Allison Kerry
The small creature looked up at her with squinting eyes that looked too much like Eric's that it creeped her out. It was like an alien. An alien that smelled of talcum powder, vomit, and sour shit.
"Aw, he likes you," Jane Matthews smiled as she wiped the slimy white spit that the infant had upchucked onto her just a moment ago. Kerry gave a polite smile as she tried to balance the delicate baby in her arms. He was so small. So tiny. She was afraid she'd drop him.
"He definitely is Eric's boy," she gave a good natured smirk to Jane, who was gushing over her creation. "Got the same attitude, I can tell."
Eric smirked back at them, fingering his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He always said he was going to quit but he never did. For the newborn's sake, he restrained himself from smoking in their apartment.
"I'm so happy you finally came to see him. I don't know why Eric has been putting it off," Jane threw a dirty stare at her husband.
Kerry's eyes wandered to her partner's and the two of them had that awkward moment where they shared a mutual shameful telepathy. They knew what they were doing was shitty. They knew they were guaranteed front row tickets to hell. But it was still easier to pretend they were just good old coworkers hanging out.
She didn't know if they'd ever come clean. Lying just was easier. Safer. At least in the short term. She knew one day the downhill snowball was going to bury them. But she hoped they'd find the right moment. The right time.
But after the birth of little Daniel Matthews, it didn't seem that Eric was ever going to file for that divorce. Maybe he had been full of shit the entire time.
Regardless, Allison Kerry, homewrecker and infamous Jezebel of Metropolitan Police Department, was currently cradling the child of the man she had seduced, right in front of the poor woman's face. Under her roof.
Truly, Kerry hated herself. More than anything.
"Can you stay for dinner? I can throw something on real quick. Or we can order pizza," Jane had her hand on Kerry's shoulder. "I've missed you. I never see you anymore."
This was the extra salt in the cut. She and Jane used to be friends. Close. But after the first mistake, that night, she just couldn't bear to return her phone calls after that.
And weeks turned into months of radio silence, hoping she would simply cease to exist in Jane's universe. It was such a delusional and undeserving desire. But if she had a genie, she'd give all three wishes to take back ever having been Jane Matthews' friend.
Because despite it all, she loved Eric. She loved him and wanted him. She wanted this life, with him. But she would never have it. Though she knew she had no right to, she hated Jane Matthews for having everything she could only wish she had.
The baby began to scream. It was a terrible sound, full of anguish, and it spread its suffering to all who were in earshot.
"Poor little guy," Jane seemed unaffected by the noise, retrieving her child from Kerry's outstretched hands. "He's just hungry." She proceeded to pull her top down to breastfeed little Daniel.
Kerry retreated to the kitchen linoleum, reaching for her waiting beer bottle that had gone sweaty and just barely cold.
"Probably best if you head out," Eric was leaning against the island counter, looking at his feet. He hadn't wanted her there, either, only giving the invite out of the insistence of his marital spouse.
"Way ahead of you," she muttered as she took a long swig. "We can't keep doing this, Eric."
He had taken a toothpick and put it in his mouth, the need for something to placate his cigarettes evident as he rolled the wood across his lips. "Yeah. I know." And yet he reached his hand to hers, gently placing the calloused skin over her fingers in a passing brush.
She pulled away. Not here.
Not here.
"I'm heading out." She spoke louder, so Jane could hear. "It was good seeing you, Jane." She called through the archway where Jane nursed her child, already beelining to the front door.
"But you just got here," Jane protested, distraught.
"I know, I'm sorry," Kerry gave a pathetic, forced smile. "But I need to help out my roommate, she's still moving in."
"Oh, I see." The woman's eyes had gone dull and lowered back to the weight sucking away in her embrace. "Well, don't be a stranger now. Come again soon, yeah?"
"Sure thing," Kerry mustered up some fake cheer. Sorry, Jane, but I seriously doubt it.
She fled before she acted out. She felt like she was about to vomit or cry. Maybe both.
More than anything, she suddenly had the urge to give Lindsey a call.
Angelina Hoffman
She slammed her fist on the door, hoping it sounded as pissed as she felt.
She heard clicks and for a split second, her heart stopped when she recognized the safety of a handgun being secured. "Mark, what the fuck is going on?"
"Ange?" Bewilderment, the click sounded again. There was the familiar slide of a deadbolt, the rattle of a chain. The door cracked open and the shadowed face of her brother peaked through.
She pushed the door forcefully with both hands, surprised by the resistance he gave. "Seriously? Let. Me. In." She leaned her body into the door with all her might, knowing she wouldn't succeed unless he allowed her to. "Mark, we need to talk." When he continued to be stubborn she slapped the painted plaster. "Damn it! I'm not leaving until you explain yourself!"
She heard him curse and suddenly swung the door open. Though he had no lights on in his space, the hallway lighting illuminated enough.
"Oh my God," her hand shot up to her mouth and her eyes stung with tears. "Who did this to you?"
He didn't answer. Stepping back, he allowed her into his home and swiftly shut the door once she was safely inside. She wasn't going to let him pretend everything was fine though. She flipped the switch to the nearest overhead light, shining yellow onto his face.
He looked like he had gotten face painted by a toddler with a love of blues and reds. She raised her hand to his swollen cheek and blackened eye. He grabbed her wrist gently. "You see? What they did to me was nothing to what they'll do to you."
"Who? Is this some macho cop shit?" She jerked her arm from his hand and went to the freezer, digging through the contents to find some peas. She found a bag of corn that she smacked against the counter and handed it to him. "Put this on your face. And answer me."
"It's complicated."
"Stop trying to protect me, Mark. Damn it, keeping me in the dark isn't going to do that, anyway." Her eyes lowered and her throat tightened. "Do you owe someone money?"
"No. It's not like that." He sounded insulted. Hurt.
"Then help me understand. Please. Clearly, you can't get work involved. So it must be something worse. But how do you expect me to just drop my career? Leave my home? And my wedding? Just like that, with no explanation, Mark?"
"It's Toni Rosello."
Angie blinked, the name faintly ringing a bell. "What, the guy that's always in the papers?"
"Yeah. Things are getting heated. Now, I'm on his bad side." He pressed the vegetables to his eye and let out a low sigh. He went to collapse into his couch, the sound of a nearby clock softly ticking through the quiet.
She was at a loss for words. "Please tell me you haven't been working for some crime boss this whole time."
When he didn't answer, she kicked him. Hard.
He hissed and grabbed his shin, dropping the plastic sack onto the cushion next to him. "Jesus, what the fuck, Ange?"
She went to kick him again but he moved his legs out of the way. "You stupid son of a bitch. You no good - stupid -,"
"It's not like I'm doing it because I want to!" He snapped, having jumped up and was now using his sofa as a boundary between him and her foot.
"Then why? Why would you do something so - stupid!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, Mom and Dad are probably rolling in their graves. They raised you better than that!"
"Don't use Mom and Dad like that. I did it to protect you," he growled and she froze.
"Don't use me like that! What do you mean?"
"What do you think I mean? I mean this guy knows about you. And he'll kill you - or worse - if I refuse. That's how it's been, Ange. All right? It's been this way for years now."
She felt the world spin around her. She sank to the floor. "And you never told me?" She felt her cheeks go wet. She snapped upwards to him. "You've lied to me all this time. For how long?"
He looked pained. "Five years. Since I started."
"Did Victor really retire and is living in Florida?"
He let out a harsh laugh. "No. He's been in a wheelchair, Ange. His wife and kid are gone. I lost my temper, hesitated, and now he'll never walk again. All right? I've been Rosello's lapdog my entire fucking career. And now, if I don't fix things, he's coming for you, Ange. He's coming for everyone. This has been shit, Ange. Fucking shit." He pressed his fist to his head, eyes glistening as he let out a gargled sob.
She felt her face tighten and her limbs go cold. "Mark." She got up, wanting to hold him. To tell him everything was going to be all right. She felt like they had gone back in time and he was just a teenager again, furious and alone.
He stepped back away from her, afraid. "I know I fucked up. I fucking know."
"Mark," she let her voice go low. She cooed like a dove. "Come here." She kept taking steps to him, despite him backing away. "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out." She put her arms around him and hugged him. He let out a hiss of pain that made her release her squeeze. But she kept him in her embrace. She kept holding on. "It must have been so hard," she was sobbing too, trying to speak through snot and salt. "Taking this all on your own. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He was stiff as she rested her face onto his chest. His breathing was erratic, his chest rising and falling like a stressed animal. "You shouldn't be apologizing."
"No, I should have known. I should have picked up on this." She looked up at him. "I've been so caught up in myself that I didn't look out for you. I should have seen the signs." She wiped her face and then reached to thumb brush his tears as well. "We promised Mom we'd take care of each other. We're going to be fine, Mark. Now that I know, I'll be ready. We'll be ready." She wasn't completely sure if she was right but there was little fear. Only anger at this fiend. Rosello. "You've got to have some people on your side. What about Will? And Kerry?"
"They're trying. There's a team at MPD trying to take him down. But Rosello's untouchable. I think you should just skip town."
Angie let out an incredulous laugh. "If he's really so powerful, then it's not like my running away would stop him from finding me, if I'm going to use that logic. No. I'm not going to let this guy scare me. Okay? I'm standing my ground."
He didn't look happy with her statement. "But Ange-,"
"But nothing. Let's call Will. Let's call the people you trust. I'll be smart. I'll keep my gun on me. Peter will keep his, too. You've taught us how to use them. We won't go walking down dark alleys late at night alone. I'm sure we can get an officer to watch our place. We'll just be smart. Yeah." She pursed her lips as she reexamined his face. "You just have to communicate from now on. Deal?"
He was scanning her face, surrender in his frown. "Deal."
"Do what you need to do to not let him hurt you like that anymore. Okay? Promise me. Promise me that you won't die until you're an old man. You're not allowed to die until you're gray and with grandchildren."
"I promise." It was one of those unfair demands, but she'd live with it. She didn't care how unreasonable she was being.
She squeezed the fabric of his shirt, pulling him forward. "Seriously. Don't let this piece of shit kill you. Or I'll fucking kill him myself. And then I'm going to kick your ass in the afterlife."
She had expected those full lips to suddenly twitch. She had expected him to laugh at this. She had counted on it.
Mark Hoffman was her big brother and she knew him down to his marrow. No matter how old he got, he didn't change. Not really.
Relief misted over her when he did, indeed, laugh.
She joined him. The two of them both laughed, the tears evaporating as they giggled like hysterical children in the face of danger.
Peter Strahm
Their temporary workplace smelled of dust and new plastic. It was cozy, really just a small rental office with a respectable sized server room to support accessing their databases fast. Despite the decent set up, he missed the bustle of headquarters back in D.C. He knew he shouldn't complain, though. It sure beat being shoved in some broom closet at the MPD's downtown station.
He and Lindsey had both practically gagged at the state of the building. The windows had cracks in them. There was chipped paint from, what he assumed to be from, the era of lead-based solvents and crumbling concrete floors. The precinct was run down and in need of some renovations. He wondered what the hell they spent their money on but it sure didn't seem to be a decent workplace. It sure didn't seem to be on competent cops, either.
He made an exception for his partner's sake, who kept insisting that Allison Kerry was worth her salt and was underappreciated where she worked. He'd wait and see, but out of respect for Lindsey, he'd keep an open mind.
But he also kept in the back of his mind the blatant state of the city. Crime bosses were flaunting their immunity as if they were royalty. Corrupt politicians seemed to own half the departments. He never liked this city. It stunk. It was a lost cause.
"Strahm," Lindsey's voice pulled him from his depressing mental tunnel, big brown eyes blinking at him and an entertained beam on her face. "You have that look again."
He straightened and stretched, yawning loudly. "Yeah. It's been a long day. I can't believe they have nothing on this guy before the task force assembled. They started a year ago. And everything before then, it's like Toni Rosello was a fucking boy scout."
"Yep. It's just like Allison said. People on the inside just scrub him clean every time something comes up."
"It's going to be a lot of long nights, Linds. At least we get overtime."
"And travel comp. By the way, I never thanked you for agreeing to come up. I know you don't like being up here."
Peter was resting his chin in his hand, leaning over his desk. "Yeah, well, what are friends for? Besides, you'd do the same for me." Lindsey Perez had approached him one rainy evening when he was stuck in Quantico, feet propped on his desk with nothing to do. It had been a slow year. No mass murders. No serial killers on the loose. He had been considering redecorating his office when she had approached with a proposition.
"Want to help me pay a debt to an old buddy of mine and help some urban street cops in taking down the worst crime syndicate since Al Capone?"
With a pitch like that, how could he have said no?
Lindsey was one of the agents he inherently respected, since the first case they happened to work together on. She was devoted to her job. She got results. She was brilliant. And she was beautiful. He would have considered pursuing something more than just a close working friendship with her, if only she was interested in men.
It was disappointing, but Strahm got over it quickly. After a few years of occasional mutual assignments and nothing but professional success, he now saw her like the sister he never had and someone who really helped make the world just a bit better. She even invited him over to her family's Thanksgiving dinner last year.
Despite their work together, she was technically not his partner. His partner, Dan Erickson, was currently on leave, taking advantage of the slow season. Erickson and himself specialized in serial killings. He worked at Behavioral Analysis, profiling the more violent and sadistic offenders and often stayed in the basement of Quantico or reported to Erickson in the capitol.
Perez was with Human Trafficking Investigations. She rescued kids from terrible existences he'd rather not think about. He listened to serial killers talk about how their moms didn't love them enough. He knew he had the easier job.
Oh, it sucked. But he didn't deal with victimized children nearly as often as Lindsey did. He always wondered if her job was why she confided to him once that she'd never start a family. Which was a shame. She'd be a great mother.
When she had called and invited him to join her on the case, he hadn't understood why she wanted him. Apparently, there was an epidemic of child exploitation and finally the FBI was called to intervene. He wondered why she needed a profiler to help at all. That was, until she explained their target. The fucking brains behind one of the worst human trafficking networks this side of the Missisippi.
Toni Rosello was a real piece of work and that was with just the remnants of information he could gather. If just a fraction of what was collected was truth, the guy was likely a textbook case of narcissistic sociopath. Methodical. Highly intelligent. Insane. And with enough wealth and leadership capability that his servants all followed his orders with swift precision and desperate execution.
The guy didn't seem to take criticism very well. Or any semblance of disrespect. And he liked playing games, as did most overpowered assholes with way too much money and time on their hands.
"Well, it's getting pretty late. How about we grab some drinks? Allison invited me out."
"Hmm," Strahm kept looking at the one headshot of Rosello, tired, but not particularly interested in getting up. He wasn't going to admit it but this was the most interesting casework he had done that year. He normally would have pages of generalized expectations of what his subject would be likely to desire, do, believe. But he only had the very basic statements.
Sexual deviance. Needs to feel dominant in every relationship. Abusive and short tempered, with a fragile ego. But not much else. He was worried he was getting rusty. Losing his edge.
"Hey, Strahm," Lindsey leaned forward, waving her hand over his face.
He looked at her with a bored smile. "You can go on without me. I'm not interested. Besides," his smile grew, "I don't want to be a third wheel." He had picked up on hers and Allison Kerry's relationship. It sounded like the old college experimentation hadn't lost its spice after all those years.
"If you don't come, then Allison's friend, Will, is going to be stuck with that title, then." There was a teasing in Lindsey's voice that he registered.
"Oh? And I care because?"
"Get off it, Strahm, I saw the way you kept eyeballing her when we met the task force. She's a looker. And technically not a coworker. So you don't have to worry about fraternization." She cocked her head to the side and shot him a playful grin. "At least, long term. Got something better to do? You just going to stay here all night? Let your hair down a little. Lighten up."
He remembered Will. The little freckled redhead with the heart shaped mouth and large brown eyes. He certainly remembered her.
"No point in getting distracted."
"Rosello isn't going to just mail us a confession in the next twenty-four hours. And you can't be effective at your job unless you take some breaks. Mingle with the team." She got to her feet and was readjusting her hip holster. "Last call for splitting a cab. Oh, and the director mentioned keeping an eye out on the local talent. I'm working on convincing Allison to ditch MPD and come work for us. I hear Maddox's good people and Allison told me about the work she did back west and what she gets done here. They both sound like recruitable material. Think of it like a service to the Bureau. Bet bringing on some fresh blood will look good in your next performance review. Just saying."
"Fine," Strahm would put up more of a fight but he secretly didn't really want to sit at that desk a moment longer. He got up and went to throw on his suit jacket. He was suddenly craving a beer and some peanuts.
Lindsey seemed to be familiar with where they were going. She led the way as they walked through the stink of garbage lined streets and carefully stepped over the neverending homeless that seemed to just be part of the city's very infrastructure. It was so damn cold and so many people were shivering in front of flaming trash cans. They coughed out pleas for pocket change.
They made their way into the pub, the smokey den full of cloying cigar plumes was rich with leather and perfume. He was pleasantly surprised. The place was clean. Green glass stained light fixtures and rich walnut paneling on the walls made him feel like he was transported far from concrete, fluorescence, and sirens.
"Linds," Allison Kerry's thin wrist pulled their attention, the woman looking foreign with her exposed collarbones and shoulders. She looked like a young co-ed out on the town, not some homicide detective meeting colleagues to talk shop. Strahm rarely felt out of place, but in the company of this yuppie club, he felt stiff in his basic black and white suit. He felt occasional eyes coldly look at him, like a fly that had accidentally buzzed into their house.
They made their way across the various clusters of young professionals who were smoking hand rolled tobacco from South America, eating their lineage veal, and talking of the need to solve world hunger while scoffing at inhumane labor practices.
He rolled his eyes, unimpressed.
The two women were at a booth in the far back corner. Like good cops, they were sitting next to each other and keeping their backs to the wall. From the empty glasses collecting at the table's center, the ladies were already a couple of drinks in.
Will Maddox, furthest inboard of their booth seat, came into view. He kept his face passive despite how much creamy, bespeckled skin he could see. She smiled, lips a deep maroon that just made her other features roar at him. His throat sealed shut.
"Glad you could make it," Kerry was waving towards the nearest waiter, who nodded in their direction as they took their seats. Strahm tried to play things apathetically. He looked at Kerry, noting the way her shoulders had hitched up and how she seemed to gravitate her view closer to Lindsey's direction.
"How was shopping?" Lindsey was playing with her hair, her thick ponytail over her shoulder as she pulled at a strand. "You two look hot."
"Thanks. Will was in serious need of a makeover. Her wardrobe needed something more than just button downs and dress slacks," Kerry smirked.
"Hey, most of my clothes are just - inaccessible - right now," Will grumbled into her glass. It looked like something strong. Bourbon, maybe. Dear Lord. He felt mildly alarmed, seeing her drink something he'd gag at. In fact, there were three empty glasses in front of her. He didn't want to go full psychoanalytic on someone he had just met but he couldn't help making conclusions.
Inaccessible? The heavy drinking? Maybe a break up. Or an apartment fire. No, likely a break up. The way her eyelashes fluttered in his direction and faltered away was probably nothing more than the need for a rebound. Defiant reclamation of her autonomy.
He doubted a woman as lovely as Will would stay single for long, unwillingly. Any implication of her interest in him made him a bit more skeptical, now that the initial impression was over. He noticed no wedding band on her finger. He knew she was living with Kerry. Maybe she's like Lindsey.
"What can I get you?" The waiter arrived, struggling to keep up with the copious tables.
Lindsey ordered some red wine. He ordered the cheapest beer they had on tap. He raised an eyebrow when Will asked for another whiskey. Kerry, not paying too attention to her choice, asked for a refill.
"Are there other files on Rosello you happen to have?" It was the first thing that came to mind.
Kerry slumped and let out a moan while Will perked up. "Actually," Will rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward. He caught a glimpse of cleavage framed in black lace and he forced himself to look away, his cheeks hot. "I'd be happy to go over everything I've gathered about the guy. Most of what we've given is all we have. Everything else just," she held her hand and flicked her wrist, "vanished." There was emotion in the way she hissed this out, as if it physically pained her.
He nodded, tossing her a grimacing frown. "That must be frustrating." He had already been briefed by Detective David Tapp about their mole problem. From his understanding, it was her partner. That betrayal alone would complicate things, working with her. It was strange they had her on the case, though a mole for the mole was a decent strategy.
He wasn't sure if they could completely trust her, though.
"You have no idea," Will was loose and at ease, animated as she loudly whined. He figured it had something to do with the booze that made her particularly less stoic and uptight. His first impression, back at the Grill, had been that she was closed off and defensive. Friendly to a professional degree but she seemed to keep new faces at arms length. "I still can't fathom how this fucker just gets away with everything he does. Just a few months ago, we put away one of his pimps. The guy was found stabbed to death in the county jail showers just a few weeks later. And then a few days after that, his case file just vanished from processing."
She pressed her forehead on the table, letting out a groan. "And it's like he never existed."
"Hon," Kerry put her hand on her back. "Stop thinking about work. And maybe drink some water." Kerry outstretched her hand again, calling back their server.
"Yeah." She shot up, red curls flipping upwards, cheeks pink. "I might have gone a bit overboard."
"Uh-huh," Kerry kept smiling, eyes locked onto Lindsey. "Are we going to just talk about work tonight? It's still the weekend."
Strahm ignored her, honing in on Will. He appreciated a woman that prioritized work. "Tell me about Rosello. You've met him?"
"Ugh. Yeah," Will swirled her straw, taking a slow sip. Her lips left red marks wherever they came into contact with. He licked his dry mouth. "The guy likes to 'mess with us'," She finger curled quotation marks, "whatever the fuck that means. My partner had to coach me before meeting him so I didn't piss him off and put a target on my back. And then he goes and mails me dick pics." She wrinkled her nose, eyes glazed.
He widened his eyes and felt his jaw drop. "Your partner did what?" He never met this partner but now wanted to put a face to the name. Hoffman was his name. Hoffman.
"No. Not his dick. Rosello's dick. You don't know my partner." She inhaled, "He's not on this case." She seemed irked. "Complicated."
"Wait, what's this about Hoffman's dick?" Kerry rounded on her, looking concerned and fascinated.
"Nooo," Will slurred, "Not his dick, Rosello's dick."
"You need to rewind, honey."
The waiter returned, giving him a bottle of beer and a chilled glass. He drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the icy pint, flaring his nostrils as he sharply inhaled. He felt hot and irritable. While Kerry and Will blubbered together like tweedle dee and tweedle drunk, Lindsey shot him a warning glance. He got the message. Patience is a virtue.
He could practically hear it in her voice, her having chanted this mantra at him on more than one occasion.
He rotated the glass bottle in his hands, stealing glances at the woman across the table, who was repeating the tale in low murmurs to her colleague. It looked like tonight was going to cease productivity. Because of her relationship with the mole, he had wanted a chance to study her. He needed to talk to Will when she was more coherent. He set a mental note to give her a call sometime soon to pick her brain. Preferably somewhere quiet and secluded. Private.
His hopes that she would be much more forthcoming tonight was backfiring already. Sure, she didn't seem to have any shame and answered his questions unguarded. But she was rambling and scattered. He didn't have the tolerance to decipher her jumbled answers. Or maybe, he was just tired. It had been a long day. He needed to remind himself of this.
His cool drink settled in his stomach and already he felt himself calm down. He hadn't eaten yet, his head light.
Someone's cell phone was ringing. Will seemed to be fumbling for her purse, pulling out the flip phone, dragging the antenna upwards, putting the receiver to her mouth. "Hello?" He could see more of the whites of her eyes as they stretched outward. Her rouge lips parted. "Mark? Right now?" The way she shot upward and was already turning her body as though wanting to leave the booth told him all it needed to.
Ah, there's the boyfriend. He took another swig of his beer.
"Wait, what? Uh-huh. Okay. All right. I'm coming over. Right now." She flipped the plastic, turning to everyone. "Sorry, I need to go."
"Wait." Kerry held her hand out. "You promise that was Hoffman? And not Frank?" Eyebrow furrowed, intense scowl, Strahm stored these details for safekeeping.
Mark Hoffman's the partner. So not her boyfriend. But Frank? An ex? So it is a breakup. He didn't like how he felt almost relieved by this. But he felt the twist in his gut loosen.
"Yes, Ally, it's just Hoffman. I promise. I'm not sneaking off to see Frank. Come on, it sounds urgent."
"Want me to go with you? You've had a couple." Ally gestured to the mess they made. Will just gave her a funny scowl while she slid her arms into her winter coat.
"I'm fine," Will sighed. "Come on, scooch."
Strahm knew Lindsey wanted to spend the night talking with Ally. He knew by the way Lindsey's lips thinned just a little and the way Ally shot an apologetic pout her way, there was about to be some disappointment.
"It's not safe going out on your own. I'll take you," he offered, eager for an opportunity to dip out early. "It's getting late. I think I'm going to turn in." He wanted to shoot a smirk towards Lindsey but kept his face expressionless.
Will paused, looking at him with careful consideration. She was on guard, despite her inebriation. He wouldn't push if she insisted. But still, it was dangerous walking out in this city alone and drunk. No matter if she carried her gun in her purse or walked around with her badge on her chest.
"I agree," Kerry chimed in. "Let Peter take you."
"Okay," her eyes were still shining with that acute awareness that only a woman who had seen too much had. "Thanks."
They left the two lovebirds, walking out into the cold. He kept an eye out for a cab, intending to hail one as soon as one turned the corner. None appeared. They walked in awkward silence, the click of her heels and the scrape of his soles conversing for them.
"How far do you need to go?" Strahm wanted her to feel assured that he had no ulterior motive. He was just looking out for a colleague.
"Not far. He's just a thirty minute walk from here." The playful and silly act had frozen up. She looked so serious, scanning her surroundings as she briskly walked. The woman he had first met at the Green Lion Grill was back, as if she had never truly left.
"We can always get a cab."
"It's fine. I need to sober up. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind." Despite her quick footing, she was slow, her short stature compared to his long gait making him have to take extra short strides so she could keep up. It amused him how petite she was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, in heels. She walked like a person who felt taller than she really was.
Each footstep echoed off the cement. She was shivering, despite wearing her coat. Her legs were bare, showing strong curved calves. He wondered if he should offer her his jacket. He didn't want to come off as creepy.
He kept his jacket on.
"So," he was grabbing wildly in his brain for anything to talk about. But all that came to was work. He decided now was his chance to snoop. "Why's your partner not working with you on the Rosello case? He on another assignment?"
"Something like that." She had her arms crossed, trying to walk fast and keep her face forward. Maybe he had misread the situation the last time they met. Tonight, he felt walled off. It was fair. If the roles were reversed, he'd be concerned about being escorted home by some guy he'd just met.
"Mark Hoffman's his name?"
"Yeah."
"I've heard of him. What do you make of him?"
"Why do you want to know?" She sounded almost hostile.
He felt frustration flare up under his ribs. "You can guess why. It's obvious he's involved."
She stopped, scraping the rough ground. "Yeah, well, it's not like it's his fault. Let's make things clear. Hoffman is not the bad guy. It's Rosello."
Strahm raised an eyebrow, taking in the glint of cinnamon irises under the pale yellow of the street lights. Fire and brimstone. "I know he's your partner. But he's compromised. You can't deny that. You can't deny this looks bad on you as well."
"I'm not. But I don't want everyone to just start pinning the blame on him. He's another victim in Rosello's trap. Everyone thinks he's some malicious asshole. But they don't know him like I do. He's a good friend and will stick his neck out for us. No one ever talks about that but they should."
"I see. It's clear you two are close." He needed to get them out of this awkward rut. He opted for changing the subject. "So. How do you like working at MPD?"
"It's all right. Kind of a mess." There was an almost relieved sigh as she finally looked at him, warily. "How do you like working with the FBI?"
"If I said I'd love it, I'd probably be raising some red flags."
"Right. You're a profiler."
"Yeah."
"So you're a shrink." She pushed red curls behind her ear, avoiding his look.
He laughed. "Not really. Why? You need one?" He hoped some good humored teasing would lighten the mood.
"Maybe." She smirked back. "I think we all could use some therapy once in a while."
"Ain't that the truth. Well, if you need to just talk. I'm all ears."
"We've only just met."
"True. I'm sure our working together on this investigation will suffice for a grace period. Who knows? Maybe you can come help us out in the future."
"Are you offering me a job, Special Agent Strahm?" He liked the way she said that, her voice low and pleasing.
"Maybe. We've only just met, Detective Maddox," he returned the ball in her court. He put his hands in his pockets, though he was warming up from their walk.
"Well, we'll see. I've gotten pretty invested with the precinct. A lot of good people who are just swimming against the current. And this city needs as much help as it can get. If not me, who will?"
He gave her credit. She sounded like she cared. "Well, I'm sure you can make some good changes. Just don't sacrifice your ideals. But if it gets too hard, don't feel ashamed about jumping ship. Especially if you end up hitting a glass ceiling."
Her red lips curved, concave up. "You make it sound like I'm stuck in the fifties. Is the FBI so ahead of its time?"
"I think so. Look at Lindsey. She probably doesn't deal with half the bullshit you and Kerry put up with."
"Maybe. I'm not sure if I have the stomach for it, though. You deal with guys like Ted Bundy."
"More often than I'd like. But you've got Toni Rosello. From what I've gathered, they're not much different. But people like us are the ones that step up and take them out. If not us, who will?"
"It must be hard." She was studying him, suspicion draining and replaced with intrigue. "Sounds like a nightmare."
"Someone's got to do it. We're in the same boat, Will." It wasn't often someone turned the conversational spotlight back at him. He felt weird, talking about himself. "But I'm not complaining. Sounds like you guys have a lot on your table. The corruption makes my head hurt. I'd lose my shit if people kept misplacing paperwork. I can't believe no one's been fired yet."
She let out a scoff. "Yeah. Right? I was in denial when I first got here. I thought people were just bitter and stretching the truth. It was a culture shock." She bit her lip. "Honestly, I'm so frustrated. We need to do better."
He smiled. "You going to make things better?"
"I'll try." She shot him a glare. "You keep asking that. You think I can't do it?"
"I never said that." He wanted to hold his hands up. Her defensiveness caught him off guard. He wondered how often she had to stand up for herself. "You must get a lot of pushback here."
"Don't we all?"
"Maybe Lindsey more than me. But from what she tells me, you all have it real bad." Silence. He wondered if he sounded condescending to her. "Where'd you come from? I hear you're from the west coast."
"Yeah. San Diego. I miss it."
"Why'd you leave?"
She didn't answer right away. He had caught a glimpse of regret in her frown. "I don't know anymore."
They eventually reached the apartment building. "Well. Thanks for the walk," she forced a smile. "Sorry about dragging you this far." She had pressed the front buzzer, waiting by the intercom speaker.
"Don't sweat it." He had his fists in his pockets, wanting to leave with a lasting impression.
"Yeah?" A gruff, deep voice called out.
"It's me," Will's eyes were fixed on Strahm as she spoke into the soundbox. The front door clicked and buzzed sharply. She was already heading in. "Take care, Peter."
"Uh - Will."
She stopped, face blank.
"You know, if you ever want to talk. I'm here."
She gave him a raised eyebrow. "Peter, weren't we just talking?" She gave him one more dazzling lipsticked smile, making his heart skip a beat, before leaving him out in the cold.
Mark Hoffman
When he opened the door, he thought he was dreaming. He had never seen her in a dress before. Or dolled up. When she took off her coat and flung it over his couch, he drank in her bare back and wondered who the lucky bastard was that she had gotten cleaned up over. He just prayed it wasn't Frank.
And here he thought he couldn't feel any worse.
He finally stepped into the light, letting her take a good look at his ugly mug. A part of him liked how quickly her expression morphed to horror. Concern. "You look nice. Who's the guy?" He pretended nothing was wrong.
"Jesus, Mark. I should be asking you that. What the hell happened?" She stepped closer to take him in. Her eyes swept from his face and neck to his bare arms. He had only his tank shirt on, having just struggled out of the shower and only able to bear the thinnest material on his bruised flesh. She was so close that he felt his skin prickle.
He smelled perfume, something rich and sweet. It tickled his nose. His pulse was echoing in his ears, a throbbing pain pounded across his body with every beat.
"Rosello?" She didn't try to ease the conversation. She went straight for the jugular. "Tell me, Mark."
"Rosello." He went for his comfort, bee lining to the fridge and taking down his whiskey. "You want one?"
"No." She shook her head, following him. Her shoes were loud on his floor. She'd probably piss off his neighbors downstairs. "Jesus. Is Angie okay?"
"She's fine. But that's why I called you." He downed a healthy glass, refilling the cup. He hated what he was about to ask. "I need your help."
"What do you need?"
"I need you to tell your buddies to keep a patrol on her and Peter. Only someone you trust." He was gripping the edges of his counter, squeezing with all his might. He wasn't a man. He was pathetic. "And protect her. Because I can't." He expected Will to scoff at him. To call him a spineless coward. To walk away.
"Of course, Mark." She placed a cool hand on his knuckles. Soft and light on his hot fingers. "We can do that. We'll keep her safe. What about you? We should put you in a safe house. You and Angie."
"No. If I vanish, it'll just motivate him to come for her. For now, I need to just keep doing what he wants."
"Which is?"
He saw the dark makeup beginning to smear under her eyes. He wanted to wipe it clean. "Give him intel on your investigation. And he wants the names of the feds you're working with."
She took a step back. "I can't tell you that, Mark."
"I know." He looked down at his drink. "I'm not expecting you to." Pathetic. That's what he was. He couldn't look her in the face. He had almost hoped she would have just given him the names. "Sorry I took you away from your date."
She let out a huff. "I wasn't on a date."
"Didn't know that's what you wear when you buy groceries."
"What if I told you," she pulled her hand away, "that women don't always dress up to impress a man?"
He finally stole a glance. "Fine. Sorry. It's just you look pretty. I just don't know how to tell you without sounding like an asshole."
She blinked, blushed, crinkled her nose, then let out an audible groan. "Like that, Mark." She let out a huff and went to help herself to a glass. "Why is it, every time I see you, I have to have another drink?" She pulled the bottle from his grip and poured herself a healthy dose. "Tell me everything. From the beginning. I'm not going to judge. But tell me everything." She snapped her fingers and he sharpened his gaze at her. "Every detail. Toni Rosello will go down, Mark. I swear it. But if you try to cover shit up anymore, it's going to make my job really fucking difficult."
"You should probably call your family first. Anyone you care about. Rosello's scared like I've never seen him before. That's making him more dangerous. Your parents back west, any siblings. Anyone you care about. "
She let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, good luck to Rosello. I'm fine." She was taking a big gulp of her drink, staring intently at a photo of Angie on the fridge.
Even he could feel the awkward tension filling the room, he decided to risk it. "...Your parents alive?"
"One. Technically."
This was news. Hoffman waited for her to continue. When she refused to elaborate, he dared to push. "Technically?"
"My father's been in a coma for a couple of years now. He won't wake up. My mother and brother died when I was still in high school." She sniffed and cleared her throat. "Home invasion. I was at dance camp. My father was on a fishing trip. Clark and Mom were home."
"Jesus. I'm sorry." He shuffled sideways to her but paused when she held her hand out.
"No. Don't be. It was a long time ago and it's made me who I am today. It made me want to go into law enforcement. 'Cause they never caught the guy." She was pouring herself another drink and then hoisted herself onto his counter. She was now perched at eye level, her knees just inches from his stomach. She rocked her heels back and forth and continued sipping spirits. "And a few years ago, my dad got a stroke. He's currently in a hospital back in California. He had decent benefits when he worked the railroad. He's taken care of but they said his brain atrophied to the point that he'll never wake up. To me, he died a long time ago."
"Damn."
She shrugged, lower lip stiff. "The only guy Rosello may try to get to is Frank. And that would just be doing me a favor at this point." She was slurring and her voice was thick like syrup. Her forehead was leaning towards him. "Jesus. I think I've gone a bit too far." She was rocking forward.
"Hey." He caught her, grabbing her shoulders, her skin scalding to the touch. "Yeah. I think you're done." He slid the empty tumbler out of her reach.
"Shut up." She pressed her face into his shirt and let out a low groan. "Shit, I'm drunk." He stiffened, gently squeezing his fingers into her skin.
"Yeah. You are."
"There is someone, though." She pulled back, panting heavily. She was flushed and put her hand on his chest. "Sorry about your shirt."
She had smeared lipstick on his white tank. He didn't care. His heart was beating fast as her hands brushed up and down his chest. This was getting a bit too close and personal. He knew she'd regret this and kept her firmly held back with his arms. "Yeah? Then call them. Warn them."
Her pink mouth had a smile he wasn't sure he liked. A woman's smile. Her hands were like feathers, tickling up to his collarbone and shoulders. She began massaging his traps, digging digits into his tight muscles and making him inhale sharply. How could something feel so good and sting so much? "I don't need to," she whispered.
"Oh?"
"Rosello already has him." She kissed his cheek, pulling back with a sad glower. "I want him back."
He felt his voice hitch in his throat. The room had gotten stifling. His pants felt tight and this made him flush with embarrassment. He half-heartedly stepped back. "I think you need to go to bed."
"I think you should join me," she was singing, low and full of a teasing melody. Her face was so close he could smell the alcohol on her breath.
He smirked back, the horrors of earlier slipping away. "That's probably not a good idea." Though they drank together often, this was the first time he'd seen her acting so… forward. Relaxed. Maybe a little too relaxed then she'd like when she sobered up. I'm going to enjoy holding this over your head until the end of time.
This was nothing. As soon as the sun rose, she'd pretend this never happened and they'd go back to the way things were. The way things had always been. She wouldn't want a pathetic man like me. "I think I should take you back to Kerry's."
She pouted. "And leave you alone for the sharks? No way, Jose." Her palms were on his neck, the pads of her thumbs tracing his jawline. "I'm staying right here. With you. I think it'll be safer if I stay the night." Her lips were wet and warm on his neck, attacking him out of nowhere.
He froze, paralyzed as his living room clock ticked away and she continued to kiss into his bruised skin. It hurt. It soothed. A part of him wanted to let her continue. But the more rational part of him told him to shut this shit down fast.
"What are you trying to pull?" He pushed her back firmly, hoping they could pretend she hadn't just crossed a major line. This was the sort of thing he had tried to avoid, pushing her to Kerry and away from him. His neck was cold from her absence and he suppressed a shiver. It would be so easy to just let it all happen.
But not like this.
She hit his shoulder with her forehead, pulling the thin fabric of his top in her fists. Knuckles brushed his chest hair. "I hate seeing you in pain." She was whining into his skin, hot breath muffling into him. "I want to make it go away."
"You think kissing it is going to make it better?"
"It doesn't?" She blinked at him, unfocused.
"Not when you're piss drunk. If the roles were reversed, this would be downright criminal."
"Yeah. I guess you're right." She grumbled, finally pulling away. "Sorry, Hoffman."
Thank Christ she's a rational drunk. But there was a disappointment burrowed in his core, making him feel as though he was sinking. He chose to ignore it. He may have been a helpless man, a slave to Toni Rosello. But he would at least be a man that didn't take advantage of a drunk woman. "You can take the bed."
"Always the gentleman." She kicked off her heels, the hard soles clattering onto the wooden floor. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling her thick curls back. "I haven't been sleeping well. I'm not used to sleeping alone anymore."
"That sucks."
"I won't kick you out of your own bed."
"I'm not going to let you take the couch."
"Then we're at an impasse."
He narrowed his eyes. "How so?"
She let out a frustrated noise. "Mark."
"What?"
"Don't let me sleep alone. Please." He realized she was crying, burying her face into his chest and the warm wetness of tears spread across like summer rain. The way she pleaded. It was full of desperate need.
"Hey." He wasn't sure if he should, but he put his arms around her. He squeezed, trying to make her stop. He hated seeing her like this. "You're okay."
She sobbed, "I'm so fucking lonely, Mark. I have no one."
"No, don't think that." He lamely patted her back as she cried heavier into him. "I'm right here. You're okay. I'll stay with you. I'm not going anywhere. Just. Stop crying, okay?"
She broke off and let out a small chuckle. She pulled back and wiped her tears, smearing black streaks around her eyes. "Damn it, I'm probably being a lot right now."
"Yeah. But it's okay. You've got a lot going on." He swallowed and added, "you kind of look like a zombie right now."
She laughed more, playfully slapping his arm. "Fuck you." The anxiety eating him up slowed down.
"Let's get ready for bed. We've got work in the morning. Though you could call in sick."
"No." She kept wiping the corners of her eyes. "Here I am, coming to help you out and I just unload on you and you end up helping me." There was a fondness in her smile and awe in her eyes. "Thanks."
He retrieved some paper towels. He heard the sound of a phone ringing and her shuffling. When he turned to her, she had a fresh frown and furrowed brow while she stared at her cell phone screen. He handed her a fistful of tissue. "Here's looking at you, kid." The frown melted and she grinned again as she wiped her cheeks and made her way into his bedroom. She had tossed her phone on the couch.
He heard the shower running. While she was preoccupied, he quickly did a walkthrough of his bedroom. He collected his bloody shirt he had dropped onto the floor from earlier. He straightened the bedsheets. He consciously recalled the wooden box was tucked away behind the air vents. He left some spare sweats and a shirt on the bed and retreated back into the living room, his fingers twitching as he ran through the scenarios.
He said he'd sleep with her. But he wasn't sure what that would entail. He figured she just wanted someone in the room with her, so he fetched some spare pillows and blankets to make room on the floor.
The familiar shrill ringing of her phone made him pause. It was so late. There was no good reason for a call unless it was work or an emergency. He went to get the cell, picking it up to find the caller ID. Anger festered in his chest. Frank.
He squeezed the silence button, having it go to voicemail. Almost immediately after, the phone rang again.
He didn't pause to think.
He flipped the phone, pressed the green button, and put the receiver to his ear.
"Will?" The fucker's voice sounded urgent.
"What do you want, Griffin?" he growled back, keeping his voice steady and hateful. "Will doesn't want to talk to you."
He could hear the man's rasped breathing. "Who the fuck is this?"
"Mark Hoffman. Look me up."
"You. You fucking prick. So you're fucking my wife now?" There was spiteful laughter. "I knew it."
"No, I'm not. But let's make things clear. She's gone. She's not coming back. And if you keep bothering her, I will make you stop. Back the fuck off. Do you understand?"
"Fuck you, pig." The phone clicked and the call ended. Hoffman snapped the phone and placed it on the kitchen counter, the vein in his neck throbbing. There was a newfound anger that he needed to cool off. He flared his nostrils and inhaled deep, holding his composure.
The sound of the shower stopping made him return to his preparations. By the time he returned to the bedroom, Will was already changed, damp haired and sitting on the bed.
"Hey," she towelled her hair, nodding at his little nest in the corner. "You're not going to sleep there?"
He opened his mouth to say something but the words had died in his throat. He looked at the pile of blankets on the floor and back at her, bare legs over his bed, taunting him. She had forgoed his sweat pants. All she wore was one of his t-shirts. He just barely made out her nipples. She was cold. Fuck. "I figured. Just. Wasn't sure."
Will stretched, yawning, unphased by the tension he was caught in. She stayed on one side of the bed, getting under the covers. "Goodnight, Mark," she murmured, eyes half-lidded. She went to turn off the nightstand lamp, shrouding them in darkness.
Fuck it. He went to the other side, staying as close to the edge of the bed as he could fit. He softly groaned from the aches in his limbs, the muscles sore and tight from his earlier beat down. Every movement was agony.
It was a queen size, not necessarily cozy, but he wasn't used to sharing. He could feel her, the weight of her compressing the springs on his right side. She was angled in a way where she would gradually sink towards him, his weight just that much greater. He tried to roll over while avoiding her touch. Their arms brushed together, shooting up static in his joints.
"Mark?" Her voice broke through the silence.
"Hm."
He felt her move, a thin limb slowly wrapping around his shoulders and the sensation of her cheek pressed against his chest made his heart pound fast. He suppressed the ache from his bruises, letting her sink her mass onto him. "Is this okay?"
"Yeah." He forced his voice even and steady, but it was more of a croak. It kind of hurt. But he wasn't going to ever admit it. "You really comfortable?"
"Yeah. This is nice." She rubbed her face into him like a cat. "Thanks for this. I owe you one."
He listened to the sound of her soft and rhythmic breathing as she drifted to sleep. He stared into the black as the sandman finally made its rounds to him.
