Peter Strahm
What is a partnership, Peter?
The message was scrawled in black, the red card stained in what appeared to be dried blood. He flipped the card and scowled down at the words. This had been the latest note the Heart Stealer had left at the crime scene. It was a cryptic riddle pinned to a bouquet of tilia leaves.
The only reason they knew what kind of plant it had been was because the forensic botanist happened to be dropping off some files to Erickson and she had noticed the leaf shape while standing around by Strahm's desk. The branches had been in a dented cardboard box.
The Heart Stealer mailed them another one of his packages, straight to the Behavioral Sciences department.
My home is loud. I am quiet.
But for us, God fashioned our fate together.
I am faster than my home.
But when I rest, my home still runs.
I will stay at home as long as I live.
Should we be separated, I will die.
What am I and what is my home?
"And yet he gives us the answer?" Lindsay was pulling at her necklace, pursing her lips. "A partnership?"
Strahm narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't seem right. Do partnerships run?"
"Yes?" Lindsay grimaced.
"I'm with Strahm," Kerry was digging through the various notes from previous crime scenes. "Like this line - 'I am faster than my home'. Who would be the runner and who would be the home in the context of a partnership?"
What does this mean? Strahm looked back at the bouquet. Every single detail meant something. The Heart Stealer was too methodical. Too precise to allow a single action be wasted. What did this bouquet of tree leaves mean?
"The tilia leaves. What do they represent?"
"With respect to the riddle?"
He shook his head. "By themselves. What are tilia leaves?"
Nobody answered. Strahm fumed. "Get me an encyclopedia." He rubbed his temple. "And bring me back that botanist."
Lindsay was on the phone, contacting the forensics division. Kerry had left the room. He continued to glare hatefully at the riddle. He never liked The Riddler in Batman. Apparently, this guy thought himself akin to the villain. So what did that make him? Bruce fucking Wayne?
Great. It certainly fits the profile of exuding traits of narcissism and delusions of grandeur. But this means that he wants someone to play with. Someone to help validate these delusions. In a perverted way, Strahm was flattered to be perceived as a worthy adversary to the bastard.
He wondered what made the Heart Stealer fixate on him and his team. He had a bad feeling in his gut that warned him to be vigilant. He looked over at Lindsay, who hung up the phone.
"She's coming back."
He flared his nostrils to inhale sharply. "We can't go on like this, Linds."
She had her arms folded. "You're telling me. I just want to catch this guy." There was an edge in her voice and the shadow of defeat was on her face. She was beginning to bend to the pressure. "I feel like such a fish out of water on this one."
He didn't blame her.
He, too, was at a loss. Never had he felt so little and weak as he did with this case. He felt he had met his match. Whoever this bastard was, he was just too smart for them.
And that pissed Strahm off to no end. "We'll catch him." Lindsay's words sparked something in his thoughts. He felt sudden inspiration and he hurled himself forward.
"The riddle. It's a red herring."
"Why?"
Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed with panic and rage. "The riddle. It's a fish in water. The water moves. But the fish moves faster. Without the water, the fish dies." He held the card out to her. "And it's red."
Lindsay's mouth tightened. "Is he really that obvious?"
"He's arrogant, remember?" Strahm jumped up and looked back at the plant. It had to be related to this. Whatever this was.
"You asked for me?" An older woman appeared, glasses over her pointy nose.
"Yes, thank you for coming," Lindsay straightened and gestured to the bundle of tree branches. "Can you tell us anything about this tilia? What makes it significant?"
The woman straightened her frames and squinted down at the leaves. "Looks like a North American basswood tree. Also known as Tilia. Linden. Lime trees in Ireland, though they are not citrus. The wood is soft and easy to work with." She flipped the leaves over. "I don't see anything of note that makes this sample particularly special. Looks like a standard basswood tree."
"Anything else? Anything related to it at all. A myth? Someone dying of a splinter from a basswood tree?" Strahm knew he sounded desperate but he was.
The woman grimaced. "Um. Well." The woman's eyes scanned the room and fell down onto Lindsay's desk. What she saw, engraved on the brass name plate, made her eyes widen. "Oh."
"What?" Strahm leaned forward, eager.
"Well," The woman looked down at the leaves, then up to Lindsay. "Linden. This tree. In Ireland, they used to have islands covered with these lime trees. Or Linden trees. The Isles of Linden was called Lindsay."
He felt his face tighten and cool as the blood rushed out of it. He looked at Lindsay who made no change in her expression, though she fiddled with her necklace even more.
That's the real message. He's coming for Lindsay, next.
When the botanist left, he turned to his partner. "I'm going to have to bench you for the rest of the case."
"No," she balked. "You can't."
"Not your call," he kept his resolve hardened. "This is a direct message addressing you."
"We're not sure if that's what he meant. It could just be a coincidence."
"See, this is exactly why you're not going in the field anymore. Your being targeted is affecting your perspective. You're going to ignore blatant evidence because you don't want to be sidelined."
Lindsay blinked, hurt. He knew he was being tough with her. She was younger and less experienced with the depraved psychopaths he had known since the very beginning of his career. She was more used to criminals driven by greed, not sadistic glee.
"Lindsay," he let his voice get soft. "This is not some bastard selling children for profit. This is a mentally unpredictable and disturbed individual who has been outsmarting us at every turn. You need to face that reality."
Before Lindsay could open her mouth to respond, Kerry opened the door and came in. "Here's the encyclopedia," she held a giant tome in her arms.
"Forget it," Lindsay spat. "He figured it out. I'm the next target. Apparently." She stepped out of the office. Kerry glanced in his direction before chasing after her.
Strahm felt his fist tighten but he forced it to relax. He was getting emotional. That wasn't going to help things. He needed to keep his head.
Lindsay Perez
There were only a handful of times she cried over this job. Oh, she cried plenty when she was still in college and through basic training at the FBI Academy. When she was a rookie, she cried secretly in the shower after coming home from a sting operation where her team had uncovered a warehouse where children as young as two were being kept in cages to be sold off to god knows where, all around the world.
She had cried when one of her colleagues and closest friends had gotten shot in the neck during a raid gone sour. She had pressed her fingers into the bullet wound, trying to plug the severed carotid artery, hoping it would just keep him from bleeding out long enough to get a medical evacuation. He had died in her arms and she let herself cry then and there when the helicopter arrived far too late.
And now, she was crying in the safety of the women's restroom, pressing her fingers to her eyelids as she unleashed all the frustration she had for this case and let the tears fall. She felt a familiar hand on her shoulder and could smell Ally's perfume of sandalwood and cardamom. Ally's hand rubbed her back as she sobbed.
"Let it out, honey. I've been there."
"He never takes me seriously. He always thinks I'm too weak to get the job done."
Ally didn't contribute. She didn't judge. She simply rubbed Lindsay's shoulder, giving sympathetic noises as Lindsay felt the words spill out of her.
"He did this on the last case. A serial shooter, who was doing drive-bys. Did not have a victim profile, beyond just who was available as a target. When we got the arrest warrant, he had me stay here while he went to make the arrest. He insisted it was too dangerous."
"He doesn't want you hurt," Ally muttered. "He clearly cares for you."
"Well, that's not what's going to catch the Heart Stealer." Lindsay choked and shook her head.
"Maybe you should take a break. When was the last time you had a full night's sleep? Or a meal that wasn't take out?"
She couldn't help but scoff. "I can't just leave."
"Mm," Ally had her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes back to the door. "Strahm won't have you sent out on the scene. So looks like you'll just be filing paperwork. Maybe staring at the current evidence we have. But there's little more you can do. So go. Go home. Get some sleep. Come back tomorrow. And during that time, I'll talk to Strahm. See about getting him to change his mind."
She didn't like this. But she knew she was on a much shorter fuse than normal with all the stress. Yeah. Maybe I should. Just recharge the batteries. "Fine."
"Atta girl. See you tomorrow, hon." Ally held the bathroom door. "Drive safe."
Ally walked down the hall, leaving Lindsay alone. She walked off, heading towards the exit and down the sidewalk towards the parking garage. It was dark. The sun was setting so early these days. She scanned the surroundings, taking in the dried grass and empty flower beds. Winter was coming early.
She could see her breath.
When she entered the parking garage entrance, she found it empty, save for a few cars she recognized. She walked past Peter's car, the sudden urge to kick a hub cap coming and going. She sighed and went towards her red Camry.
She paused. She felt something was wrong. She turned sharply, hand at her pistol, expecting a man to be standing right behind her.
There was no one there.
She shook her head. Damn it. Ally's right. I need some sleep.
She went back to her car, entering the driver's side. She started the engine, waiting for the heaters to warm up. She turned on the radio, letting NPR play in the background.
When she reached to put her car into gear she felt a sudden jerk of her head being pulled back.
She felt her scalp slam into the headrest, a cloth over her mouth, the acrid smell of chloroform hitting her nose and making her eyes water. She held her breath and went for her gun.
The sudden sting on her neck followed by a coolness filling her veins made her panic. She tried to fight. She couldn't see the attacker. She couldn't see.
And the darkness swallowed her up.
Angelina Acomb
"Mrs. Acomb?" The man, tall and dressed in a black suit, was standing in her doorway.
She blinked at the badge he was holding up. She didn't recognize the credentials but noticed the 'Department of Defense' printed in bold. She straighten up. She watched the two men warily.
"Yes?"
"I am sorry to bring this news, but your husband, Peter Acomb, has died."
She felt herself collapse. Gravity pulled her down to the ground, her knees hitting the wooden floor. But she didn't feel the pain. She only heard the stranger's voice, echoing in her ears.
"Mrs. Acomb," the other man knelt and helped her to her feet. "Please, may we come in? To answer your questions?"
"Huh?" She felt as if it was all a dream. Yeah, that's what it is. A dream. "Sure." She straightened up, no longer afraid. This was all just a dream she would wake up from. All she could do was play along. "Come in. Would you like me to get you a drink?"
"No, thank you." The first man looked at his partner with a frown. "Do you have a relative nearby? A close friend?"
"My brother. Mark. But he's at work right now."
"It would be best to call him. Have him here with you. Or a close friend."
She wordlessly went to the phone resting in the hall of her apartment. She picked up the receiver and mindlessly dialed Mark's office phone.
It rang several times before Mark picked up. "Hoffman."
"Mark?"
"Ange? What's wrong?"
"Peter's dead. These men told me to call you. Can you come over?"
"I'm on the way. Sit tight, Ange." She heard the sudden forced calmness of her brother's voice. It was the voice he used when he wanted to sound completely still and controlled when things were far from it. But she wasn't going to worry. It was just a bad dream, after all.
She turned and sat on the couch, leaned back. She stared at the two men who looked uncomfortable and awkward. "Mrs. Acomb. Are you… aware of what we are saying?"
"Yes. Peter is dead. So how did he die?" She looked the man in the eye, waiting for the dream to start falling into the ridiculous. For a figment of her imagination, he sure looked more real than she usually conjured up in her sleep. He had hazel eyes. Gray hair. He looked old. Wise.
"He had been struck by a stray bullet, from the rifle of one of his fellow marines. It was an accident. He died immediately and did not suffer."
That was when she knew it was just a dream. She could have almost laughed. "Peter would never die from something so silly."
There was a tense pause. Then, "Mrs. Acomb, let me get you some water. May I?"
"Sure." She chose to stare straight ahead. What was the point in playing this game anymore, when it was all just a dream? She preferred reality over this fiction. So she wouldn't play.
Time had elapsed when she heard the door knock. The two men answered the door.
"Where is she?" She recognized Mark's voice and she looked over to see her brother.
"Mark, you're here." She was surprised the dream was lasting so long. "I'm having a bad dream, Mark. These men say Peter died by friendly fire. Isn't that just ridiculous?" She smiled widely, feeling hot tears begin to fall down her cheeks. "Peter wouldn't die like that."
Mark sat on the couch beside her and took her into his arms. She let him and she suddenly felt this anguish crushing into her chest. She began to cry. And she suddenly felt anger rise up her throat. "Why are you coddling me?" She pulled back and wiped at her tears angrily.
The crushing sensation was beginning to get worse. It was a pressure that was flattening her. The realization hit her. "Oh my God." She covered her face. "Oh my God. Peter. Please, no, Peter." She felt arms wrap around her, tightly.
"It's going to be okay, Ange. It's going to be okay." Mark's voice and the gentle rocking of his movement did little to ease her pain.
Angelina wanted to die. She couldn't live without Peter. Her husband. Her best friend. The man she would grow old with. The man who brought her joy and always loved her. She couldn't live without him.
Wilhelmina Maddox
She returned to Quantico, feeling fresh and ready to continue where she had left off. After Knox's funeral and several days of looking after Mark, he had shown a rapid recovery from his grief.
It seemed he had to just unleash all his sorrow with some heavy drinking and some quality time of binging westerns. He had returned to his routine and had returned to work to join Matthews on four more arrests.
She was surprised by how fast he had improved but after two more days of him going about his business and telling her he didn't want her to fawn over him anymore - that he didn't need it - she had to begrudgingly agree. He had pulled her into a tight kiss and told her to get back to Virginia to catch the sonofabitch murdering girls before sending her off with a slap on her ass.
She half-worried he was over compensating but there was little she could do when he had shown no indication he was going to do something reckless or stupid. Mark had work to do back at the MPD. She had her work, as well.
She drove her rental car from Dulles International and drove south toward Quantico. She had not spoken to the others since she left and she was eager to learn of any progress done in her absence.
She pulled into Quantico, surprised by the heightened security. The guards had scrutinized her badge, squinting and triple checking that her face matched the photo on the ID before she was waved through the first checkpoint. The second checkpoint, a gate, was usually not manned. But today, there stood another security officer, this one a familiar face, waiting for her to give her credentials.
"What's with the extra security?" She had noticed the sign that normally stated FPCON: NORMAL now stated FPCON: CHARLIE by the checkpoint booth. "What happened?"
"An agent's missing. Surveillance showed suspicious activity. A possible compromise of our security procedure." The man offered no additional information so Will thanked him and continued to the parking garage.
She parked, noting that Ally and Strahm's cars were there. She didn't see Perez's.
Gathering her briefcase, she walked towards the nearest building entrance, wanting to get away from the cold. She entered the heated foyer and sighed in relief as she made her way to Behavioral Sciences. As she approached, she heard the familiar voice of Peter Strahm. His voice was carrying across the hall, loud and furious.
Will braced herself as she approached his office.
"So you have nothing of value to give?" Strahm's voice was accusatory. "So you have the car. But no sign of her?" Strahm was hunched over his desk, fisting his phone receiver to his ear, scribbling urgently onto his notepad before hanging the phone violently with a bang.
"Sign of who?" Will decided to dive right in.
Strahm looked up quickly, eyes wild. "You're back. Good. The Heart Stealer has Perez."
She felt the briefcase in her hand drop to the ground. She fumbled to pick it up. "When?
"Last night. The entire Bureau is on alert. Anyone who's free is out there. Allison is currently at Perez's apartment, trying to find any clues as to where she was taken. But so far, nothing!" Strahm threw his pen onto the table and turned away, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.
Will assessed the room. One of the chairs was across the room from its original resting place, upturned and on one of the sofas. A dent in the wall's plaster indicated he had thrown the chair. He had sweat stains on his white shirt, long wrinkled from being overworn. Papers were strewn on the floor.
"Strahm," she walked up to him, looking him in the eye. "We'll find her. What do we know?"
He looked at her with reproach but the fury was dampened. He exhaled slowly. "Surveillance cameras showed a white male entering her car in the garage. When she entered, the car was shaking. She put up a fight, but the car drove off. Nothing else." He kicked the desk, forcing the furniture to shift a foot in front.
Will walked around the desk, putting a hand to his arm. "Peter." She, too, was filled with dread over what Lindsay was experiencing. But Peter's hot head wasn't going to help.
He turned to her, looking ready to pop. She put an arm around him and pulled him to her, hand on his back. "We'll find her. Okay?" She had to believe this. Otherwise, they would have given up before they even put up a fight. They had to find Lindsay.
He stiffened from her hug but didn't pull her away. "You don't know that."
She looked up at him. "I do know that. Don't you quit on me, now, Peter." He looked down at her, disbelief framing his face, but he shut his eyes and pulled her to him.
"You're right. She's still out there. There's still a shot."
She could smell the coffee on his breath. Feel the tension in his arms. His heart was beating, fast and steady.
The phone rang, pulling them apart.
Strahm answered. "What is it?" His face went from passive to alarmed. "Where?" He reached for a pencil and paper, scribbling the details. "Send everything we've got. We're on the way." He turned to Will. "Kerry followed up on a tip after we sent out a BOLO for Lindsay's car. It was found at the national park, over at the Noland trailhead."
Strahm didn't need to tell Will to follow as they both ran out of the office, towards his car.
Strahm had his small emergency light strobing as he slammed the gas out of the parking garage. All checkpoints opened their gates in time for him to blast past them, revving the engine as the siren blared.
"It's an hour away. We can make it under forty minutes, if traffic allows," Strahm muttered.
Will turned to the back of the car, noting the shotgun and bulletproof vests ready to go. "Did they sight Linds or the suspect?"
"No. But Kerry had just arrived at the scene. The engine was still warm. Backup is on the way, but it's a remote location. We may be the first ones after Kerry. Hopefully she doesn't try to be a hero."
"No promises," Will bit her lip. "How did Kerry handle Lindsay's kidnapping?"
Strahm crossed several lanes to turn down the nearest exit. His aggressive driving was almost as bad as hers. "Not good, but not bad. She's kept her head despite it all. More than I have," Strahm frowned to himself.
They roared down ninety five south, cars getting out of their way as they stayed in the left lane, making decent time.
"What's the significance of Noland Park?" Will didn't know Lindsay Perez very well. Not like Strahm.
"Not sure. But Lindsay grew up in D.C. Probably some college girlfriend and her used to hike there. Kerry would probably know more."
"Yeah. Maybe." Unease crept into Will. She tried dialing Kerry's cell, with only the ringing and the voicemail as her answer. "Kerry's not picking up."
"That's not a good sign." The engine growled as Strahm pressed harder on the gas. They sailed further down the black evening pavement. For the rest of the trip, they drove in silence.
The highway lights faded as they turned onto private, rural country roads. The trees surrounded them, bouncing back the high beams of Strahm's car with ominous bark and the occasional glowing green eyes of a raccoon.
They had to slow down once the roads started curving. Sharp lefts and rights, along with the urgent need to get to the destination had Will fidget as Strahm pushed his vehicle's suspension to the limit. They hopped bumps and potholes, the vehicle silent with its emergency lights long turned off. They wanted to get the drop on the Heart Stealer, if they still had surprise on their side.
They first saw Ally's car and Will leaned forward, her seat belt pressing into her neck and chest. And further down… was Lindsay's car.
Strahm parked the car beside Ally's and the two of them got out. Strahm pulled out the bullet proof vests, tossing one heavily over to Will who caught the dense kevlar with an 'oof.' Fastening the black vest over his shirt, Strahm pulled out the shotgun, checking the chamber before cocking it. Will tightened the vest around her torso, throwing her coat over it and pulled her Smith & Wesson.
It was a cold winter night. Most of the trees were bare, save for the pine. No insects sounded. The distant smell of wood burning sent Will on high alert and on edge.
The hoot of an owl had her look up, tensing.
They looked inside Allison Kerry's car, nothing abnormal to note. They walked further to the trailhead, where the large roofed billboard and the box holding the registry for hikers was out. The book's pages fluttered in the breeze, a pencil holding the book open to a specific page.
Will and Strahm exchanged glances before Strahm held the page down, showing what was written.
Off hunting. Foraging for Lindseed.
-A.K. 21:50
"Rather obvious," Strahm muttered before closing the book. He raised his weapon. "Be on high alert, until we have Allison and Lindsay on sight. We don't want to shoot them by accident."
Will nodded, letting him take the lead.
A crack broke through the silence and Will felt her gut sink. She threw Strahm a nervous look. He looked white as a sheet and it wasn't because of the moonlight. A distant scream, feminine and angry, had the two of them sprinting further into the forest.
Will heard her heavy breathing as branches snagged in her hair and clothes. She pushed through, following as Strahm sprinted ahead. He powered past jutting trees and jumped over fallen trunks. Will kept up with him easily, his larger size blasting back obstacles that she could hurdle over.
"Let her go!" Allison's voice broke through their sprint. Strahm skidded to a halt, Will face planted into his back. "Turn around!"
Ally's voice was to their right. They treaded through thorny branches, pushing through the thick piles of leaves, the sound of their approach loud with the hissing of dried vegetation and the crackle of breaking twigs.
They broke through a clearing, the moonlight illuminating a man with his face distorted, knife pressed into Lindsay's neck. Allison had her pistol trained on the assailant but couldn't get a clear shot.
Strahm and Will went to Allison's back. "FBI, drop your weapon," Strahm snapped, stepping next to Ally and pointing the barrel of the shotgun at the man.
The assailant laughed. "You going to blast both of us, Peter? How foolish. I knew you'd be this way. Reckless. Impulsive. Angry. Predictable."
"Shoot him, Ally," Lindsay choked before the knife pressed deeper into her neck. Her lips were shut tight, her eyes wide with fear.
As they stood for long seconds, Will realized Lindsay was glowing. Bright blue light emitted off of her, as if she was covered in glow-in-the-dark paint. "Why Lindsay?" Will asked, hoping to distract the man. "When did you give your heart to her?"
The man cocked his head to the side. "She smiled at me and I knew we had a connection. But then she slept with this whore. That's why I reached out to you, Peter. You understand. You loved her, too. But she never saw either of us."
Despite herself, her eyes flickered to Allison. They had gotten back together? She moved to Allison's opposite side, wondering if she could make a clean shot to the man's face or if it would be too risky.
"You're wrong," Strahm narrowed his eyes. Sirens were sounding in the distance. Backup had arrived. "Lindsay and I were never like that."
"Lies. You love her. I see the way you look at her."
"You're right. I love her. We all love her. You're going to break more than my heart, if you hurt her. She's got two parents that love her. A brother. Friends. Don't do this." Strahm kept his shotgun pointed at the two of them but Will knew he wouldn't pull the trigger. His finger wasn't even past the guard. It was because the blast radius would kill Lindsay, if he fired.
Lindsay threw her head back, headbutting the man in the face. Allison made a shot. The explosion of the gun made Will's ears ring but she charged forward, ramming into the suspect to get him away from Lindsay.
Will could feel the man struggle underneath her. She was straddling him, trying to pin his arms down. She could feel warm sticky blood on her hands. But the way he thrashed, it was clear he wasn't injured badly.
"Will!" Strahm was heading over to her but she felt the man lift her off of him and push her back. She tumbled and returned to her feet promptly, ready to charge him.
The pistol that appeared in his hand took her off guard.
The red white flash of the gunpowder followed by a feeling of being punched in the shoulder, hard, made her fall backwards.
Pain. The worst pain she had felt in a long time dug its jagged teeth into her shoulder. She touched it, realizing she was bleeding. She tried to keep her breathing even but she was already going into shock. Fuck No. No.
Is it fatal? No. No, it can't be. But it hurts so fucking much.
She felt her head hit the dirt. Strahm was over her, pressing into her wound with his palms. She let out a gasp of pain. "You're all right, Will. You're all right." His voice was low and steady. His eyes were wide but his words soothing. His hands were hot on her cooling shoulder.
"We got him," Kerry called out, the distant jingle of handcuffs made Will relax.
We got him. That's all that matters. She was taking slower breaths now.
"He… going anywhere?" Will whispered, not able to sit up and look.
"Yeah. He's down. You're okay." Strahm looked sallow, lips pressed, steam billowing out of his nostrils. "Will, can you get up?"
"I'll try," she felt so feeble all of a sudden. In all her years in law enforcement, she had been punched, kicked, scratched, and cut. She had fallen several stories into a dumpster. She had survived broken bones, fractures, and plenty worse from Frank. She had lived through being beaten within an inch of her life. She had been punched in the face by her own partner. But she had never been shot before. "This is no joke," she whispered. "Getting shot sucks."
Strahm burst out a small laugh. "Yeah. It does." She heard the rip of fabric, feeling her shoulder being wrapped with a tight pull of the fabric. Sometimes, she'd see Peter's face over her. And sometimes, she'd see nothing but black. "That should hold you off. Come on, I'll help you." She was pulled up to the ground gingerly, her ears ringing and her lungs burning. But she managed to stay on her feet. She watched Lindsay and Allison on each side, holding the Heart Stealer in place. Their faces were grave.
"Hey, Strahm," Allison called out. "Let Lindsay go with her to the ambulance. I need you here to make sure this asshole doesn't pull anything."
Strahm nodded, giving Will a sad smile. "We'll talk later. Get that shoulder checked out."
Must not be bad. But fuck, it hurts. Will nodded as Lindsay came up to her, taking her hand with a squeeze. "You okay, Linds?"
"Better, now that you all came. Come on, I'll lead the way." The blue fluorescence on her arms and legs had begun to fade. "I don't know about you, but I want to get the hell out of these woods and have a stiff drink."
Mark Hoffman
He didn't think he'd have to worry about something like this again, so soon. With Knox, his ex-wife and son had stepped up and taken care of the funeral business. It took his death for them to suddenly want to be involved with the last vestiges of his memory. But Mark didn't complain, as it let him grieve in peace and took the burden of planning a funeral off his shoulders.
But now, he sat on Angie's couch staring at the booklets of coffins and the pamphlets of funeral floral arrangements and he had no idea what to do with any of them. This should be Angelina's call. But she was in her bedroom, lying in her bed, refusing to get up.
But Peter Acomb's body was on the way back from Iraq. Scheduled to be delivered to the funeral home the next day. He would be prepared for an open casket.
God, help me.
Hoffman leaned back, trying to think of what Acomb had been like. A goofball. A total nerd. Overall, not a bad guy. He never paid much attention to the man, so long as he never made Angie cry. Which he never did. The man, despite being a goof, had loved his sister with all his heart. He hadn't been a close friend with the man. But Mark missed him. He missed how happy Angie had been with him.
He buried his face in his hands, frustrated by the way the world had turned out. Angelina didn't deserve all this loss. She had so much love to give. There was only so much he could give her, as her brother.
She had wanted kids. To start a family of her own. She talked about it all the time.
He sighed when he tried to flip through wreaths. Lily's? Carnations? Fuck, he didn't know. Will had just returned to Quantico, so he didn't bother calling her to let her know what had happened. He'd give it another day. He figured she'd want to attend the funeral, at least. But he'd give her some time to get settled in, before another death had her dropping everything to come help out the Hoffman siblings.
Two deaths, in the same month. He sometimes wondered why they had such rotten luck. His cell rang, saving him from his thoughts. He recognized Matthews' number. "Hoffman," he answered.
"Need you at the station." Matthews sounded weary, unusual compared to his normally braggadocio demeanor. He thought he heard some high pitched voice followed by a hush.
"You got someone with you?"
"Yeah. Daniel."
Hoffman blinked. "Jane left him at the station?"
"Yeah, can you believe it? Told her it's not a good place for him. But she just walked off. My lawyer thinks this will be good for getting partial custody again. But I can't get anything done because of it. The boys think it's fucking hilarious. But that fuckboy Gibson got wind of me endangering a child and he's writing me up for it. Could use some back up."
Hoffman would have said no but the excuse to get away from staring at another somber bundle of flowers had him already on his feet. "I'm on the way."
He hung up and looked over to the master bedroom. He went and gently hit his knuckles against the wooden door. "Ange?"
She didn't respond. He opened the door, entered the dark room and sat on the bed. He put his hand on the shadowy head, feeling her hair. "I need to head back to the precinct. You going to be okay?"
"Yeah," she whispered, not sounding okay.
"I'll come right home once my shift's done."
"Okay," she whispered before her shoulders began to shake. She sniffled. Mark turned to the nightstand, pulling tissues from the box and holding it in front of her face. She took them and began blowing her nose. He noticed there were crumpled up used tissues all over the comforter and floor.
He went and freshened her glass of water, knowing she would be dehydrated from all the tears. There was nothing more he could do, besides be there for her and wait.
Time was the only way she would heal.
He, too, felt random waves of sadness whenever he thought of Knox. But he had to push it down, for Angie's sake. She needed him right now. She needed her big brother.
He went to the precinct, his thoughts hazed and his mood dark.
When he was back at work, he could hear the kid crying as he approached their office. But at least this kid was likely crying over shit he didn't understand. These were tears he could handle. He opened the door, sighing in relief when he saw Matthews holding a chubby blond six year old in his arms, asking, "What's wrong, little man, don't cry. It was just an ouchie."
Seeing his partner in such a domestic setting, had him struggling to suppress a grin. Hoffman went to his desk, digging through the top drawer, pulling out the stash of candy he kept. He pulled out a sucker and held it out to the kid.
Instantly, Daniel Matthews halted his wails, looking at Hoffman with wide blue eyes, fascinated by the red tootsie pop. "You can have this if you behave," he told the kid and the boy nodded his head obediently. "There you go."
The kid struggled to pull the paper off the candy and stuck it in his cheek, drool dripping down his chin. "Shoulda known you'd have something good in your desk, you fat fuck," Eric sounded exhausted and relieved. "Thanks."
If the kid wasn't there, he'd have flipped his middle finger at the prick.
"Daddy," the boy sounded so shy and vulnerable. "I love you."
Seeing Eric Matthews melt at his son's words, it made Hoffman feel a flutter in his chest. He smiled, sad, wondering what it would be like to have something like that. The thought of Will full of domestic bliss like a 1950s housewife appeared in his mind, the idea ludicrous, and it popped out of his imagination fast as a flash.
A knock on their office followed by a uniformed rookie opening the door made both men turn. "Hey, boys," she threw a thumb over her shoulder. "We have some guy here for Matthews. Name of Michael Marks. Says he has information."
"Send him in," Matthews took a seat, bouncing Eric on his thigh.
A tall, lean man with dark features entered, the guy looking shifty as he locked eyes with Hoffman before flashing them to Matthews. "Matthews."
"What do you got for me, Mike?"
"Information. On a fire over at Chinatown. I have it on good authority it was an inside job. Hired man named Obi Tate. He's good at covering his tracks. Figured you'd like to know."
Matthews nodded, moving Daniel onto the other leg. "I'll look into it. If it's good, I'll send you something nice."
"Oh, it's solid. And I expect payment soon."
Hoffman decided to work on some paperwork, not finding this informant interesting.
"Got anything on what's been going on with K2K? Got some boys here who could use the help."
"Not much. But everyone's on edge. Though there hasn't been another bombing in a while, word on the street is K2K is ready for retaliation, now that the yakuza have backed down."
Hoffman's eyes darted to the guy. Who was this informant? He looked plain, middle class, educated. Not someone who would get much street cred to know the ins and outs of the crime world.
"Same time next month?" Matthews was rushing the informant out. Daniel was beginning to get restless, wanting to be let loose to wander on his small feet.
"Yeah. Next month." Marks got to his feet and turned. "Remember. Expect my payment next week. Or I'm done sharing the juice."
"Yeah yeah, you'll get your money." Matthews waved the man off.
"Who's he?" Hoffman asked, once the guy left with a shut of the door.
"Some creep I caught for possession a while back. In exchange for not charging him, he feeds me info he hears while playing wannabe badass at the underground raves. Mostly, it's crap. But sometimes, he gives something useful. Fuck, I need a cigarette. Will you watch Eric while I go grab a smoke? Jane won't let me smoke in front of him."
Hoffman opened his mouth to say, 'hell no', but Daniel was already walking over to him, giving a shy smile while his dad escaped the office.
Hoffman leaned back, letting out a breath. The boy kept watching him. "Daniel, how's it going?"
"You're big. I bet you're really strong," the boy gushed, jumping up and down, flexing his fingers in the air.
"I get by." Hoffman didn't know how to be around children, unless it was on a case. Rarely, the kids wanted to talk to him. "You eat your veggies, you'll be big and strong like me."
"Really? Do you eat a lot of veggies?"
"Uh, yeah," Hoffman lied. Potatoes were a vegetable. Technically.
"Okay! Can I have more candy? Pleease?" The kid drew out the please.
Hoffman pursed his lips, not wanting to feel the warm and fuzzy emotions that were spreading through heart. "All right. But you gotta brush your teeth when you get home, all right?"
"Okay!" The kid looked like he already had plenty of sugar, mouth stained red, bouncing and spinning, cackling with glee. Hoffman took out another candy, some chocolate wrapped up.
"Here." The kid seized the wrapped goods and started stomping over to his father's desk, climbing into the chair with his legs dangling over the side. The kid liked to talk to himself, muttering, "I gots some candy. I'm gonna eats all of it!"
Hoffman smirked, looking back at his paperwork. The kid was all right, in his book.
Allison Kerry
"You think you're more worthy of her love? You whore," the Heart Stealer spat at her feet. Kerry stepped back, avoiding the glob from hitting her boots. She lowered her gaze at the prick. It took all her self control not to kick the tip of her boot into his face, wanting nothing more than to teach this son of a bitch who he was dealing with.
Thankfully, Strahm was there, diffusing the situation with a simple dirty glare down at the perp. "You're just adding to the charges. You have the right to remain silent. I suggest you use that right. It's for your own good."
The Heart Stealer looked to be in his late twenties. Caucasian. Blue eyes. Dark hair. He was short in stature, dressed in jeans and a hoodie. Regardless of his unimpressive features, there was an aura around him that gave Kerry the creeps. She didn't like being alone in the woods with the guy.
She could only imagine what Lindsay had gone through. She closed her eyes briefly, reliving the moment when she thought she had shot Lindsay. She had made the shot. Willingly risked the woman she loved.
It had worked out, but what if it hadn't?
She would never have forgiven herself. She wondered if Lindsay would forgive her for gambling with her life like that? Could she forgive herself?
Her knees were getting tight. She squatted down to the ground, feeling them pop. She covered her eyes with her fingers, containing the feelings of terror and relief all rolling through her. She shivered.
"Kerry?" Strahm sounded concerned at her back.
"I'm fine. Just. Glad it's almost over." She straightened back up, brushing at pieces of lint on her pants. It was too dark to actually see any. She was just nervous. Anxious to get back to Lindsay.
She had so much to tell her.
Just before Lindsay had been taken, she had allowed herself to be swayed once again by her. They had spent the night at her apartment.
In the end, she couldn't even be loyal to Eric.
Yet, despite this, she truly believed Lindsay was the one she wanted to be with. After almost losing her, she knew she would never have recovered if Lindsay had died. She decided, then and there, that she would end things with Eric. That if Lindsay would take her, she would be hers, forever.
When the arresting squad arrived, armed to the teeth with kevlar, batons, and various rifles, she could relax.
"You can go," Strahm told her, eyes full of awareness that Kerry always felt unsettling. "I'll look after him. Go be with Lindsay."
"Thank you," Kerry whispered before jogging towards the trailhead.
