Eric Matthews
It was one hell of a rainy Thursday afternoon. It seemed to rain a lot these days. The low rumble of thunder vibrated through the old building. The lighting flickered as he walked through the halls of peeling lead paint and dusty cracked linoleum.
Matthews made his way up the stairs of the station, heading towards the recreation room. The sound of squeaking tennis shoes and the smell of rubber and pinesol chased him as he walked by some of the guys from Narcotics who were in the middle of a game.
"Yo, Matthews!" One of the boys called out to him and he nodded back while balancing his gym bag. Across the basketball court was Room 109, a padded room where self defense training took place.
As soon as he crossed the threshold he witnessed Will Maddox flip Allison Kerry onto the mat in a flurry of brown waves and the solid thump as a hundred pounds and some change whacked into plastic padding.
"Damn," Ally let out a low groan as Maddox pulled her back up to her feet. She was already sweaty, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her athletic jacket. "Got me." She was pulled up by Maddox, getting to her feet as she stretched the arm she had been flipped on.
"You can try it on me next," Maddox smiled up at Matthews. "Hey."
"Hey." Matthews chewed hard on his gum as he went to put his belongings at the edge of the room. He didn't particularly want to spend his lunch break 'reviewing tactical procedure' as Maddox put it but Tapp had approved and what Tapp said, goed.
The rest of the geek squad met throughout the week to train. The partners stuck together, while Fisk and Gibson paired up. Because of the odd turnout, Maddox had requested bringing on Hoffman, a silverlining to the wasted lunch breaks. Tapp hadn't been keen but so long as they kept the small talk non-work related, he had grumpily agreed.
He began stretching while Maddox was showing Allison some stances on what looked like jiu jitsu or maybe judo. He couldn't tell off the bat. He never took any specialized martial arts. He never needed to. He was always fast and strong, never needing to worry about fancy maneuvers or tactical strategy like the smaller guys needed to rely on.
He figured he and Hoffman would chill with their backs against the wall, coking and joking while the women tumbled over each other. He looked forward to the show, already a wide smirk painting his face as he imagined a semi-erotic catfight in the next few minutes.
"Here, this will be more effective if you try this move when someone much larger is trying to grab you. Hey Matthews," Maddox breathlessly waved at him to come closer. "Come on over. Try to grab her. And lose the gum."
"Sure thing." Matthews crinkled his eyes at her, smacking the gum while taking his time to the center of the mat. He caught the sharp look Allison threw at him, a green-eyed warning to behave. He softened his face. For her, he'd play nice.
"The gum, Eric," Allison softly murmured. "Don't want it ending up in my hair."
He swallowed and opened his mouth for her to take a good look. "Should I give a warning? Count to three?" He smirked at Maddox.
"No, we don't get warnings in the field. So don't give it here." Maddox took a step back, leaving the two of them with plenty of space.
"Don't worry, Al," Matthews watched Ally as she pulled herself into a defensive stance, spreading her feet and slightly bending her knees. He raised an eyebrow. It looked like her new roommate was teaching her some tricks.
He rushed forward to grab her arm, squeezing and pulling her into a bear hug. He had her firmly, arm trying to go around her throat, but he was stopped by her chin. She had tucked her fucking chin. She squirmed for a moment but he was in no rush to capacitate her. He let her struggle.
"Use his weight against him," Maddox called out.
As if on cue, he suddenly felt himself lurch forward. He let out a surprised noise and found Ally drop and slip from his grip while he stumbled a few steps off to the side. He went to correct, going to reach for her arm again when she suddenly clasped his wrist and rolled in the opposite direction he was moving.
He let out a hiss of pain as he was forced to his knees, Ally now standing with his arm pulled to his back in the opposite motion of his ball and socket joint.
"Uncle?" Ally was panting hard.
Matthews let out a roar and pushed into her, throwing back his head until it collided with her face and sent her flying backwards.
He had knocked the wind out of her. Ally was on her back, eyes wide and gasping. A part of him felt regret tug his heartstrings, realizing he had gone too far. "Shit."
"Ally?" Will knelt over her and helped her up to her feet. "Walk it off." She gave Matthews a wary glance. "We did say not to hold back."
"Al," Matthews took a step towards her. "Sorry."
"You're fine, Eric." She had her hands pressed into her knees, wincing. She looked up to Maddox. "Can you run by how to counter that shit?"
"Yeah. Take a breather. That was real good. Solid first time." Ally went to lean against the wall and get a drink of water. And then the redheaded shrimp spun to face him. He expected bitching. Some nagging. But she didn't look angry when she looked up at him and raised her arms, "All right, Matthews, do your worst." She looked stone cold.
"You sure?" He was starting to second guess whether it was a good idea, playing rough with them. It just wasn't fair. Besides, he had heard about Hoffman having to bail her ass out, her getting pinned by some gangbanger wannabe on some undercover job a couple months back. He seriously doubted she should be strutting around, talking a big game like she knew what she was doing.
He looked back over at Ally. He'd need to take her aside. Let her know to maybe take what this gal said with a grain of salt. But not here. He chose to be friendly, out of respect for his partner. Where the hell was Hoffman to keep his in check?
"Do your worst." Maddox gave a confident smile. "Hurt me."
He suppressed a sneer. "All right." He threw a fist at her chest and she spun sideways, dodging it. She kept her hands up and was rocking back and forth.
"So you know some tricks. But let's be real. You're out of your weight class, Mad Max." He lurched forward to grab her, gripping her by one elbow and pulling her in for a tight squeeze. She was a blur, grabbing his forearm.
The world spun in vertical ribbons of light and motion. He felt himself suddenly on his back, his head striking the padding with a solid thunk. His neck strained and he found himself staring at the light fixture above, wondering what the hell just happened.
"You okay?" He was looking up at the woman, catseye amber blinking down. Up close, he could count the freckles on her chin and nose. Sharp teeth smiled triumphantly.
"You got me." He grunted and took her outstretched hand. She leaned back to help pull him up as he went back to his feet. "Not bad, Mad Max. Not bad."
"Did I miss the fun?"
Hoffman walked in towards the three of them. He had fading yellow bruises on his cheeks. Old scabs and cuts on his neck. Matthews had heard he had gotten a beat down but hadn't realized the extent. "Sorry I'm late."
"Mark," Maddox seemed to brighten up. "You made it." Her voice had gone from its low, tough-girl monotone to a soft jingle. Matthews and Ally exchanged a brief glance, amusement twinkling in Ally's eyes. She was like a kid on Christmas.
"About time," Matthews cracked his neck as he made his way over to Hoffman. "We can throw down like back in ninety-two."
Hoffman gave him a knowing smirk. "I recall you lost back then."
"I'm overdue for a rematch."
"We'll spar with our respective weight classes, first for intervals of ten minutes," Maddox announced, "And then we'll alternate with our partners."
"Aye aye, Mad Max." Matthews called out as the two women went to one side of the mat. They were already gearing up, one donning boxing gloves while the other held a padded riot shield.
"She give you hell for that nickname?" He strode with Hoffman to the opposite end of the room as the man walked to his side. He didn't plan on wearing any protective gear. Hoffman didn't make a move to retrieve his bag either.
"Nope," Matthews paused, struggling to find something neutral to say. "You said she was high strung. I don't see it."
"Give it time." The two of them stood face to face, awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. "We seriously have to do this every week now?" Hoffman glanced over his shoulder where Ally and Maddox were punching and juking, committed to their work.
"Yeah. Tapp loves busting our balls. Shame you're missing out on most of the fun." Matthews raised his fists and threw the first punch. He wasn't using much of his strength. It was more like playground jabbing. Hoffman blocked it and gave him a return throw, not quite as fast as he knew the man could move, and he dodged it.
"From the looks of it, I'm not missing much. I've got too much on my plate as it is."
While they horsed around, Matthews thought of Hoffman, being pushed under Rosello's foot, and thought of how much that must have sucked. It was a damn shame. He remembered early on, when they first met, the ambitions they shared.
Hoffman was stuck. Fighting shadows and forced to slow everyone around him down, too. It was part of why he hadn't worked with the man on a case in years. Once Rosello was out of the picture, he expected his friend to be right as rain. If they ever could get a conviction on the bastard.
Despite the shit Hoffman was in, Eric Matthews held him in the highest of regards. He doubted he'd have handled the professional downfall and public shame that Mark Hoffman was experiencing. Certainly not with the same level of grace. It was fucking commendable.
"Okay, let's switch." Maddox called out to the room and the pairs broke apart.
"Later," Hoffman walked off, already wiping at his forehead while Ally walked up to him.
"Don't go easy," Ally strode up to him, like a cheetah approaching prey. She was confident. Sexy. It was like Fourth of July in his stomach whenever she got this close. After a couple of years together, they had been doomed to fall for each other.
He still needed to figure out what the hell to do. With her. And Jane. And Daniel.
"You okay?" She was waiting patiently, her stance loose and poised, her biceps flexing as she held her cushioned fists upwards.
"Yeah. Just tired." He swiped at her, trying his damnest to hold her in place. She side-jumped and slipped away.
He knew this training was more for their benefit than his. He rarely lost a fight. It was Ally who tended to get knocked over or overpowered when the chips were down. Tapp was just being political and subtle. Equal.
As he managed to wrap Ally in a chokehold, her forgetting to tuck her chin to prevent him from getting there, he squeezed gently. Of course, he held back. But he made it clear she had lost.
This was all because of the latest victims. Three broads. Clearly Rosello's M.O. And their features were undeniable, having been found together, wrapped in plastic and laid out right on the station's front steps earlier that week. With features that were disturbingly familiar. Curly red hair. Wavy brown curls. Crinkled black hair. All young women, their throats slashed.
The message was sent. And the task force had been briefed. The response was to prepare and not let this bastard hurt any of them. He needed to give Ally some tough love.
She tapped his forearm, surrendering. He released and let her slip and twirl about to reorient herself. She was breathing hard, already exhausted. "Cardio, Al," he quietly murmured, no longer feeling so laid back. It could have been her, wrapped in plastic and left out in the rain to rot. If Ally ever got hurt, he wasn't sure how he'd handle it. He needed to make sure she could handle herself. Or at least hurt the bastard enough to get the hell away.
"Eric?"
He blinked again. "Sorry. Look, you're leaving your left side vulnerable. You need to work on that. Try to block me. Pay attention to what arm I use mostly. We all use dominant sides. Usually."
And then he swiped for her again. She picked it up fast, like he knew she would. It was a relief. At least she was a quick study. When he made a grab for her again she had dropped and flung herself back, tumbling backwards in a funny looking roll. He stopped to laugh.
"Fuck off," she panted and went to retie her ponytail. She had a red scrunchie around the wrist. It made him think of blood. The pictures from the recent victims, particularly the redheaded one, had been another warning to the precinct.
What Rosello left as evidence on one of the past victims had made him skip lunch.
Hoffman should be informed. Hell, Maddox should be taken off the fucking case.
Maybe he was overreaching and seeing connections that weren't real. But he had that tightness in his stomach that was thick and heavy with the feeling that Rosello had a thing for torturing redheads. Or was targeting Will Maddox. Either reason, Maddox needed to watch her back.
And Hoffman should be told that his partner is in danger.
"Woah," Ally's eyes widened as she gawked over his shoulder. He spun to see what got her spooked.
Hoffman had both arms around Will tightly, while she struggled in his hold. He looked smug. She tried to stomp onto his foot but he was picking her off the ground, like some life sized puppet that kicked and flailed pathetically.
"You done?" He calmly asked as she grunted and tried to push out from him.
She suddenly skipped, the tips of her toes bouncing off the floor, then threw her head forward and threw it back as she leaped up. There was a clear sound of bone-on-bone contact and he let out a surprised grunt, dropping her. She ripped out of his arms, fell forward onto her knees and then shot her foot out to kick him in the ankle.
Matthews flinched, expecting her to break his leg. Maybe dislocate his knee. But she paused.
"Hit." She wheezed before crawling away. Hoffman was gripping his chin, looking aggravated.
"I'd still win this," Hoffman growled, taking a lumbering step towards her.
"Duh," she kept crawling from him, as though realizing for the first time that the bear was dangerous. "But that's not the point. The point is getting away. Staying alive. I think I've proven that now. I'd have run as fast as I could out of here."
Hoffman nodded, still wincing as he gingerly pulled his hand away. His jaw was red and looked like it was already swelling. The sight of the injury bothered Matthews. She should have held back, like I'm sure he did. The kid had been brutal.
"Let's take a break," Ally volunteered to make the peace. "I'm out of water." He opted to join Ally to go refill while leaving the two bickering lovebirds to whatever tryst they were going through. They left the room and instantly Ally gave him an eyeroll. "Those two. Does it take you back?"
He smiled back. "Maybe. I don't recall you leaving so many bruises."
She laughed as they made their way to the closest water cooler. "No. Definitely didn't go assaulting each other. In fact, I recall a completely different exercise routine we used to do on the regular." She was flashing him a toothy grin and a low voice, talking in the way that made his skin hot.
"Yeah. I miss those times."
She was close and leaned into him. "You busy this weekend?"
The image of Jane and Daniel crossed his vision. It quickly dampened the heat in his stomach, though not in its entirety. "Yeah. Unfortunately."
She nodded, not angry, only disappointed. "I figured." She licked her lips and looked around before leaning in. "We could always try somewhere… accessible."
"Oh yeah?" He felt thrills shooting up and down his limbs and the urge to grab her by the hair and taste the sweat on her skin was becoming hard to suppress.
"Yeah." She looked around again. "There's a broom closet down in the basement, by the morgue. And it has a lock."
He nodded at this, face burning as he imagined them sneaking down there. Kind of fucked up. Kind of kinky. "We could probably meet after this."
"I'd like that," she murmured, voice rich like molasses. They refilled their bottles and returned to Room 109, Matthews now wearing a smile he didn't bother to suppress. He let himself take in Ally's curves, anticipating gripping and squeezing them in just a few minutes.
They returned to the lovebirds, walking in the middle of an even more heated debate.
"-you can handle yourself, then why the hell've you let the bastard hurt you?" Hoffman had sounded bewildered. Furious. "This whole time. You've just let him beat you."
Maddox had her arms crossed, looking off with shame burning on her spotted face.
"Everything good?" He figured he'd break this up. He didn't want Hoffman to fuck up a good thing, though he wasn't sure what the hell he was whining about. It sounded a bit too personal for his ears.
Hoffman jerked and turned, his face passive but a slight nervous glint in his eye showed he hadn't expected them back so soon. Or maybe he just forgot there were people around, in the heat of the moment.
"Yes," Maddox nodded and smiled, a little too cheery for it to be authentic. She was like a saleswoman, always quick to charisma and good with putting on a show. "Unless Ally wants to spar with Hoffman, I think we're done here."
Damn, she was all 'Mark, Mark' earlier. He nodded, "Yeah, we can call it in early. Good work out."
Ally had gone to Maddox and the two softly exchanged some words while he waited at the doorway. Hoffman stood off by himself, glaring at Maddox and avoiding looking anywhere else.
Matthews wasn't going to worry too much about it. He and Ally said their goodbyes and left them alone to sort out whatever it was they needed sorting out.
Toni Rosello
"Ol' Daft," Toni Rosello called for his bodyguard as he leaned back into the buttery soft leather of his office chair. His cigar was already halfway through. He patted the ashes into his crystal ashtray and took another puff as he licked his lips to taste the honey.
He imagined a special little redhead rubbing her ass on his lap while running her tongue over the same lips. He let out a frustrated puff of smoke and scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. "Fuck, the last one didn't last long."
He was used to getting whatever he wanted. Women, especially, were not difficult. Most responded to green. Another healthy amount were attracted to power. With this one, she was a wild mare that wouldn't break. It only made her more appealing to him. So he figured he'd go do the gentlemanly thing and wait.
After all, he was a gentleman.
But the gentlemanly tokens of his affection weren't working. She had yet to respond to any of his letters. The pictures didn't seem to make her eager to dial his number and agree to dinner. He was considering escalating.
But then again, he liked making himself wait. It made the reward much sweeter when he finally got what he wanted.
And he was used to getting everything he wanted.
"Yes, sir?" Olaf, the big oaf of a man, walked in, pinstriped suit only emphasizing how much fabric was needed to clothe the ape.
"Get me a florist. I want the biggest bouquet of red roses sent to Metropolitan Police. Oh," he puffed and puffed, "And find me one of them - what the hell are they? Arachnologists?"
"Uh, yes, sir. A rack?"
"Arachnologist, you idiot. Spider scientist. Find me one."
"Yes, sir. And the roses... for the same person you had me mail to before?"
"What do you think?" He turned his eyes to the loyal giant. A part of him resented his size. He didnt like feeling small. It was one of his pet peeves. But the man behaved and he was reasonable. There were plenty of fun toys to play with. Olaf still had his purpose.
"Yes?" The man looked confused. Maybe a little nervous. This was good. Fear was his greatest asset. Fear made him what he was.
"Good man. Now get out."
Olaf disappeared as quickly as he had entered. Rosello was left alone again, in his great room of the various exotic animals he had shot whenever he went on African safaris. He was particlarly fond of the elephant head that was mounted over his fireplace.
The polar bear rug that clashed with it merely boasted his wealth. That particular hunt had been too boring. A female trying to guard her young. Boring.
He had something new to hunt. Someone who didn't seem interested to play games with him. Everyone can be manipulated. He thought long and hard, taking his remote control and flipping on his big screen to the news. He'd either find something inspiring and distracting to take his mind off his blue balls or he'd finally get around to finding exactly what motivated Red.
He had been so disappointed when he found her only family was currently a vegetable, molding in some hospital she never visited. But her cold bloodedness had surprised him. He had always figured she was Daddy's Little Girl. He looked forward to learning all about it.
He needed to see her. The photos he had the private investigator take were rarely more than her going to work.
The speaker on his desk pinged. "Yeah?" He pressed the button. Finally. Something new.
"The PI is here."
"Send him in."
The weasel of a man had a wide nose and a goatee that Rosello wanted to take some pliers and jerk off the guy's chin. The man kept eye contact, though, which was impressive. "Mr. Rosello, this past week's surveillance." He placed a thick packet of documents on the desk.
When he flipped through the first pages, he let out a pleased noise. "Ah, excellent." Red, dressed like a belle at the ball, looking off in the distance. He appreciated how the photos had been developed with color. He flipped through more, pausing at the full body shot of her in some cherry toned dress that showed off enough for him to no longer need to imagine and his dick itched.
"When was this?" He held his new favorite picture for the guy to see.
"Sunday evening. She was with two federal agents and a colleague."
"Hoffman?" He recalled, vaguely, that he had met with Markie-boy, but hadn't expected him to be able to get around soon after.
"No. Detective Allison Kerry."
"Ah, Matthews' broad." He let out a loud laugh, remembering that those two were pretty close for partners. "What was the occasion?"
"Not sure. Seemed like a date. But the target left early, escorted by one of the feds to Hoffman's apartment."
"Oh?" He rubbed his chin, displeased by this news. "Interesting." He hadn't considered Markie-boy to be shagging up with Red. But this made things significantly easier for him if this was true, though he didn't want to risk losing his best MPD plug if it turned out she gave absolutely no shits for the big lug.
He sighed again, then giggled to himself. Oh, this is getting interesting. How fun.
"Olaf," he yelled out, not bothering with his intercom.
The man obediently entered. "Yes, sir?"
"Find me another one. Someone a bit more fiesty. The last one cried too much."
"Yes, sir."
Angelina Hoffman
It had been a long day.
She tried to pretend that the plainclothesman wasn't there. She walked fast, her snowboots crunching on patches of ice while the man's dress shoes clicked closely behind her. The man's name was Gibson. Matt Gibson. He looked young and she had never met him prior to that week, when Will had come by with him to explain his presence.
She didn't like it, having someone she didn't know follow her. She had gone to Dillon's and back and someone with a suit was always there. It was supposed to make her feel safe. It just gave her a migraine and the heavy feeling of being a nuisance for taking up the MPD's time.
There were many faces she was now growing accustomed to. She had recognized most of them from past potlucks, save for today's man and another who went by Fisk. She wouldn't have minded so much, but today's escort seemed so… glum. He barely said a word. He looked very young, too young to already have that permanent frown on his face.
When she first got ready for her shift, she had brought down some coffee and a cider donut for him and he hardly responded besides taking the brown paper bag. He seemed to just take himself so seriously. He was polite. But there was little beyond him nodding in her direction when they locked eyes. But at least Ally and Will would be part of the rotation. Mark had insisted she play ball with them but didn't give much on why he wasn't going to be one of the patrolmen.
She just didn't understand why her brother couldn't be part of her bodyguard entourage. It certainly would have made things a bit easier.
She stretched her arms, repositioned her purse, and made her way down Michigan Avenue, leisurely looking at the various window displays. She wanted to go in but the rules had been clear. She needed to go to work. Go home. And only run errands after informing Will or anyone on the team.
Her thoughts wandered onto Peter and wondered if he felt as annoyed about the whole situation as she did. Peter's shadow today was Fisk, who was parked in an unmarked car right outside their apartment building. Because Peter didn't work at the moment, he was essentially under house arrest. He was taking the situation much better than she was, playing video games in the same pajamas he'd worn since Tuesday and cleaning up the apartment in between.
She didn't mind, though. She wanted him home to spend as much time with her as possible before he had to leave. He was about to enlist and ship off to boot camp. He would be safe and constantly monitored after that. There was little likelihood that any mob bosses would dare try to trespass onto a military base and hurt him once he shipped off. At least, that's what the MPD said.
This helped, knowing he was only weeks away from ensured safety. Her situation, though, was looking bleak. Will had even suggested a safehouse, which she would absolutely not do. The thought of having to simply disappear just made her more depressed.
It had been a busy day in the kitchen. She had slipped into the big pot of the soup of the day, causing a typhoon of orange minestrone all over the tiles. Her head chef had been particularly nasty about it. She wanted more than anything to quit but she was so close in her savings to finally afford to start her bistro. So close. She just needed to suck it up a little bit more.
And then her wedding. God. She was already behind on invitations - she still needed to mail them out. And then there was reserving the venue - she was thinking of this historical ballroom or maybe go for something a bit more hip and modern, like the former industrial steel factory to help save some money. And then...
She was light headed. She stopped to lean against the nearest wall, digging in her purse to get her water bottle. Working in the kitchen was sweaty work and the neverending rush that day left her with no opportunity for a break. She hadn't remembered the last time that day she had remembered to drink any water.
"You all right?" It was Detective Gibson, steel gazed and thin lipped.
"Yes. Sorry, just dizzy." She pushed herself off the wall and steadied herself.
Gibson put a hand on her shoulder. "We can have a seat real quick," he pointed to the nearest coffee shop, "while you get your bearings." He let her hold onto him as he steered them into the nearest chain cafe, the smell of roasted beans tickling her nose. The heat was nice on her face.
She sat in the nearest chair and let out a long breath. "Thanks."
"Want something?" Gibson scratched his nose and looked around again, always alert. "It's on me."
"Coffee," she straightened up, sipping her water and rubbing her forehead. She should have brought some aspirin. Her phone was ringing. Gibson was gone. She flipped her phone open. "Hello?"
"Hey, Ange," Peter's voice came through, relief in his voice. "Glad you're safe."
"Did something happen?" She straightened up, pressing the phone tighter to hear over the roaring of a blender.
"Just checking in." Peter was always a worrier but after Mark had made that late night phone call he was a bundle of nerves. Her heart was breaking, seeing her fiance so anxious and paranoid. He had begun getting nightmares, tossing and turning at night.
"I'm almost home. We just went to get some coffee. I needed to sit down."
"Long day?"
"Yeah. How about you?"
"It's been quiet, just been working out." There was a bubbling in his voice, like water about to boil. "M-maybe we can take that vacation? Leave town?"
She pondered this, the offer more tempting after the crumby day she had. "How about we talk about it when I get home."
"Great. Get home safe. I love you."
"I love you too." Angelina hung up as Gibson returned with two styrofoam cups in hand, placing hers in front of her. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. I didn't thank you for this morning. I appreciate it." He spoke slow and easy, his voice holding a hint of a southern accent. Gibson continued avoiding her eyes and she finally accepted this was how it was going to be.
Can't get along with everyone. She kept a pleasant expression, enjoying the warmth of the drink and sipping the scalding liquid.
Gibson's hand flew over and tapped the side of her arm, making her jump. "Stay very calm. But I think we have company."
This made her heart race and she did everything she could not to suddenly leap to her feet and begin darting her eyes around the cafe. "Where?"
"Don't be so obvious. Your nine o'clock. Two guys, look like they're not part of the upper west side crowd. And they're mean mugging us good." He opened his to-go cup and poured some sugar packets in it while adding, "we'll just sit tight for a little bit. See if they'll leave. If not, I'll call for backup."
Angelina swallowed and tried to look as oblivious as she could but she couldn't help but cross her legs and shrink into her seat. Her vision fluttered briefly, from Gibson to her left where she saw the two rough looking men that were both sitting and glaring at her. She looked over to the barista and the other patrons, all who didn't seem too interested in the strange hulking figures that were perched right by the exit.
She and Gibson remained there for over an hour, both finishing their drinks. Her knee was starting to shake, bobbing up and down. Maybe it was from the caffeine. Maybe it was from the anxiety she felt from feeling the penetrating eye daggers directed at her from across the room. Gibson remained calm, the bored expression plastered as he checked his watch.
"All right. I'm calling it in." He picked up his phone. "Hey. I need a ten seventy five at The Beanery on Caroline Street, off of 10th street. We have two males, caucasian, approximately six foot four and five foot ten. One is wearing a denim black jacket and blue jeans with a white shirt. The other is wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans and a black shirt. Copy." He hung up and turned to her. "Don't worry, Ms. Hoffman, we've got some people on the way."
"Thanks," she whispered back, hands fidgeting as she pressed them together and in her lap.
"He's probably just testing the waters," Gibson leaned forward and finally turned to her. "Nothing bad's going to happen on my watch, missy, promise you that."
"I don't understand. Why is this guy going through all this trouble," she blew out exasperated air, turning her body to put her back to the men. Gibson kept his face and torso directly facing them. "I wish all of this would end."
"We're working on it. It'll be over soon," He grimaced awkwardly, trying to give one of those smiles that were more cringe cheek pulls than a warm upturned mouth. He cleared his throat and they resumed silence.
After long minutes, the sound of sirens roared in the distance.
The two men looked to each other before getting to their feet and leaving their table. They left the coffee shop with one more intimidating stare down, their backs disappearing once they exited the door and rounded the corner.
A squad car with its bright blue and red lights filled her with relief. Her shoulders sagged. Two uniforms came out, hands on their guns, as they entered the coffee shop.
"Ms. Hoffman, let's get you in the car. The boys will take us to your place."
She was placed in the back of the squad car, Gibson at her right. All she wanted was to take a bath, drink some wine, and cuddle on the couch with Peter. She fought the water that seemed to collect in the corner of her eyes, brushing them briefly with the back of her hand as she kept herself staring intently out of the window, hoping the officers didn't see.
Wilhelmina Maddox
She kept her eyes straight ahead as Hoffman drove them to the latest crime scene. It was a cloudy day. The overhead was so thick and gray, it felt like it was late at night. It wasn't quite spring yet and the neverending murkiness of the city seemed to want to hold onto the bitter cold for as long as possible. She could still see her breath when she walked outside.
She was getting real tired of having to bundle up and wear her boots.
The morning had been icy, as well. She had literally said nothing that entire day. Neither had her partner, who seemed to be perfectly fine with reciprocating her silent treatment. They still hadn't gotten past the last time they sparred, Hoffman's sudden frustration with her ability to defend herself confusing and unneeded.
He practically accused her of wanting Frank to hurt her. Going on about how, if she could flip and maneuver out of his attacks, then Frank should have been easy to not let do the things that had been done. It was just hurtful. Disrespectful. Rude. Ugh. The barrage of irritating thoughts made her fold her arms and huff out audibly. She leaned her head back into the head rest, chewing the inside of her cheek.
And the audacity he had to think he was in the right in this argument was just plain frustrating.
She briefly took in his profile as he drove before returning to admiring the graffiti they whizzed by. They were heading to the Crossroads, a den infamous for addicts to ride out their back alley highs and find the next fix. The entire time, he kept his eyes on the road, pretending she wasn't even there.
She wondered how things got this awkward. Everything had been just dandy before their latest fight. She didn't get why the man who would hold her while she fell asleep would go off on her not putting up more of a fight from historic trauma. The mixed messages were driving her nuts.
This is for the best. We were getting too personal. This is what happens when you get too personal.
He maintained his stone-like expression, almost robotic, as he pulled the car into one of the alleys to shortcut their way through one of the nicer neighborhoods. Normally, when he drove, she put on some music to help fill in the noise. Today, she stubbornly refused. And he seemed perfectly fine with it, which just pissed her off even more.
She was going to spend this lunch break beating the shit out of the gym punching bag. At the end of the day, she was scheduled to stake out Angie's place along with Sing, relieving Allison and Matthews. She'd talk shop with Sing and hopefully make some progress with getting Angie and Peter off of Rosello's radar.
Hoffman parallel parked and she got out as soon as he silenced the engine. She didn't bother waiting for him as she bee-lined to the crime scene, seeing Forensics already flashing their cameras. The familiar stink of decay and blood made her steel her stomach as she ducked under the yellow tape and held up the badge chained around her neck when the patrolman raised his eyebrow at her approach.
"Detective Maddox," It was Daniel Rigg, approaching her along with Matthew Gibson. She hadn't realized Gibson was on duty, having not seen him in his uniform before. She didn't envy being a rookie.
"Officer Rigg. Officer Gibson." She shook both their hands.
"What's he doing here?" Gibson nodded over to her back, while Hoffman was strolling up to them.
"We just got called in. Why?" She had her hands on her hips while staring up at Gibson. He seemed like good people, from what little interaction she had with him when moonlighting the Rosello case. He was by the book, straight laced, and so uptight his face never looked like he was in a fun mood. He barely spoke two words to her.
"He should head back. It's likely a Rosello case."
"How do you know?"
Rigg and Gibson exchanged looks. Neither would meet her penetrating stare. "Maybe," Gibson added, "you should go too. We'll call in Kerry and Matthews."
"They're currently on duty over at Angelina Hoffman's."
"Then call Sing and Tapp."
"Both are currently out on the field too, looking into some gang war that's starting up. And Fisk is on emergency leave. I'm all you got right now."
Again, the two exchanged looks. She was already pissed off. Now she was just getting furious. "Boys?" She hated being kept out of the loop. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing." Rigg cleared his throat while staring over her head. She looked over at Hoffman who wouldn't give her any attention.
"Then let's get to work."
Gibson put a hand on her arm. "Maddox. A word?" She noticed he had kind brown eyes, the warmth giving her sudden flashbacks of her brother. Gibson steered her off to the side, out of earshot from the other two men. "There's one thing we've been waiting for the right time to tell you about."
"Yeah?" She pulled from his gentle grip and folded her arms. "What?"
"There's been a notable victim profile of the latest serial killings. They fit Rosello's M.O. with the sexual trauma, time duration of torture, and method of execution."
"What's the profile?"
Gibson swallowed, suddenly looking so much younger. He was young. Younger than her, younger than Sing even. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to not be there at that moment. "Female. Late teens to early thirties. All with… features that resemble - fuck," he lifted his eight point hat and scratched his buzz cut with his thumb, "-they look like you, Maddox. That's what Tapp and Kerry said, at least."
"Why wasn't I informed of this theory?"
"Shit, Maddox, you know impartiality is one thing we all need. They're already talking about having you removed from the case."
"Who, Tapp?"
"Grissom."
"Shit."
"Yeah. Tapp's fighting for you, though. Frankly, it's because," he squinted, "if he's motivated by some weird obsession with you it could be used to our advantage."
"I agree." Will shot him a smile, knowing it looks harsh and ready for a fight. "I'm down for whatever's needed. Hell, use me as bait. Maybe I can wear a wire and just walk up to him."
"Yeah. Huh. Maybe you should be talking to the higher ups. After all," he gestured to his navy blue dress shirt and the brass badge, the collar devices marking his lower rank, "I'm still just a patrolman. Fuck, I hate these things." He cracked a grin, "Half the reason I joined the task force was just to wear civvies." He pulled at his sleeve, the gesture taking her to when she was a kid.
Halloween. Bram went as a policeman. I went as a ballerina. The image hit her but just didn't fit right. She couldn't focus her memory to recall what her little brother looked like. And that hit her hard. The photos. They're still at Frank's. She blinked, returning to reality. Smiling, sharing a sympathetic nod, she punched him playfully. "Keep being such a go-getter, and you'll probably get promoted before you know it."
"Yeah, well, I'm trying. Thanks, Mom." Gibson laughed and she decided that he was on her whitelist. "So… what are we going to do about this? Hoffman should probably leave?"
She bit her lip, glancing back at the two men who seemed to be having a grand old time talking sports. Or whatever. "We know for sure it's Rosello?"
"From what I've seen, yeah."
"All right. Then I guess I'll have to send him home." She was going to have to break the silent treatment first, which the petty side of her didn't want to do. She swallowed her pride.
The two of them went over to the other side of the crime scene where Hoffman and Rigg were leaning against the bricks. Rigg looked notably less friendly while Hoffman kept his back to the two of them.
"Hoffman." She called out to him. He barely turned to her in acknowledgement. "You can head back to the station."
He finally gave her his undivided attention, blue eyes like arctic water pouring over her. She resisted the urge to shiver. "Whose orders?"
"Protocol," she responded, refusing to back down. She took a step forward to the towering man. "This is a Rosello case."
"And?"
"And you know damn well what that means." She flashed to Gibson and Rigg. "Do you two mind?" The uniformed officers both slunk away, giving her some privacy as she prepared to rip into her partner. "Hoffman. Stop this."
"Stop what?"
She pressed her finger to her temple, letting out a sigh. "This. Fuck. What's with you?"
"Maybe I'm just trying to investigate the case. I'm not the one getting cozy with the fresh meat in this precinct."
Her jaw dropped slightly. "What the fuck, Hoffman?" He was silent, glaring at her. She looked up to the black clouds and prayed for lightning to just take her out of her misery. "What do you want from me? An apology?"
"That'd be a start."
She fumed and glowered, wanting more than anything to smack him. "And I'm guessing I'm the only one who should say they're sorry. You know, I'm not the one that insinuated I deserved what happened to me."
"You are perfectly capable of defending yourself. And you didn't. All those times I saw you banged up. Fucking black and blue. You just stood there and took it. I don't understand that."
"Maybe because you've never loved anyone that much." Her voice was wavering, rising and lowering like a rollercoaster of pitch. She knew that was below the belt. But her heart felt raw and he only made the pain worse. Her eyes felt damp so she turned her head. "Stop. Please. Let's just not talk about this anymore. Go back to the station. Hell, take the rest of the day off, I don't care. But you can't be here. Okay?"
"Will," His tone had gone gentler, "Hey -"
"No. Go. Now. Or I'm reporting you for compromising the crime scene. I'll fucking bring in IA. I'm not playing." She turned to leave when the sound of gunshots exploded in her head and made her hand fly to her hip. She felt his strong hands pull her and shove her against the wall, behind a dumpster.
She dug her heels into the pavement, squatting behind the rough metal as Hoffman pulled out his gun and was kneeling down beside her. Adrenaline kicked in. She was on high alert, scanning the area.
Every person on the scene had drawn their weapons, hunched behind their squad cars or behind any reliable boundary.
"Fucking Crossroads," she heard one guy spit.
A walkie-talkie broke in the tense environment. "We need a sweep of the area. Found a one thirty four. Who the fuck was supposed to sweep the scene?"
She saw as Rigg and Gibson, weapons extended, went into one of the buildings. She turned to Hoffman. "Might as well help," she stood up and began checking her surroundings, keeping her finger just outside the trigger guard as Hoffman paralleled her.
"Will. Stick with westside. I'll go east." He nodded to the right where Gibson was headed.
She made her way to the leftmost region where the majority of officers had gathered. She knew it was the relatively safer area but she checked every corner, every potential hiding spot for hostiles.
They cleared the area and she finally felt safe to put away her weapon. Hoffman and Gibson were still missing, along with a few of their uniforms. Rigg had returned, joining her as she leaned against a squad car.
"Never a dull day out here," Rigg muttered.
"You telling me." She folded her arms and sighed. She turned to the man, considering him. "Maybe you can talk some sense into Hoffman. You two seem close."
Rigg gave her a wary look. "About what?"
"He needs to head back to the station after this blows over. He can't work this case if it's Rosello related. Do you mind?"
Rigg smirked, "I ain't telling him shit. He knows what he needs to do."
She rolled her eyes. "Great. Perfect."
"Maybe you should just trust him. The man gets results."
She shook her head, aware that this officer had no fucking clue how messy and complicated this situation was. She wasn't sure if he was cleared to be privy to it. She kept her mouth shut and stared straight ahead.
Several more gunshots were heard. Echoes in the distance. A few more officers were running towards the scene, rewithdrawing their pistols and heading to where Hoffman and Gibson had gone. Her heart sank and she craned her neck in hopes of seeing something to put her worries at ease.
Sudden panic ran through her like blades. She pushed off the car and jogged over to join the men. Her hand was at her waist.
Turning a few corners, jumping over litter and overturned steel barrels, she finally reached where most of her colleagues had gathered. Gibson's face was splattered in blood. He was shaking like a leaf. Hoffman looked fine. Almost happy.
She let out a sigh of relief, clasping her holster and relaxing her shoulders.
One of the burly men was smacking Hoffman on the back and letting out a triumphant roar.
There was a man laying in a pool of blood at their feet, several bullet wounds in his back. One of the uniforms kicked him and let out a laugh. Will approached the group.
"You two all right?" She looked from Hoffman to Gibson. "Matt?" She put a hand on his arm and he jumped, looking up at her. The warm boyish glint was gone, replaced with a hollow shadow. "Matt, let's get you cleaned up." She shot Hoffman a relieved look but flinched. He looked high. "How about you, Mark?"
He blinked, then smirked. "We're fine. Got the bastard just in time." Something felt off. There was an intense energy she practically tasted. He felt almost hostile, despite the pleased smile he was flashing her.
"Okay. Maybe you should sit tight. I want to talk to you in a second." She pulled Gibson from the group while some of the eavesdroppers let out a whistle and an 'oooh you're in trouble, Hoffman'. She'd normally be annoyed by this, but the relief that no one was hurt let her overlook this. "Did anyone call for medical? And the coroner?"
Silence.
"Someone call medical response. Please." She called over her shoulder. "Come on, Matt." She took him away from the cajoling knuckle draggers and found a crate off to the side. "Have a seat. There you go." She could feel his arms trembling violently. He slumped down, staring at his feet. "Matt?"
He looked up at her. "Hoffman killed him."
"I see. What happened?"
"The guy got the drop on me. Took my gun. I thought I was done for." He wiped some of the blood off of his forehead, looking at his now soiled hands. "But Hoffman was there. The guy-," And then he looked up at her, fearful. "He just killed him."
Will listened to this, not sure if she understood. "Hoffman saved you."
"Yes. No. The guy had his hands in the air. He shot him." He blinked then shook his head. "Fuck. It happened so fast."
Will raised an eyebrow. "Hey. Everything's okay. You're okay. Come on, let's get you out of here."
His hand reached out, pulled at her coat sleeve. "Maddox. He didn't need to shoot him." His voice was strained. "He didn't need to."
She bit her lip. He was in shock. The sound of the ambulance siren getting louder was comforting. "You're safe, Matt. Come on, let's get you checked out."
"You're not listening." His grip on her arm was tight. His face contorted with indignant anger. "He shot that man in cold blood."
Will felt a frigid breeze blow past them, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She looked over to Hoffman, who had been staring right at her. She couldn't read him. "All right. Let's figure it out when we get back to the station. Come on."
She took Gibson back to the streets where Rigg was standing by his squad car. "Rigg. Look after Gibson." An ambulance was approaching, the lights flashing. "After he gets looked over by the paramedics, take him home."
"What are you gonna do?"
"Investigate the original crime scene," she tucked a red curl behind her ear. "Where is the body?"
Rigg pointed off towards where a lone officer guarded more yellow tape. She went off, hoping she'd look over everything before Hoffman got back and tried to intervene. If she could examine the crime scene while he was busy, she'd be able to avoid any more attitude from him.
The chaos was a godsend, in a way. No matter how pissed she was at her partner, she wanted him free of Rosello's influence. Recalling that calloused and malicious smile he had given her, she felt reinforced in her motivations to get him the hell away from that mob he was tainted any further.
"Officer," she nodded to the guard as she went under the yellow tape and looked down at the white chalk lines tracing the corpse. She went numb.
The woman was young. Looked like a college student. She had long, auburn hair and plenty of freckles. There was a notable resemblance that she couldn't deny. The facial shape, proportions, it felt uncanny. Walking around the woman's splayed limbs, Will forced herself not to mind her nakedness. But she did force herself to face the cruelty.
The woman's breasts had been sliced off.
That was the first searing scar that was burned into her brain as she scanned the other features of the deceased. Her fingers had been broken in several joints. One of her ankles had been bent, her foot in a direction it was never meant to go.
There was gore running down her inner thighs.
She let out a slow breath, feeling fresh fear and wanting more than anything to just close her eyes and disappear.
This was one of those cases that made her feel out of her element. But she pressed on. As she continued examining the area, she nodded to the woman's earlobe. An earring was the only article of clothing still on her. It looked familiar.
"I need some gloves and an evidence bag." She turned to her only company, who knelt by one of the forensic officers' packs and pulled out the supplies.
She removed the earring off the woman's lobes, pulling it up to the lighting fixtures placed around the crime scene. And she almost dropped it when she realized where she recognized the white gold leaves and the three emerald marquise cut stones. Handed down, mother to daughter for generations.
She bagged the earring, the rushing sound of her heart pounding under her skull. "This needs to be dusted for prints and analyzed." She handed it to the officer, already knowing she was likely stepping down from this investigation. They were always kept in a special mini drawer in the jewelry box. She was suddenly dizzy.
"Will," Hoffman was there all of a sudden. "What did you find?" She walked by him, wanting to get some space. Some fresh air. She just needed to sit down for a moment.
She stood by a wall and held herself up, breathing quick and heavy. She squatted with her back to the bricks, looking up at the charcoal sky.
"Will," he was there. Concerned. "Talk to me." He was squatting beside her, big hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him, wide eyed. "The victim was wearing my earring."
