Author's Note: Thank you for sticking with this story.
Okay, I lied (again). I went over (again).
This chapter marks the final appearance of Leslie Le Zard. There's a bit more Amends storyline (re: the trial) to wrap up.
As for Goren's behaviour, Bobby wasn't exactly undercover—but I want to put it on your radar that it's been well documented that NYPD undercover officers have engaged in behaviour that is questionable. Rules strictly prohibit undercovers from using any drugs or alcohol, are forbidden to induce crimes, and so on.
Though these rules are in place, it has been reported on and studied (especially in the NYPD) that officers have and do break these rules. In particular, there was a fascinating report about the activities of NYPD's Vice squad in relation to busting sex crimes.
That includes undercover officers propositioning or performing sexual acts with Johns and/or sex workers, using illicit substances, or participating in criminal activity to establish their undercover credentials.
In particular, sex workers will often demand a John perform oral sex before any exchange of money in order to ensure their client isn't a cop.
Content Warnings
Discussion of: Trauma, death, grief, childhood abuse, and pregnancy.
Scenes involving: Courtrooms/court proceedings, drinking, sex
It rained overnight and all day Sunday.
The rain carried on into Monday, casting a grey, subdued mood over Manhattan.
There was no sunshine that day.
A low rumble of thunder echoed outside the halls of the Manhattan District Court. The marble felt cold. Winter seemed to cling to the air.
Alex kept her attention fixated on her hands. They rested atop her lap as she picked at her fingernails.
"My office got a call this morning from the Dutton family," Ron Carver shared.
Alex grimaced.
"I'm sorry," she apologised.
"Well, I haven't told them anything yet. I thought it best to wait until Judge Vinello made a decision whether he will accept or reject the terms of the plea bargain," Carver said.
In spite of everything, Alex smirked.
"That's very well played," she said.
"In light of the circumstances…" Carver trailed off.
"Thank you," Alex said in earnest.
Danielle Melnick arrived on cue with her briefcase in hand and Manny Beltran in tow. It was the first time Alex and Beltran had come face-to-face since his arrest.
Alex couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.
"Shall we?" Melnick asked, gesturing to the door.
Chambers of Judge Vinello | Manhattan District Courthouse
Judge Vinello studied the document over the rim of his glasses.
"This is quite a pitch," he remarked.
Alex sat quietly next to ADA Carver. She never imagined she would be back in chambers talking plea deals for the man that murdered her husband.
Judge Vinello put the document down on his desk. He folded his hands and rested his chin atop them, eyeing both parties.
"This case has garnered significant press attention. Whatever the outcome, there will be strong public reaction," Vinello cautioned.
The case had become a political flashpoint pitting community organisations and a sympathetic public against organisations that sought to honour fallen first responders (and those that sought to use Joe Dutton's memory for their own political purposes).
Vinello turned his attention to Carver.
"If I'm to approve to this—"
"Your honour, you have my word that the people have no interest in pursuing Mr Beltran for further charges, provided he commits no further crimes," Carver added. "We believe his remorse is genuine and the likelihood of him reoffending is low."
Judge Vinello was in agreement on that point.
"Mr Beltran, if you accept this plea agreement, do I have your word that you will live your life by the letter of the law? That you will continue to do the good works that endeared you to this community? That you will abide by the requirements of your sentencing?"
Beltran nodded.
"Y-yes, sir," he answered.
Judge Vinello nodded and thanked Mr Beltran. Then he rose from his seat and turned to stand in front of the window, watching the rain as it pelted the glass.
"I'll admit your request took me by surprise, Detective Eames—though it's not the strangest thing I've heard in chambers," Judge Vinello said as he folded his hands behind his back.
Eames sat in silence.
"I was inclined to reject this until Mr Carver assured me this wasn't an NYPD publicity stunt," Vinello continued.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"It's the reason I agreed to hear you out," he said.
"Thank you," Eames replied.
"Don't thank me yet," Vinello warned as he slipped back into the seat behind his desk. "I'm not entirely convinced that this plea would satisfy the parties involved, the public, or the rule of law for that matter."
Carver leaned forward in his chair. He'd been prepared for that possibility.
"Your honour—"
"Relax, Mr Carver. I agreed to hear you out and I will."
It was a start.
"Please understand that I play golf with Judge Prescott. And Judge Prescott's boat slip sits next to the Dutton family of Sands Point," Vinello said. "Judge Prescott's wife sits on the board of Concerned Citizens for Public Safety. They gave considerably to my last campaign."
Alex visibly bristled.
The old buddy-boy system. Eames thought bitterly.
Danielle Melnick opened her mouth to raise an ethical objection. Eames beat her to it with a stinger of her own.
"So, what you're saying is that you should have recused yourself," Alex hissed.
Vinello's eyebrow shot up.
"As you did?" he threw back.
Before Eames's temper could get the better of her, Vinello raised his hand and pleaded to be heard out.
"Please, detective. I don't know the Dutton family any more than I know you," Vinello said.
He went on to explain that he had been warned that if he were to rule favourably for Beltran that the Nassau County Republicans were prepared to throw all of their considerable money behind Vinello's challenger in the next election."
"So, they bankroll you. It's nice to know the wheels of justice have been properly greased," Eames spat.
"Hardly," Vinello clarified. "Those people dumped a quarter of a million dollars last time to try and oust me."
"Well, if you're asking for a contribution, you're barking up the wrong tree," Eames said.
She reached for her necklace and ran her thumb over the cross as her last hope to honour Joe's legacy slipped from her grasp.
To her horror, Judge Vinello chuckled.
"Actually, what I want from you is to convince me why I should stick it to 'em," Vinello said.
Eames looked up and blinked, stunned by his request.
"There's nothing I find more abhorrent than people that think the judicial system can be bought to work in their favour," Vinello declared.
One Police Plaza | Manhattan
The grey cloud that shrouded the Manhattan District Courthouse extended to 1PP, hanging over Major Case and casting a shadow over the whole squad room.
Detective Goren was seated in Ross's office.
"You're sure about this?" Ross asked.
"Yes, Captain," Bobby responded.
"You know that this could get ugly?"
Ross didn't want to see Goren go—but things sure had been easier to field questions from the brass when Ross thought Goren was on his way out.
Leslie Le Zard was due to be arraigned Monday afternoon. She'd spent her weekend in pre-trial detainment up in Bedford Hills Maximum Security Women's Prison.
And she'd screamed to anyone and everyone that would listen about the New York City Detective that 'forced' her into a sexual relationship.
Such claims were taken seriously. Though Le Zard remained detained, her allegations had made their way up to the NYPD brass. IAB and the Chief of D's demanded answers.
"She's coming here for questioning. You understand that I have to keep you at arm's length on this one?" Ross asked.
"Yes. Thank you, Captain," Goren replied.
Interrogation Room C | One Police Plaza
Mike Logan took a long, slow sip of coffee. He idly flipped through his case notes looking for nothing in particular.
"So, Krystallyn," Mike began. "Or do you prefer Leslie? Amanda? Kendra? Or is it Tiffany?"
She didn't spook as Logan dramatically worked his way through each fake identity, enunciating every name to drive home his point.
"I know all about you, Detective Logan. The Staten Island exile. Seventeen different complaints for excessive force. I did my homework," Leslie said.
Mike nodded slowly and then leaned back in his chair, unperturbed.
"Then you know it takes a lot more than a public information search to rattle my cage," he replied.
Leslie's lawyer shot her client a warning look.
"My client has information that implicates her boss, Martin Palin, and Schorr Labs CEO, Jim Schorr, in the—"
"Yeah, let's talk about that," Logan said.
He flipped open his leather binder.
"We've got forged emails and false accounts, eight fake identities, stolen credit cards," Logan rattled off.
"I'm a whistleblower," Leslie insisted. "I'm being framed."
"No, you're a scam artist," Logan countered.
"And a murderer," Wheeler added.
"And a murderer," Logan echoed. "And you're good. The team in special investigations, they were impressed."
Krystallyn (or Leslie) was not.
She admitted to nothing—and yet, she had a list of demands.
Leslie wanted to speak with Captain Ross. She wanted an agreement in writing that the NYPD would investigate her claims against Eames and Goren.
"I want to speak with Robert," Leslie demanded.
"He's not here. He's in a meeting with Internal Affairs. They're yanno… investigating your claims," Logan spat.
Leslie leaned in over the table and glared at Logan, eyeing him as if to challenge the famously short-fused Detective to do something rash.
"I don't like the way you speak to me, sir. It's frightening," she said.
Her features softened.
"But we could start over?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.
Logan chortled.
"Well, you can the Krystallyn outta Booger Hole but—"
Wheeler bit back a smirk at her partner's comment.
"What are you laughing at Raggedy Andy?" Leslie spat at Wheeler.
Wheeler just turned to Logan. He smiled.
"You were right," Logan acknowledged.
"We know about your mother, Krystallyn. We know that she used to shop you around to extort men on a false paternity claim. And we know that you did the same thing with Mr Les Zeller," Wheeler explained.
She opened the file in hand and put it down on the table. Wheeler slid the photograph of Leslie's 'father' in front of her.
"What happened?" Logan pressed. "Daddy didn't love you after he found out you weren't his?"
Leslie grew quiet. The line of her mouth went thin.
"You wanted to be anything other than a girl from a nothing town in West Virginia. You worked incredibly hard to get ahead. And he rejected you," Wheeler said, hoping to play to Leslie's ego.
When that failed, she did what all manipulators did when the walls closed in. Leslie Le Zard imploded.
Wheeler just turned to her partner and gave him a knowing look.
"You're right," Wheeler said.
"I am going to take this whole department down! You have no idea what I have on you. On all of you!" Leslie raved. "I have enough dirt to keep the NYPD jumping through press hoops for years to come."
"Ooo! I think I just heard a threat," Logan said.
"We'll add to what I'm sure will be a very long list of charges," Ross chimed in as he stepping into the interrogation room.
Leslie's mood immediately changed. She flopped down on the table and put her acting chops to work.
"Captain. Thank God. I—"
Ross raised his hand to cut her off.
"Save it for the jury. I'm sure they'll be very amused," Ross said. "Detectives? A word?"
He wiggled his finger, signalling Wheeler and Logan to join him outside.
Ross quietly shut the door. Leslie's voice could be heard screaming until it clicked shut.
"I'M THE WHISTLEBLOWER DAMMIT!"
It was immediately evident to Logan and Wheeler that something was very wrong. Danny Ross wore that strain on his face.
"What now?" Logan asked.
Upstairs, Robert Goren sat perfectly still. It took a conscious effort not to tap his leg or twirl the pen between his fingers. His entire body screamed for release, like an itch that couldn't be scratched.
He'd been waiting outside of Chief Moran's office for almost an hour. Goren could just picture Moran sitting behind his desk, savouring each minute of making Goren wait there, hoping Goren would do what Goren did best and blow.
BOOM.
One big mad firecracker right there in front of all the brass at the top of 1PP.
Then he would fizzle out and fade away. Then Moran could finally sweep away the ashes of Goren from the NYPD once and for all.
He noticed her shadow on the floor before he heard her. Hell, he sensed the dark raincloud of her presence the moment she stepped off the lift.
With great reluctance, Bobby turned to meet her gaze.
Eames looked exhausted.
She wore trousers and a matching blazer. A buttoned-up shirt. Low heels. It was not unlike the ensemble she pulled out whenever she had to make a court appearance.
Otherwise, Alex preferred jeans and comfortable, functionable tops. The formality of the 90s had given way to a more relaxed dress code. And Alex wasn't a thirty-something fresh Detective from Vice anymore.
She didn't have anything left to prove.
She wasn't interested in moving up the NYPD ladder.
She'd more than earned her right to wear jeans and a casual jacket into 1PP.
But these clothes were not her own.
Bobby knew that much. The trousers were just a hair too long. The jacket was a little too tight in the arms. Bobby surmised these clothes must have come from her sister's closet.
Because she hasn't been home. He realised.
"I don't—" Bobby began softly.
"Don't say anything," Eames said.
Her voice was not one of anger. Her tone was smooth, velvety. Like a mother assuring her child the spilled milk was nothing to fret over.
"I want to—"
"If you want to do anything, follow my lead," Alex pleaded.
She was going down. Alex was more certain of it than ever. There was no chance she would survive their latest scrap.
Robert Goren's career could be salvaged (maybe).
He was a brilliant Detective. A mind like Goren only came by once in a generation. Alex Eames thought of herself as nothing special. A dime a dozen dynasty cop with enough baggage to fill the F train.
Even if Bobby left the NYPD, he could still have a brilliant career as a consultant or teacher. He could work for the FBI or counterterrorism. He could teach. He could…
He could do anything.
Alex would be lucky to tend bar again (if she wasn't upstate stamping licence plates).
Why shouldn't she throw herself on the grenade?
An older woman poked her head out of the door.
"The Chief will see you now," she announced.
Alex gestured to the door.
"After you."
"Detective Goren was acting on my orders," Eames said in a calm, steady voice.
Her hands were folded atop the table. Physically, she was the smallest person in the room. But in terms of composure and steel, she may as well have been behind the Chief's desk.
It hadn't quite hit Moran yet—what Eames was doing.
"Detective, Miss Le Zard—"
"Laprade," Eames said, correcting him.
Moran bristled.
"Laprade," he begrudgingly agreed.
Moran outlined the claims.
Goren had threatened to expose Leslie's status as a whistleblower, he abused his position as an officer of the law. She claimed he was going to use his power to end all protection in order to coerce her into a sexual relationship.
And she had proof.
"Or so she claims," Moran added with a heavy sigh.
It was all still being processed. It would take weeks to sort through everything.
But at least the Chief did believe Laprade or Le Zard or whatever she was calling herself was a danger.
For now.
Moran locked his sights on Goren.
"Tell me right here and now, Detective, are we going to find evidence to corroborate this?" Moran barked.
Bobby opened his mouth. Eames beat him to the punch.
"I ordered Detective Goren to get close to Miss Laprade. To use any means necessary."
Moran didn't buy it.
"You're telling me that you ordered your partner to—"
"Any means necessary," Eames echoed, pausing to stress each word.
Moran's eyes darted from one Detective to the other. Eames kept her expression neutral and her eyes forward. Goren dropped his gaze to his lap.
"Look, Chief. I was in Vice a long time. You know things there aren't always run by the book," Eames said. "And children were dying. This case was a public health crisis."
Moran couldn't argue with that.
"Detective Goren protested. You know he can be—"
Alex stopped herself. Her face soured.
"Well, you know that my partner is famous for his… cooperation," Eames concluded.
Gods, she sounded so sincere!
Alex was lying so well, with just enough of the truth that she might just pull off her miraculously concocted story right under the Chief's nose.
A sneaky voice in the back of Bobby's mind forced him to consider that Eames really meant every word.
Without warning, Alex shrank.
"I… I was under a lot of pressure to close this case. I couldn't… I just wanted to save my job," Alex squeaked in the most unlike-Eames voice Goren had ever heard.
She was small and soft and so utterly feminine in a way that Bobby had never seen before.
Vulnerable.
Mistakes led to mistakes.
"And I thought that if I could just solve this, catch whoever was responsible that I could make up for what I did with Manny Beltran," Alex said.
She sent up a silent prayer.
Joe, forgive me.
"For what I did to my husband."
Her voice was barely above a whisper. Alex bit her lip and shook her head in dismay.
"It's my fault that the case blew apart. And it's my fault that Detective Goren was put into that position with Miss Le Zard. He didn't coerce her. I can confirm that she was… well, she went along with it. She didn't know we were playing her," Alex lied.
Even Moran had enough humanity left in him not to berate a widow.
Alexandra, defender of mankind.
Flushing Meadows | Queens
Bobby knew that her sister lived in Flushing Meadows.
He knew that Alex hadn't been home since the start of her media ordeal.
Bobby also understood Alex well enough to know she would need a run to clear her mind, that she would wait until after dark to minimise the risk of being recognised.
That she would swallow all her fears of abduction and years of conditioning any woman had about the risks that awaited women alone at night all to choose the most secluded path.
And so, he waited like a great stone gargoyle in the shadows.
It was well past nine before she ran past.
Nathan had a meltdown in the bath and then insisted on reading his favourite book several times. A glass of water had been in order. Then another one. Then a trip to the loo.
Then he refused to settle.
Alex had stayed for all of it solely to help coax Nathan to sleep.
When Nathan was finally slumbering in under his Spiderman bedsheets, Alex watched as her sister and brother-in-law snuggled down on the sofa for a bit of television before bed.
It was quiet. Domestic.
It was a bitter reminder of the life she might have had with Joe.
It was suffocating.
Alex spied the lone, surly figure on the bench upon her approach. Even from a distance, she could recognise her partner's slouched form.
Alex also knew that Goren would have heard her. She couldn't slow her pace or turn back. She wanted to slow her pace, to turn back and run the other way.
Bobby would only worry.
They had not spoken since their meeting with the Chief of D's. Nothing was resolved. Moran wanted to wait for the evidence. Goren had neither denied nor confessed to any sexual relationship with Miss Le Zard.
Alex had been bumped from voluntary leave to full-blown administrative leave.
Without pay.
Alex slowed to a stop in front of the lone bench under the light in the park. Her chest heaved. It was still cool enough at night that her breath was visible.
Bobby got up from the bench and stepped close. Without an ounce of hesitation or a single thought for the public setting, he captured her lips.
Bobby cupped the back of his head. There he was gentle. The rest of him, his lips, the whole of his twenty-stone mass crushed against her.
Alex did not immediately push him away—nor did she return the kiss.
When they broke apart, her brow furrowed.
"What?" she asked softly as if she hadn't heard a question.
Bobby traced his thumb over the bow of her lips.
"Can we talk? Please?"
Little Bay Park | Queens
They sat in silence in Bobby's Mustang.
Alex took a swig of beer as she stared out over City Island Harbour. They were parked at the far northern tip of Queens in a dark, secluded spot that overlooked the harbour and City Island in the distance.
Alex didn't have it in her to tell Bobby they were sharing the same view as her late husband's final resting place.
So, she sipped her beer and pecked at the tacos they'd picked up from a street vendor outside the off-licence back a few blocks. It was a perfectly delightful way to ruin a good run.
Bobby sat in the driver's seat. His arm was propped up against the window, his chin rested on his fist there as he watched his partner stare out over the water.
It was a fitting scene.
Goren utterly fixated on Alex, Alex still staring off in the distance toward a man that was long dead.
Toward Joe.
The setting was fitting too. They were alone. It was late, well after the hours when respectable couples came to view the scenery.
Trash flowed over out of a receptacle near the edge of the lot. The streetlamp was broken. Trash littered the pavement. Rats scurried out of the drains in search of a feast from the bin.
No, this was no lover's sunset at a beautiful point.
This was shadow and sin and secret—the very hallmarks of their relationship.
"Why did you do it?" Bobby asked.
"Do what?" Alex asked in response.
She had done a number of things in the last few days—all of them worth questioning and none that she was prepared to answer for.
"You know what," Goren said.
Alex whipped around and glared.
"No, Bobby. I don't know what," she snapped. "I broke protocol. I threw away my career. Became a media spectacle. Lied to the Chief of D's. Gambled on the only shot of bringing justice for Joe—"
"Beltran's arrest wasn't your fault," Bobby said.
"I'm not talking about the arrest. That was a cock-up. But I mean going to Carver and—"
Alex stopped herself.
"And what?" Bobby pressed.
His previous question was forgotten in light of this new information. Or rather, in light of this new mystery.
"Forget I said it," Alex said.
"I remember every word you've ever said," Bobby replied.
He reached across the seat for her hand. Eames pulled her arm close.
"Then you should remember what I told you," she said, hurt.
Bobby remembered. He recalled those words with perfect clarity. They haunted him.
I can't trust you with my heart, Bobby. You don't take care of it.
"I could change. I want to change," he insisted.
"You wouldn't be happy."
Eames flashed Bobby a small smile.
He reached for her face, tracing his fingers along the line of her jaw. Alex was torn between the desire to melt into his touch or smack away his hand.
"I love you," Bobby whispered.
"I love you too. It changes nothing," Alex said firmly.
Bobby sat back in his seat and took a tense breath. He could afford to let his temper flare, even if he did feel the kindling spark.
"So, what then? We go on loving each other? Torturing ourselves day in and day out? Never acting on our feelings? Never able to move forward?" Goren mused.
"Do whatever you like," Alex said.
Once again, she was calm. Resigned. Oh, how Bobby wished there had been malice in that reply, a trace of sarcasm or one of Eames's biting remarks.
"Come stay with me," he offered. "This was my fault. I can drive you to work and you can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the sofa."
Eames snorted.
"Mmm. I'm sure it will be so nice and cosy. Heaven in two and half rooms with you, me, and Frank."
Shit.
Bobby still hadn't found a place that could take Frank. He'd been so wrapped up in the case that he hadn't done much searching.
"I'll put you up in a hotel. It's the least I could do given that—"
"I'm perfectly fine at my sister's," Eames interjected.
They both knew Goren didn't have the money. He was grasping at straws to apologise, to try and do something. Because Robert Goren was so itchy with guilt that he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
Alex could hear the bees in his mind swarming to break free.
She reached for his hand. It was enough to ground Bobby, to bring him back to the world.
"I was an arse," Bobby acknowledged.
"Yeah."
"I hurt you. I—"
He had to make it up to her.
"You want to do something, Bobby? Take care of yourself. Please," Alex urged.
Eames squeezed his hand. Then her touch was gone once more.
Bobby sat for a minute as he reflected on her words. Alex was right. She always was.
He needed to get it together, for his career, for his health. He needed therapy. And hobbies that didn't involve case files or serial killer fathers.
Bobby had to get Frank into a programme somewhere so that they could both start to rebuild their lives.
It was nearly midnight.
He really ought to put down the beer and get Eames back to her sister's place. That was the responsible thing to do.
Bobby reached for another beer and used the opener on his keys to crack the bottle.
He should have sipped that beer. It was late and Bobby had already downed three bottles.
Instead, he tipped his head back and downed that beer.
He snatched Alex's beer right from her hand.
"What are you—"
Alex scowled as Bobby dumped it out the window and then tucked the bottle behind the seat.
Eames recognised the look in his eyes.
Bobby leaned in for a kiss.
Alex bailed. She rushed out of the car like a bat out of hell. Bobby scrambled out of the driver's seat and chased after her.
"Eames? Eames wait!"
"I should get going," she called back.
But she wasn't running. She was walking. She was giving Bobby a chance to chase if he wanted to follow.
He caught her not far down the pavement. In a flash, Alex shoved Bobby up against the wall of a stand that sold ice lollies. It was closed for the season. Its chipped paint and faded trim seemed like the perfect metaphor for their own twisted relationship.
Sure, it looked like a mess—but what it served was oh, so sweet!
"I told you I can't," Alex snarled. "Why can't you listen? Why can't you just move on?"
A slow grin spread across Bobby's face.
"Because I wouldn't be happy," he replied, throwing Alex's own words from earlier back at her.
She wanted to slap that sheepish smile from his face. She wanted to kiss that smart mouth, bite down is stupid pouty lips. She wanted to hear him groan, to turn to putty, to sound so meek and wrecked the way he did whenever Alex had her way.
To hear her name fall from his lips.
Without warning, Bobby turned the tables. Alex found herself pressed between the wall, Bobby's body, and the hard desire pressed against her thigh.
Alex turned her head away from his kiss. She closed her eyes and sighed, resigned.
Bobby froze.
"Why did you stop?" Alex demanded.
She always drove—even when quite literally offering herself up for him.
Bobby should have stopped. He should have offered to drive her back to her sister's place. He should have paused and been open about his relationship with Leslie.
But Robert Goren always made the wrong choice.
He couldn't help himself.
Frank had heroin. His father had gambling and women.
Bobby had a ticker tape worth of poor life choices. Enough to fill Times Square.
Alex shivered as Bobby stripped away her leggings. Bobby dropped to his knees. Alex whimpered as he dove between her thighs.
She squeezed her eyes shut and reached for a fistful of his hair, twisting it in her hands. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. Not now. She refused to acknowledge the building sensation of pleasure in her core courtesy of Robert Goren's stupid, cheeky fucking tongue.
All too soon, she shook apart on the tip of that tongue. Alex still couldn't see Bobby—but she could feel him smile against her.
Bobby rose to his feet. Alex whimpered as he slipped inside. Moisture pricked at the corner of Alex's eyes, and she didn't know if it was from the sudden stretch or the emotional reaction to the familiar fullness.
Alex knew that she should have stopped Bobby then and there. All at once, she felt eighteen again, slamming a shot of cheap vodka, savouring the burn, knowing she was in for a bad morning… and loving the thrill of it all the same.
Bobby buried his head against her shoulder. The heady scent of her own sweat and sex flood Alex's senses.
It was so familiar, so welcome that all of Alex's thoughts and concerns about Leslie Le Zard floated away.
"I don't care if you think about him."
Bobby's breath was warm against Alex's ear. She could taste the beer on his breath, feel the heat of his body.
"I thought about you. Every time," he growled.
He had.
And now, for the first time in weeks, Bobby was finally back with the woman he couldn't get out of his head.
Eames was there. In his arms.
And she felt like home.
Alex clutched his shoulders. She clung to Bobby as he drove into her. Bobby inhaled deeply, relishing the soft scent of lavender and soap that he was accustomed to.
Alex didn't just feel like home, she smelled like it. The sounds. The soft hair that brushed her shoulders. The grip of her arms.
It all felt right.
A guttural groan escaped from Bobby's throat. He paused and collapsed against the wall, crushing Eames with his weight.
Bobby buried face in her hair. He wanted to savour the moment. To slow down. He was close. He didn't want this connection to be some frenzied mistake. Bobby wanted to make slow, sweet love.
Alex squeezed his arms.
"Bobby," she managed to choke out.
She tapped his arm.
"Bobby, stop."
Bobby realised that her breathing was restricted. He pulled away to give her some room. Then he moved in for a softer approach. Alex dodged his kiss.
"Don't. I can't."
Her words were biting. Bobby immediately stopped. He gently set Alex back down on the ground. She stumbled forward on shaky legs.
"Whoa, easy," Bobby said, catching her.
Alex brushed off his arm.
"I'm fine."
She felt anything but.
Alex was confused. And frightened. Ashamed.
She still couldn't bring herself to look Goren in the eye. He was right—and they both knew it.
Yes. Alex had thought of Joe.
With Bobby's lips on her flesh and the length of him buried snug inside of her, she thought of Joe.
With each thrust, each blissful pump of that size thirteen energy hitting the spot that made her swoon, she thought of Joe.
Every grunt. Every growl. Every playful nip.
Joe.
What Bobby didn't know was that Alex wasn't dreaming of Joe or imagining the feel of his hands. She imagined Joe watching over her, disappointed in the choices she had made, disgusted that his wife had thrown propriety and values—and their vows—out the window.
And for what?
To be railed in the dark against a tattered ice lolly stand in a public park? After midnight? On a fucking Tuesday?
Alex did not feel desirable or healed. She didn't feel wholesome. There was no sense of reconnection.
She felt dirty.
It was hardly the first time.
Alex could sympathise with her father and Frank. She knew exactly what addiction felt like. How fleeting that high was in the moment of ecstasy and how hard the drop was that followed, that low point when she felt grimy and disgusted with herself after the 'hit.'
It was a good thing she'd kept her back to City Island. Turning away from the water was symbolic.
She couldn't look at Joe, not while she had shamelessly debased herself with a man that would never love her the way she longed to be held.
"Talk to me," Bobby whispered.
Alex's posture was stiff. Her hands trembled as she scrambled to pull on her leggings and rearrange her running jacket.
"I have to go," Alex said quickly.
She paused, but did not turn around.
"Bobby?"
His heart skipped a beat.
"This changes nothing," Alex said.
Friday
The hits kept on rolling.
Danny Ross was down a team. And not just any team—two of his best Detectives.
The entire department was under scrutiny following a series of controversial cases. Major Case was already on the Chief of D's shitlist following a horrible incident with one of Logan's old compatriots.
The quasi-Cold War spy games case had led to a major FBI/NYPD beef—and it didn't end there. No, no. They had to drag in the Israeli Embassy, Mossad, Homeland Security, Russians, Syrians, and an untold number of possible suspects.
The whole thing read like a dime store pulp novel.
Then came Kevin Quinn.
And Manny Beltran.
And Leslie Le Zard.
To top things off, Ross had been ordered to halt any further investigation into Beltran's case. It was all pre-trail prep work. Now Logan and Wheeler had been ordered to stand down.
ADA Ron Carver had assured Captain Ross that they were not dropping the case.
Nevertheless, it didn't bode well.
Carver had not disclosed a reason. Ross was given strict orders to have no further contact with Detective Eames until the internal review process was complete.
That process could take months.
Now, the NYPD had pulled the SnoMint case away. It was being transferred to a State Police Taskforce. That meant even the Medical Examiner's office had to turn over all their evidence. The state lab would finish processing it and report back to the NYPD.
Ross should have been relieved. They had done good work. They had shut down the counterfeit product and nabbed a prolific criminal.
Instead, he felt wretched.
But there was a glimmer of hope.
Elizabeth Rogers strolled into the squad room. Danny Ross hadn't been looking for romance when he met the prickly ME. Her wit was as sharp as her tongue. And she had positively captivated the Captain.
Rogers was the first breath of fresh air Danny Ross had found since his divorce.
Only she didn't approach his office. She stopped at Logan's desk.
"Detective? Can I speak with you? In private?" Ross asked softly.
Logan had known Ross for years, ever since time in the 27th Precinct. He respected Rogers. A lot.
Enough to recognise the look on her face.
Enough to know he was in trouble.
"After you," Logan said, gesturing to the conference room.
Logan shut the door. Rogers looked nervous. Hell, she looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else.
"What's wrong?" Logan prompted.
"Mike, I'm only going to ask you this once. Did you take a box of evidence?" Rogers asked.
"Missing?" Ross baulked.
A dark look passed between Wheeler and Ross. The last thing Major Case needed was two more Detectives under suspicion.
"Captain—" Wheeler began.
Ross stared at Logan. Hard.
"I didn't!" Logan insisted.
His comment hung in the air. No one was sure what to say or think.
"Captain, I did not take a box of evidence. Why would I even register it in the chain of evidence if I was intent on making it disappear?" Logan pointed out.
It was logged into evidence. It was Logan's case notes. Hell, he'd even typed it up in his report.
Ross stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded slowly.
"No, you're right. That doesn't add up. But boxes of evidence don't just disappear," Ross said.
What a box it was.
All of the evidence that implicated Goren in a sexual relationship with Leslie Le Zard, every shred proof, every bedsheet had vanished without a trace.
It was as if the box had got up and walked right out of the ME's office.
Logan was the first to voice what they were all thinking.
"Maybe Goren's got a guardian angel? Maybe someone in the NYPD doesn't want this to leak out?" he theorised.
Wheeler's brow furrowed.
"With all due respect, I think Detective Goren is the last person the NYPD would risk a coverup for. He's persona non grata," she remarked.
"I'm with Wheeler on this," Ross said. "We know Le Zard had hooks at a lot of different Federal offices. Maybe that extends to the NYPD?"
It was a chilling thought.
Ross thanked Rogers for bringing it to his attention and ordered Logan and Wheeler back to work.
"You're going to take this upstairs?" Rogers asked.
She wanted to confirm if she needed to follow up or send a report.
"Hold off," Ross instructed. "I want to have SID look into this first."
They didn't have direct access to the evidentiary chain of command—but they did have access to the electronic reports.
Three Days Later
Eames got the call shortly before 4:00p.
Judge Vinello was ready to accept the terms of the deal. A court date was set—two weeks from today.
"You will be expected to testify," Carver said.
"I understand."
"And—"
Carver paused.
"I'm afraid that given all the press coverage and heavy public interest, Judge Vinello is concerned that closing off the court will do little to quell the public concern. He wants to create an aura of transparency," Carver cautioned.
"I understand," Alex repeated.
"Detective, if you would like to meet and walk through your statement or—"
"No. Thank you, Mr Carver."
Alex hung up the phone. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Across the room, Nathan looked up from his building blocks and grinned. Alex smiled back.
Yes. She had made the right choice.
Alex Eames always made the right choice.
She always did her duty—even when it stung.
"Should we go for a walk?" Alex suggested.
Nathan leapt up from the floor. He jumped onto the chair and then bounded around the room, running in circles as he shouted about the park.
"Go get your shoes on," Alex encouraged.
Just then, her mobile lit up with an incoming call from Captain Ross. Alex flipped open the phone.
"Eames."
Tuesday | Bedford Hills Maximum Security Women's Prison
The mysterious evidence box, the one that had been labelled RG, the one that Leslie claimed was infallible proof of Detective Goren's coercion, the one that had conveniently walked out of evidence was just the leverage her attorney needed.
Le Zard wasn't going to be released.
But she had enough leverage to make demands.
Leslie had made a number of demands since her arrest.
And now those demands had changed.
Oh, the sweet irony that Eames would be given special permission to visit Le Zard for an interview!
At Leslie's request, no less.
Even if the review board came back and sacked her, Eames would think it was all worth it just to know Le Zard was behind bars.
Alex arrived at Bedford Hills early. Goren was already there.
It was the first time they had seen one another since that night in the park.
"Morning," Alex said in a stiff voice.
Bobby's mouth went dry. Words failed him. He finally had a chance to see Eames in a place where she couldn't run away and the only thing he could think to do was nod in response.
Smooth, Goren. Real smooth. Bobby chastised himself.
They checked their weapons in. Then a beefy CO escorted them down to a private room where they found Miss Le Zard's attorney waiting just outside.
She looked surprised.
"Oh, you didn't get my message?" she asked.
Eames shook her head.
The attorney turned to Detective Goren.
"She doesn't want to speak with you, Detective. Just Detective Eames."
Bobby's heart rate shot up. His weight shifted from foot to foot. He ran a shaky hand back through his greying hair.
She's a manipulator. It's what she does. He reminded himself.
Leslie had probably planned this little stunt solely to get under his skin, to force Bobby to wait outside while she got in one last word with Eames.
And he was left to wonder.
"Eames—"
"I know," Alex assured him.
She's a manipulator. It's what she does.
The private room was nothing like the interrogation rooms at 1PP. There was no two-way mirror. There was only a tiny window slit, no bigger than a few inches.
He couldn't hear a word of what was said.
It was for the best.
He didn't want to think about the vile poison that Leslie was about to feed his partner.
Eames was no fool. She knew Le Zard was a manipulator. But Eames was vulnerable. Their partnership was fractured. It wouldn't take much to chip away at the final bits of whatever foundation remained.
Bobby closed his eyes and rested his head against the cool metal of the door.
This was his punishment.
Inside, Eames sat across from Leslie and the attorney. Leslie had requested to speak with Alex alone. Eames had refused (and thankfully Le Zard's lawyer agreed).
"So, a Detective can coerce a witness, threaten a whistleblower, and the NYPD just covers it up," Leslie said.
She cocked her head to the side as she studied Alex's expression.
"How does your buddy boy system stack up now? Is it different when your partner's the one benefiting? Was it easy for you swallow your sense of integrity, your feminist ideals to save that fat fuck? Or do you feel guilty?" Leslie pressed.
Alex kept her posture neutral.
"He was just playing you," Eames said.
Leslie chuckled.
"Is that what you tell yourself?" Leslie clapped slowly. "A helluva performance, Detective Eames. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought your feelings for him were genuine."
Alex didn't blink.
"We knew what you were. We were playing you," Alex said.
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" Leslie asked.
Her question hung in the air.
"Well, if you have no information to offer, I think we're done here," Eames said.
She rose and turned for the door.
"Detective?"
Eames paused.
Leslie waited patiently until Alex turned to meet her eye, relishing in the power of that moment.
"What?" Eames prompted.
"I love to play Vatican roulette with lapsed altar boys. It's my favourite game," Leslie said.
There was a brief flash of fear in Alex's eyes. Eames quickly recovered, but it was long enough for Leslie to notice.
She grinned like a predator.
"Sleep tight, Detective," Leslie added.
Alex did not utter a word as they turned in their visitor passes and retrieved their service weapons from the locker.
"Well?"
Alex shrugged.
"Nothing."
Fuck. Bobby thought.
It must have been worse than he imagined.
"Are you alright?" he inquired.
"I'm fine," Alex said, feigning confidence.
Bobby saw right through that façade.
"What did she say?" he pressed. "She… she gave you a message. Didn't she? Something for me? She wants you to—"
Alex paused and looked up at her partner. Her brow furrowed.
This was the man that had her back, the man she trusted. Bobby was her partner. Their relationship transcended societal norms and social customs. It was deeper than friendship, more complicated than marriage.
Alex simply turned and walked away.
Bobby followed after her—right out into the parking lot.
"I took the train. Maybe we could ride back together and talk about it?" Bobby suggested.
It wasn't the car ride he'd hoped for.
Bobby's attempts to make conversation were met with single word answers. There was something unholy that radiated off Eames. It was not anger.
It was grief.
Betrayal.
"C'mon. I know it was stupid. I know that I hurt you. I… I know that… Eames just talk to me," Bobby pleaded.
She remained silent.
Bobby felt a flash of anger. He shifted in the passenger seat, contorting his body as he tried to work off some of the tension.
"Alright. You want to punish me. I deserve it," he acknowledged.
"This isn't about punishing you," Alex said softly.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. It was a relief when Eames finally pulled her car up in front of Bobby's building.
"Thank you," he said, unbuckling his safety belt.
"Bobby, wait."
Alex threw the car in 'park' and dropped her gaze to her lap.
"I think I could have eventually gotten past you sleeping with a suspect. I could have gotten over that. It wouldn't change anything… but I could have, well, I could have lived with it," Eames began.
She wasn't going to take Bobby back. That ship had sailed.
But if by some miracle Eames was allowed to return, she thought they could eventually find a way to recapture their professional partnership.
That ship hadn't sailed—it was sunk.
"I want you to answer me honestly," Eames said.
She turned to her partner. Bobby's breath hitched at the sight of her expression.
"Did it even cross your mind to tell me that you didn't use a condom? Or was that an afterthought?"
Bobby's body language spoke volumes.
He didn't deny it. He couldn't.
Of course, Eames knew about the sex. But she never thought Bobby Goren would be so reckless with a stranger.
Alex laughed in disbelief.
"Right." She nodded slowly, blinking back tears.
Eames's phone buzzed with an incoming call. She let it go to voicemail.
"Let's go upstairs and talk about this," Bobby offered.
"Get out," Alex ordered.
"Eames—"
"Get out," she repeated.
Bobby took a shaky breath. He scratched at the back of his neck.
"Alex," he implored her.
She did not have time to stop and talk, not now that she had to squeeze in an appointment.
Eames's phone buzzed again. It vibrated in the centre console. The screen lit up with an incoming call from Captain Ross.
Alex angrily hit the button to send the call to voicemail.
How the hell am I going to explain this to the doctor? Alex thought.
It was humiliating.
She didn't want to imagine what her doctor might think. They would probably chalk it up as reckless behaviour. Cracked under pressure.
Self-destructive.
Alex reasoned it wasn't all that far off from the truth.
She wanted to tell Bobby that she thought about Joe. She wanted to tell him that she thought about Joe every time they had sex.
Eames wanted to hurt Bobby.
Bobby braced himself for it. He could see her mulling it over. Alex closed her eyes as if to push away a bad thought.
"I have to go," she said, backing away from that imaginary ledge.
Because Joe Dutton wasn't a prop. And Alex refused to use his good name to hurt anyone.
Alex felt like she was alone on the water, drowning in a sea of unwelcome emotion and incessant pressure.
The case. The NYPD.
Her damn phone.
"Good God!" Alex growled as her phone went off again.
She whipped it open.
"Eames."
Suddenly, Eames's hand shot out and caught Goren's arm. Bobby turned to his partner. She kept her attention fixated on the road ahead. Alex blanched.
"I don't understand. They're just… they're just dropping it?" Eames snarled.
Bobby's heart jumped to his throat.
Beltran.
"How can they just—"
On the other end of the phone, Captain Ross could hear the confusion and (justifiable) fear in Eames's voice.
Goren waited, holding his breath as Eames remained stoic on the phone. Her posture and tone gave little information. She said nothing beyond and occasional 'uh huh' or 'oh.'
Bobby wanted to rip the phone from her hand and scream at whoever was on the other line. He was ready to walk down and forcibly march ADA Carver to a courtroom if that's what it took to get the case back on.
"I just thought you should be the first to know," Ross concluded.
"Thank you," Alex replied.
Her voice was soft and small as she hung up the phone. Bobby braced himself for the inevitable news that he'd dreaded all week.
"They're dropping the charges against Beltran," he uttered.
"No."
Alex closed her eyes and took a slow breath before she turned to her partner, concerned etched on her features.
"The DA's office is dropping the SnoMint case there's been—"
Bobby brought his fist down on the dash. He immediately regretted his explosive act. Alex was worried. Bobby realised that in spite of everything, Alex was still concerned for his safety.
What about Eames? Bobby thought.
She certainly wouldn't be safe with Le Zard on the loose.
Bobby's mouth went dry. He clutched his trousers to keep his hands from trembling. Bobby himself was ready to shake apart as he fumbled to find the right words.
"I… erm… look—"
"Leslie Le Zard is dead."
Bobby blinked in disbelief. Then he frowned and shook his head.
"No. No, no, no. This is… this is… she wasn't suicidal. That's not in her psychopathy. She was—"
He trailed off and rolled his shoulders. Bobby wasn't sure if he was more upset that she would never stand trial or over the fact he'd failed to see it coming.
"Bobby. Bobby."
"What the hell happened?" he demanded angrily.
Eames dropped her gaze to her lap. She fumbled with her phone, absentmindedly pulling it open and snapping it shut.
"Erm… Jacqualine Borden—"
"Toby and Lissa's mother," Bobby finished for her.
Eames nodded.
"Yeah. Erm… she was transferred out of the Bedford Women's Psych ward and into gen pop," Eames explained.
It hadn't even crossed Goren's mind that they'd sent Leslie to the same prison as Miss Borden.
"She was torn apart by grief. I mean… l-losing two children and… and the way they dismissed her at the hospital."
Bobby trailed off. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips.
"Leslie took everything from her. It only makes sense she would go after their killer," Bobby concluded.
"It wasn't Jacqualine Borden. She's in gen pop, but she was in her cell when it happened."
Alex paused. She was torn between her feelings on the subject—not because she wanted Le Zard dead, but because the public would never get a proper trial.
"I guess word spread pretty quickly," Eames said.
They both knew the stats. Almost six in ten women in prison were mothers. And child murders were one of the lowest ranking classes in the complex prison social structure that dictated all aspects of incarcerated life.
"What happened?" Bobby asked.
Eames didn't answer.
"Eames," he urged.
There had been an incident in the laundry room involving numerous inmates.
"By the time the staff realised that it was a distraction, they couldn't get access to the canteen. A lifer, some enforcer with the Russian mob, confessed to the killing," Alex continued.
The story was a convenient cover. It was obvious that dozens of inmates had been involved—delaying and distracting the correctional officers, blocking entrances, and in Le Zard's horrifying end.
"Anyway, Ross said they aren't keen to waste a lot of resources on an investigation against Le Zard's killers so… well, you know they can't take a dead woman to trial," Eames said.
Or the pieces of her that were left.
It was a gruesome thought. According to Captain Ross, that's about all they'd found after the mothers at Bedford Women's Correctional Facility finished with Leslie Le Zard.
"You were right about her. She… she was like Nichole," Bobby said.
He looked sad—and that was enough to set Eames off.
"Don't tell me you feel sorry for her."
Goren shrugged.
"She could have gone either way. She was a bright, beautiful young woman once. If she'd had a supportive mother or a… a better—"
He grumbled.
"C'mon, Eames. Rural West Virginia. Living in poverty. It's not like she had a lot options," Bobby continued. "She just wanted to be successful. Admired. Loved. Recognised for—"
"Don't."
Alex's voice was low and dangerous.
"I'm not defending what she did. I just… I understand it. The desire to feel valued, it's only human. It's… it's tragic," Bobby argued.
Eames scoffed.
"I'm glad you found room in your heart to be so considerate to yet another psychopath."
What do they have that I don't, huh?
A part of Alex burned to ask that question. Another part of her was afraid of the answer.
She wasn't nearly as intriguing as the likes of Nichole Wallace. She couldn't offer the same obsessive devotion as Nelda Carlson or compete with Leslie Le Zard's fabulous lifestyle.
"Plenty of people grow up without, Bobby. The world is full of shitty fathers and bad mothers just waiting to exploit their children. And plenty of those children don't grow up to be murderers," Alex hissed. "There's a lot of a little girls out there with tragic backstories that grew up in shitty little neighbourhoods in shitty little houses with alcoholic fathers and—"
Alex stopped herself.
"Get out," she barked.
Bobby stood on the edge of the pavement and watched as she drove away.
Alex realised that she truly was alone at sea. She had cut her lines, pushed off from her mooring, and was now drifting away from her partnership and the life they had built.
And it was terrifying.
But it wasn't all bad.
Because sometimes the universe delivered poetic justice. The sea was as beautiful as she was cruel. Salty. Unforgiving. She brought both devastation and opportunity.
There was no telling what laid in wait beneath the surface, below the next layer, or deep in the cavernous darkness.
That was the thing about the ocean—there was always a bigger predator lurking out there.
And sometimes even sharks fell prey to a pod of mother orcas.