ah, strange, and threatening people. We cleared the place out, but we're having a hard time calming her down. I thought I'd let you know before things got too hairy, give you a chance to—oh, wait . . ." Elliot rubbed the back of his head, listening to Buzz have a conversation with someone on the side. "Elliot, she's drawn a gun, and—"

But Elliot didn't have time for the details. "Where are you?" he said, grabbing his jacket and gun on the way out. "I'm coming right now. Whatever you do, don't shoot her."

Elliot took his agency car and sped through the streets of Manhattan faster than a taxi driver, nearly hitting several pedestrians on his way. He couldn't miss the site of the disturbance, with all the red and blue flashing lights on the street. Officers paced behind their cars, assault rifles at the ready. He braked to a stop, not even bothering to shut the door when he leapt out, just flashing a badge to the surrounding officers and rushing straight up to the door of the laundromat.

One uniform tried to pull him back, grabbing his arm and saying, "Hey! You can't just go in there—"

Elliot shook off the guy's grip and burst in through the door of the laundromat. Then he stopped, hand resting on his gun, gawking at the sight before him. Olivia had her gun drawn and pointed at one of the washing machines, shouting, "Don't move! I mean it, don't you move." He would have thought she was getting ready to take down a perp, with her serious expression and her threatening tone, if it wasn't for the fact that nobody was standing in front of her, and the entire place was void of people.

"Olivia," he yelled, and she spun around to face him, swinging her gun in his direction.

He threw his hands in the air, keeping them wide open to show her he wasn't holding anything. "Liv," he said, more gentle this time. "Take it easy."

"Elliot," she said, her eyes narrowed, tight lines surrounding her mouth. She held her jaw clenched so tight he thought she might break some teeth.

He decided to take a chance and start easing his way toward her. "Liv, why don't you put the gun down now, okay?"

Her eyes darting at some unseen foe, she licked her lips and said, "I'm sorry, El. I can't let him get away."

He wanted to know who she was referring to, but was afraid to ask at this point. Her arms stretched out in front of her, her hands trembling, she pointed the gun in the direction of his head, and he began to wonder if he was toast. "Liv, it's okay. You're safe. Nobody's going to—"

A shot rang in his ear so loud that he thought his head might have exploded, and he instinctively ducked his head to the left and down, bringing his shoulders up to his ears. His eyes clenched shut and he tried to get his bearings, but he couldn't hear anything from the ringing in his head, couldn't feel anything but his quivering legs.

Then he opened his eyes, aware that his body wasn't in any pain, knowing he had not been hit by the bullet that whizzed right past his head. His mouth fell open and he stared at Olivia staring at him, frozen. His voice cracked at first, but eventually he managed to croak, "Liv, please put the gun down," because she still held the gun pointed straight in front of her.

She didn't move, just stood staring straight ahead, and he wasn't even sure she heard a word he said. He moved to the side, out of the path of her gun, but she didn't follow him with her eyes or her weapon, just stared out the laundromat windows, trance-like. But now she slowly lowered her arms, until her gun pointed down at the ground, and he crept to her side, deciding it might be better if he didn't say anything to spook her until he was out of danger.

He got close enough to her gun hand to reach it easily, and he grabbed at it and snatched it out of her hand, expecting her to flip out. But she stood still, statue-like, lips slightly parted, panting lightly. With the gun safely out of her hands, he said softly, "Liv?"

She didn't turn to look at him, and her glassy eyes told him she wasn't there with him yet. But then something shifted, the muscles around those dark eyes softening, and then she blinked and turned her head toward him finally. "Elliot? What—what are you doing here?" She looked around, her eyebrows crinkling, and she said, "What am I—where . . . ?"

"Are you with me now, Liv?

Her eyes, fully alive now, locked onto his, and a tremor crept into her voice. "Elliot, what the hell just happened?"