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A New Choice Thanks for beta-reading, cheerleading - and great patience! - from Wormie. She makes my work better, and I thank her greatly for it. Go check out her site, especially Wohl's Travels. :) Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?
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Prologue: "I ain't got it for you, man," the shaky guy said, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his thin jean jacket. "Business has been slow. No one's buyin' right now." "I don't care if you have to peddle your own ass, you owe me, you stupid junkie." The other man took a step closer and pulled out a pistol. "You got that?" "Got it, got it," the man said quickly. "But I still don't have your money." "That's too bad." The gun aimed at his chest and a second later, a loud retort echoed off the walls of the alley. ***** Sara pulled her leather jacket tight around her neck and trudged through the half-frozen mud toward the last grave. She'd been coming to the cemetery for years to visit her father's grave, but the last few months had added two new stops: Maria Buzanis' small headstone and, just a couple weeks ago, Tommy Burgess' still-unmarked plot. She'd gone to his funeral with most of the rest of the department, but she'd stood in the back, not comfortable being there for the funeral of a man she hadn't been able to stand while he was alive, but unable to stop thinking about now that he was dead. She'd fled as soon as the service ended, feeling inexplicably guilty. She stopped at a mound of frozen, bare dirt. Even Maria's grave had managed to get a little grass on it before winter had set in, but Burgess's grave was going to be like this until spring when the grass would cover it and a headstone would mark it. For some reason, that made her angry. She wanted it like this - she wanted the starkness of it a reminder to her, to Captain Dante, to Jerry Orlinsky, that there was something there to uncover, something under the surface. "Sucks, huh?" a man's voice came from behind her. Sara glanced over her shoulder, annoyed to be interrupted. Her annoyance turned to shock when she saw Tommy Burgess standing there. He took a step closer to her and indicated the grave. "They couldn't even get a priest to do the service because they said it was a suicide." He frowned. "Glad my mom wasn't alive to see that. It would've broken her heart." Sara opened her mouth soundlessly a few times before she managed to get any words out. "You're dead." "I always said you were a good detective." Burgess grinned at her, then his face grew serious again. "But yeah, I am." "So I'm hallucinating." Sara closed her eyes and willed Burgess' ghost away. When she opened her eyes again, he was still there. "Great. Psych ward, here I come." "You're not hallucinating. I'm dead, but ... I'm here." "Then I am never coming to the cemetery again," Sara said firmly, and turned on her heel. She half-ran back to her motorcycle, not looking back once. Only when she was riding away did she glance in her side mirror. The shape standing alone by the new grave was just a tree or a shadow, she told herself. Not Tommy Burgess. ***** She ended up in Vicky Po's basement lab, watching her medical examiner friend sew up a Y-incision in a corpse. Sara was surprised to find that bothered her a lot less than what she had - or hadn't - seen in the cemetery. She'd told Vicky about what had happened, but Vicky had just said "hm" in that annoying way of hers and gone back to sewing. "So am I going nuts or what?" Sara demanded. "You're a doctor. You should know." "My patients tend to have gotten over whatever mental problems they may have had before I see them," Vicky said, not looking up. "But I doubt you're going nuts." She tied off her sewing and looked up. "It's not like you've ever dealt well with death." "But seeing things?" She threw her hands up in the air and let them drop heavily onto her thighs. "I never see things-" She cut herself off as she saw the bracelet on her wrist. The Witchblade. OK, so maybe she saw visions sometimes, but not of dead guys talking to her like they were still alive. "Why don't you go see the department psychiatrist? She's good," Vicky suggested, stripping off her gloves and tossing them in a biohazard bin. "No way. Jake's dating her." Vicky frowned a little, then shrugged. "I've got a friend from medical school I could set you up with." At Sara's look, she clarified. "Set you up with an appointment. She's a shrink. Though maybe a date wouldn't hurt." Sara raised her eyebrows at the other woman. "I mean it," Vicky said. "You need to loosen up, relax." "And a date would do that?" Sara asked. "First dates are one of the most nerve-wracking experiences known to humankind." "Well, maybe not so much a date then as ..." Vicky hesitated. "Getting laid." "That's your diagnosis? I need to get a little?" Vicky shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt." She grinned. "What about that tall, dark, and handsome I saw you with down here a few weeks ago?" "Him? No way." Sara stood up. "Well, you've been so helpful. Thanks." "Oh, stop it," Vicky said. "Look, I've got something for you." Sara stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned to her friend. She was holding out a folder. "Save me a trip to the precinct," Vicky said. "And get yourself assigned to it." Sara took the folder. "Why?" "It's a ... it's your type of case." Vicky shook her head. "Just try to get your captain to give it to you, OK?" Sara frowned at Vicky's expression. There was something wrong there, but Vicky couldn't or wouldn't tell her. "Yeah. I'll try." Vicky's face took on a look of relief. "Thanks." ***** Jake McCartey frowned as Sara thanked the captain for assigning them to the case. It wasn't that he didn't want the case, it was the way his partner was being so nice. She'd been a bundle of nerves for the last couple of weeks, snapping at everyone, even Captain Dante. Jake threw a look to their other partner Danny Woo, but he just shrugged. The captain ushered the three out of the office, then called Jake back in and shut the door behind them. "This case," Dante said. "Why does your partner want it so bad?" "I have no idea," Jake said. "She's always got her own reasons." Dante frowned and tapped a pen against the door. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision. "I need you to keep me informed of everything that goes on in this case, McCartey." Dante reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "You know I'm grooming you to take Burgess' place in the White Bulls. I need to know I can trust you." "Yeah, of course," Jake said, smiling easily. "I take it this is one of those special cases?" Dante nodded. "So keep your eyes open." "Not a problem, Captain. I'm happy to do what I can to help." "I know," Dante said, dropping his hand and opening the door. "You've got a good future ahead of you." ***** Danny flipped through the file Sara had dropped on the desk. It was nothing special. A drug dealer had been shot in an alley - there were a hundred cases just like this every year in the city. Why was Sara so hot on this one? She hadn't answered the question to his satisfaction when he'd asked, just saying "there's something about it." Which wasn't true. He was willing to chalk it up to more of her recent weirdness, but he didn't have to like it. Jake came back in the office, his face showing something between a smile and a frown. "What did the captain want?" Sara asked. "Performance issues." Jake's odd expression morphed into a frown. "He has his eye on me." "You'll be fine." Danny grinned at the rookie. "He's just trying to keep you on your toes." Sara just frowned. "OK, I want us to go out, interview the woman who found him, his family, his friends, his buyers, whoever we can find," she said. "I want to know who did this." "I have a date tonight," Jake protested. "Can't we just start on this tomorrow?" "Too bad," Danny said, reaching for the phone. "I know that tone of voice. She'll have us working all night if she can." He dialed his home number and smiled as his wife picked up. "Hey, honey, I'm going to be late." ***** Sara flopped back on her bed. They hadn't found anything. The few people who had been persuaded or threatened into talking with them wouldn't say more than that they knew Jack Bacil had been shot. Not a single one of them had any idea if he had any enemies or who they might be. Sara knew that the guy had to have enemies - he was a drug dealer; it was par for the course. There was something to the case, though, she knew it. When she had been flipping though the file at a stoplight, prepared to ignore the case just to piss off Vicky, the Witchblade had flared to life on her wrist. She'd almost sat through the green light as the vision washed over her. "That's too bad," the man said and pointed the gun at Bacil's chest. He pulled the trigger and the casing flew to the street. As it bounced into a square of light from a window, the black bull stood out on the gold. Sara sat up. "The window." "Bingo." Sara jumped up and turned to find Burgess leaning against the wall next to her bed. She closed her eyes. "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real." "Come on, you're used to the Witchblade showing you things. Why won't you believe I'm here?" Sara's eyes snapped open. "What did you say?" Burgess' face looked a little sad. "Why won't you believe I'm here?" Sara waved her hand at him and scowled. "Not that. About the Witchblade." She held up her wrist so the ghost or hallucination or whatever he was could see it. "How do you know about this?" "I just do." He shrugged. "I know other stuff, too." "Like what?" Sara crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for his response. "Like the witness you're looking for was looking out that window," he said, a little smug. "I figured that part out for myself." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What about that bullet? The one with the bull on it. What can you tell me about that?" Burgess' forehead creased in a frown and his eyes dropped from hers. "I can't tell you about that." His voice was absolutely toneless. Her years of interrogations and witness interviews told her that it wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, but for some reason, he wasn't allowed. Of course, that begged the question: wasn't allowed by whom? Burgess glanced up quickly, then his eyes flicked to the door. "You've got company," he said. A second later, there was a knock on the door. Sara looked toward it automatically, but when she looked back to Burgess, he was gone. "This better be good," she muttered as she stalked over to the door. ***** The door opened, but only enough for Ian Nottingham to see a sliver of Sara's face. "What?" she demanded. "I wanted to see you," he said, keeping his voice soft, non-threatening. "I never thanked you for saving my life. Not properly." "You saved mine. We're even." Her voice was clipped, fast. She was angry. He hadn't interrupted her, that he knew. She had been laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling when he had performed his reconnaissance. "I merely prevented you from being killed. You saved me." He wasn't sure she would understand the difference, but it was important to him. With the influence of his father, Kenneth Irons, gone, he had been drifting, lost. In her, he had been reminded again of what he was, who he was, and shown the possibilities of who he could be. She opened her mouth again, but Nottingham was faster. "Please." With a loud sigh and a scowl, she opened the door all the way. ***** Sara let Nottingham into the apartment, but didn't turn her back on him as she closed the door behind him. They'd had a weird relationship in the few short months she'd known him. She'd killed his father, but that hadn't really seemed to bother him all that much. She'd watched him grow from something like a child into a man. She frowned. And then he'd put a hit out on her. And then she'd saved his life, and he'd saved hers, and then she'd saved his again. She didn't quite know where they stood now, other than awkwardly in her apartment. Nottingham reached inside his long black coat, and Sara felt her muscles tense. He must have noticed, because he pulled out a bottle of wine with a hurt look on his face. He held it out to her. "For you. As thanks, though a paltry thanks it is." Sara raised her eyebrows as she reached to take the wine. "You sound like Irons. Again." Nottingham dropped his eyes to the floor, and Sara felt like she'd kicked a puppy. Even though this guy had tried to have her killed and had been complicit in Irons' plot to kill her, she couldn't bring herself to hate him. Mostly, she was annoyed by him. Pretty much all the time. This must be what Vicky was talking about when she talked about her relationship with her sisters. "I shouldn't have-" Nottingham began, but Sara cut him off. "Sit. I'm just having a bad day." She walked past him to the kitchen and pulled two wine glasses off the shelf. "And thank you for the wine. I think I could use some." She frowned at herself. "Or some Midol," she muttered. As she tugged the cork out of the bottle, Sara looked at the label. She didn't know much about wine, but a wisp of dust on the bottle and the year of "1912" told her that it was probably expensive and from Irons' cellar. She supposed she should count herself lucky. She poured two glasses and took them to where Nottingham sat on the edge of the couch, as if he were afraid to relax. She handed him a glass, then sat on a chair opposite him. "I don't have anything to go with it. Sorry," she said and took a sip. Her eyes widened. "This is good!" Ian took a sip as well, and his forehead creased in a little frown. "You don't like it?" she asked. "Physical pleasures ... aren't really my thing," he said and set the glass down on the table between them. "I appreciate food, wine, but I don't desire them." Sara frowned and took another sip. Every time she had the slightest belief that he was normal, he went and said something like this. "Well, you should try things out a little more," she said decisively. "Drink wine, eat brie, wear silk. Live life. You never when you know when you're going to die." She frowned. "Again." That brought the tiniest of smiles to Nottingham's lips. "Are you talking to me or to yourself?" he asked, picking up the wineglass again. He took a longer sip this time. Sara hated when he did that. Not sip wine, but ask the same question she'd been thinking in her head. It made her want to smack him. She stood up. "Thanks for the wine, but I'm tired. I should get some sleep." Nottingham stood, and with a little bow of his head, let himself out. Sara drained her glass, then grabbed his and drained it, too. She was just about to lock the door when Burgess' voice came from behind her. "You're right, you know." She didn't look at him. She was pretty sure she didn't want to see the look on his face that went with his sad voice. "I know," she said. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. Just live a little." "No," she turned to look at Burgess' ghost or whatever he was. "I'm sorry I wouldn't have given you a fair chance. I'm sorry I'm now trying to figure out who killed you rather than having a beer and playing pool with you." She faked a big smile. "Hey, you couldn't just tell me what kind of conspiracy killed you, could you?" A smile quirked the corner of Burgess' mouth. "That's something you have to figure out on your own. But I can help." The smile disappeared. "And thanks. Don't forget to lock up." He disappeared as she watched - one moment he was there, the next he wasn't. Sara sighed. Drinking wine always made her depressed - no, maudlin. And she'd had plenty of reason for it tonight, with two men she felt she owed something to in some way both showing up. She locked her door. What she really needed wasn't wine, but, like she'd told Nottingham, sleep. ***** The next morning found her and Jake outside of the door that belonged to the window the Witchblade had shown her. She had a sinus headache, something that always happened when she drank red wine, though she wasn't sure why. Jake was in no better shape, the circles under his eyes showing he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. However, his mood was chipper, so he must have gotten home in time for his "date" in spite of work. "What makes you think we should be talking to someone here?" Jake asked. She didn't think that she should tell her rookie partner that she'd seen a vision and figured it out, or that a ghost had told her. She decided to go with the lame excuse. "Women's intuition." Jake rolled his eyes, but knocked on the door. After a few seconds, he raised his hand to knock again, but Sara stalled his hand. She could hear movement inside. After a few hurried sounds, it stopped again. Sara frowned and looked down at the Witchblade. She concentrated and saw the stone glow dimly. A television with cartoons on it, a little boy in rumpled pajamas trying to be as quiet as he could. Sara shoved her hand in her pocket. Jake was looking at her strangely, so she acted like she was listening closely. "Do you hear cartoons?" she asked. Jake listened, then shook his head. Sara shrugged, then knocked on the door again. "New York Police Department. Open up," she said loudly. If she'd been a kid, that would have made her open up. After a few seconds, the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor could be heard and then the light from the peephole went dim. Sara held up her badge. There was a pause, then the chair was dragged away again. A moment later the door opened. "Dad says I shouldn't open the door for cops, but my teacher says I should," said the little boy that the Witchblade had showed her. "Is your father home now?" Sara asked. The little boy shook his head. "Mom?" He shook his head again. "Any adult?" The boy shook his head again. Sara cocked an eyebrow at Jake, and he pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He headed down the hall to call Children's Services while Sara turned back to the boy and smiled. "I'm Detective Pezzini. May I come in?" The boy studied her seriously for a moment, then nodded, stepping out of the way. Sara entered the dim apartment, the only light coming from the cartoons on the TV. The window that overlooked the alley was covered by a sheet - that must be new, since it hadn't been there in the Witchblade's vision. "What's your name?" she asked. "Rico," he said, and extended his hand. Sara took it and shook it. He had a surprisingly firm handshake for someone wearing Mickey Mouse p.j.s. Sara estimated him at about seven or eight, but by the less than stellar housekeeping - she had to step over an over-flowing bag of trash to get all the way in the door - he could be malnourished and a little older. "So, Rico, you live here with your parents?" she asked, leading the way over to the holey couch in front of the TV. "I live with my dad. He's at work." Sara nodded. "Does he work a lot?" "Yeah. And yes, he leaves me alone, but I'm old enough to take care of myself. So you can tell your friend not to make that phone call." Sara raised her eyebrows. This kid had obviously been through the routine before. She decided to cut the crap. She pulled a mug shot of Bacil out of her pocket. "Have you seen him around here?" she asked, handing over the picture. Rico studied it, then nodded. "Yeah," he said and handed the photo back. "Dad told me not to talk to him." Rico wasn't looking her in the eyes. She would bet she'd found her witness. "When's the last time you saw him?" she asked. "A few days ago," he said quickly. Jake poked his head in the door and nodded at Sara. Rico saw and rolled his eyes. "They always let me go home, you know," he said, crossing his arms over his thin chest. "You should save them the trip." "You're very mature for someone your age," Sara told him. Rico nodded. "So, if I were to ask you if you saw something, you'd tell me, right? Because you would understand how important it is." Rico nodded again, less sure of himself this time. Sara patted the seat next to her and Rico sat down warily. "Two nights ago, this man," she held up the photo, "died in the alley out there. I think you saw it. Did you?" Rico dropped his eyes to the floor, and for a second, Sara was sure he was going to lie. But he took a deep breath and locked his eyes onto hers. "Yes," he said. ***** Jake froze outside the door. He'd really been hoping that wouldn't be Rico's answer, even though he knew it had to be. Sara had a sixth sense about these sorts of things. Now Jake was going to have to tell the captain that they had a witness to a White Bulls killing, and it was a little kid. Jake knew what his FBI supervisor would say: "tough luck, kid." But Souza was a heartless bastard with no other reason in life but to root out the corruption in the NYPD. Jake wasn't like that. He'd kind of grown to like his life as a homicide detective. It was certainly better than the almost constant paperwork he'd been assigned in the San Diego FBI field office. And, as much as he hated to admit it, it felt good to occasionally take out his frustration on a suspect and know he was just doing his job of advancing himself in the White Bulls. But this was something he wasn't sure he could do. Sara's voice called out to him from in the apartment. "Jake!" He looked around the doorjamb, and Sara motioned him inside. "This is Rico. We're going to be taking him to the precinct for a little while." She stood and pulled Rico up from the couch with her. "Will you take him to get changed?" "Yeah, sure." Jake shrugged and nodded to the little kid. "Lead the way." Rico had led him down a short hallway when Sara gave a little yelp. Jake paused as he heard her swear. "You OK?" he called. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, in a tone of voice that told him not to ask questions. He decided not to. Following Rico into the tiny bedroom, he looked around at an oasis of tidiness in the squalor of the rest of the apartment. "Personally, I like Mickey Mouse," Jake told the boy, "but it gets cold in the station, so you should probably go for something warmer." Rico pulled out a pale blue sweatshirt with the Coca-Cola polar bear on it. "Will this work?" he asked seriously. "Perfect," Jake said with a grin. "I've got the same one." As the kid began to change, Jake frowned. He couldn't tell Dante the truth about this. ***** "Shit, Burgess, you scared the hell out of me!" Burgess' ghost shrugged. "Sorry." "Make some noise or something," Sara snapped. "Clear your throat. Knock over a book." "So you believe I'm here now?" Sara rolled her eyes. "Does it matter at the moment? I'm talking to you, aren't I? Even if you are a figment of my sex-starved imagination." Burgess' jaw dropped. "Vicky Po's opinion." After a moment Burgess' mouth shut, and he shook his head "You found him," he said, inclining his head toward where Jake and Rico had gone. "Yeah. You could have just told me it was a little boy, you know." Sara ran her hand through her hair. She tried not to notice that Burgess' eyes followed her hands with a little bit of hunger in his eyes. She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I don't like a kid mixed up in this," she told the ghost. "It just doesn't feel right." "It's not. Not safe, anyway," Burgess said. "You're going to have to-" He stopped talking as Jake and Rico come back down the hallway. Sara watched them walk right past Burgess without noticing him. So he really was a hallucination. If he'd been a ghost, they would have seen him, right? "You have to keep him safe," Burgess said over Jake and Rico's talk about cartoons. "I don't know what they'll do." He began to fade as Sara watched. "I think they'd kill a kid to keep the secret safe." He was gone. Sara watched Jake and Rico standing in front of the TV, discussing the finer points of Speed Racer by the sounds of it. Great. She had two kids to take care of. ***** Danny watched through the glass as Sara talked to the kid. His father had been called, and some social workers were waiting to give him a stern talking to when he finally showed up. Danny wanted to just take little Rico away. It just about killed him to see such a bright kid wasted in a home like that. Captain Dante came as Danny was kicking the wall under the two-way mirror. Jake closed the door, staying the hallway, while the captain put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "I know," the captain said. "What a waste." "I was just thinking that," Danny said. "Who would let a kid like that ... waste away?" "Makes you want to just smack his parents around doesn't it?" the captain asked. "Just pound 'em." Danny nodded. "Makes me want to do something." Dante smiled at him. "That's what I like to hear, detective." ***** Sara closed the door behind her and leaned against the wall in the hallway outside the interview room. Rico was her witness, there was no doubt about that. He'd seen an older man with "big hair" and a flannel shirt shoot Bacil. The boy claimed he'd gotten a good look at the man and was sure he would recognize the shooter if he saw him again. However, the description wasn't doing Sara much good - there were way too many people who could fit that description. Jake walked down the hall and handed her a cup of coffee. It was only the crappy stuff from the rarely-cleaned pot in the kitchen, but it was better than nothing. She took a deep sip while Jake watched. "Thanks," she said, a little belatedly. "I do what I can," he said with a grin, then cocked his head toward the room. "What did you find out?" "Not too much." Sara drained half of the cup, shuddering at the bitter aftertaste. "He saw someone and would recognize him, but he couldn't describe him too well." "That's too bad," Jake said, but his voice didn't quite match his words. "Guess we'll just see what the social workers want to do with him." Sara narrowed her eyes at Jake, but nodded. When they'd first started working together, Sara had thought that Jake was a nice guy - a little too eager-beaver and clean-cut for her taste - but still, a nice guy. Lately, though, she'd noticed a change in him. It wasn't anything big, or really even anything that she could but her finger on. She just didn't trust him like she trusted Danny - maybe that was part of it. Danny's thoughts showed on his face and he never hesitated to tell her what he thought, but Jake ... Jake was hiding something. "What?" Jake asked. Sara shook her head to clear it. "Nothing. Just thinking." Maybe it was time to figure out what it was that her rookie partner was hiding. She smiled her best smile at him. "Hey, you want to go out after this, have a few beers, play a little pool?" "Uh, yeah," Jake said, returning her smile. "That'd be great." ***** Jake couldn't believe his luck. He'd been trying to get in closer with his partners for months, and it looked like he was finally getting a break with Sara. He'd gotten a lot closer to Danny than to her - Jake had even been over to the Woo house for Sunday dinner once. But Sara ... Sara was private to the point of paranoia and wasn't one to want to just hang out. Jake had been disappointed at first when he'd been assigned Sara and Danny as training officers. They both seemed too straight and narrow for him to get an in with the White Bulls. But, as he'd come to know them, he'd learned that Danny had a temper that he sometimes had trouble controlling, especially when it was an adult hurting a kid. And Sara's weird behavior ... well, that was in a class of its own, though it didn't seem to be corruption-related. Dante had recruited Jake must faster than he'd ever expected, but he still wasn't in the inner circle. As the newest White Bull, he needed to prove himself, to make himself useful somehow. He'd already pointed out to the captain that Danny seemed like he might be on their side, and Dante was feeling Danny out even now. He was suddenly feeling very successful. "I'll meet you at Patrick J's after we're done here?" Sara asked. "Yeah, yeah. I can't wait." Sara handed her empty coffee cup to him. "Thanks again." She nodded toward the interview room. "I'm going to take Rico upstairs, see if I can't keep him entertained until we find out what to do with him." And that solved another problem. If the kid couldn't give Sara a good enough description, then he could tell Dante they had nothing and it would be the truth. "I'll meet you later," he said, and he could have sworn Sara gave him a little wink before she turned to go into the interview room. ***** Danny watched as Sara took the little boy by the hand and led him from the room. She wasn't usually good with young children - she was always nervous around his two little ones - but she and Rico seemed to have hit it off. "Come out for a drink with me," the captain said. "Tonight. After work." Danny turned to the captain, who was smiling, an unusual sight. "Sure, I've got time for a quick one or two," Danny said. "I could use the time to decompress before I see the family." "It's good to get out and talk over the day's business," Dante agreed. "I'll meet you at Patrick J's after you're done here." "All right. Thanks, captain." Danny nodded and headed out the door to follow Sara up the stairs. She and Rico were stopped at the top, and Sara was bent over while Rico whispered in her ear. She was frowning as she stood up, but Danny couldn't tell why. They moved on before Danny caught up with them, heading for their office. He stopped to get a cup of coffee when Jerry Orlinsky, the Special Investigations guy who spent more time at the 11th precinct than he did at his own 92nd, poked his head into the kitchen. "You seen Captain Dante around?" he asked. "Downstairs," Danny said. "Room 12." Orlinsky nodded his thanks and Danny followed him out. Maybe Danny could talk to the social workers, make sure they took Rico away, found him a good place to stay. Yeah, that's what he would do. ***** Sara tried not be impatient as she waited for Jake to show up. She really wished she hadn't made this "date" now, but she was kind of stuck - she hadn't been able to find Jake to get out of it. Rico had seen the shooter, and it was Orlinsky, Captain Dante's best pal from Special Investigations. If Orlinsky was into whatever this conspiracy was, then the captain was, too - Orlinsky didn't tie his shoes without Dante telling him how to do it. And if the captain was involved, there was no telling how far this went, both up and down the food chain. But what kind of conspiracy was it? Orlinsky had killed Burgess and the drug dealer, but why? Burgess because he was quitting the force - and that might expose them. But why the drug dealer? Just old-fashioned protection money? What was this group up to anyway? How many were there? Did they have a plan or was it just about the money? She needed answers, but there was no one she could just ask. "Hey." Jake sat down across from her, setting a cold bottle of beer in front of her. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn't even seen him come in. "Hey," she echoed. She nodded her thanks and took a sip of the beer, then looked at the label appreciatively. Jake had gone for the good stuff, not the rotgut she tended to drink on her cop's salary. "What's the occasion?" she asked. "Just thought I'd show you my appreciation," he said, raising his bottle to her. "For being my training officer. And, you know, helping me out of that rough spot with Dean." He looked down, seemingly embarrassed about the whole drugged-out episode. "I know it looked bad to Internal Affairs, and Danny only told me a few weeks ago that you were the one who pretty much smoothed that over. How'd you do that?" Sara shrugged and took another sip of beer. She hadn't really done anything, just talked to the investigating officer and convinced him that Jake was just a rookie who'd been led astray by the nefarious Dean. She hadn't really done anything that crossed the line ... had she? "Just told the truth," she said. "Dean was a bastard, and he tricked you." She smiled wryly. "Guess they figured I knew what I was talking about, since I'd dated the guy." "I thought that was just once," Jake said, looking back up at her. "Or maybe twice." Actually, it had been a whole month, and calling it "dating" was being awfully polite. They'd gone out to a bar once, gotten drunk and ended up back at her apartment for a night of screwing that she barely remembered. And then he'd shown up the next night, and then the next, and so on until she'd decided he was a scumbag and even the pretty decent sex wasn't worth it. She was still surprised the whole department didn't know the truth, but she was pretty sure she scared the hell out of Dean and that was what had kept him quiet. She couldn't quite bring herself to look Jake in the eyes and focused her eyes over his shoulder. That's the only reason she saw Danny take a seat with Dante. ***** Nottingham watched Sara from the dark corner of the bar. Watching her sit there with another man, even if it was her partner, made his stomach clench and sweat prickle his underarms. He was about to call her on her cell phone, make up some reason to get her away, when he saw a sudden stiffening in her posture that he knew marked a certain alertness in her. Jake McCartey, trained as he was, didn't notice the change, but Nottingham did. He followed her gaze and found her other partner, Danny Woo, sitting at a table with Captain Dante, his father's captive and corrupt police captain. Dante's leash had been passed to him for now, though Nottingham had not used it - the White Bulls, for all their talk of honor, betrayed the oath they had taken to serve and protect the citizens of New York City. If Woo were to become a White Bull, like McCartey was pretending to be, then Sara would be surrounded, but alone. She would need someone to turn to, someone to help her in the task the Witchblade had set for her. She would need him. He pulled his phone from his pocket, but he did not intend to call Sara this time. ***** Danny took a healthy swig of his beer while Captain Dante turned his back to answer his cell phone. Danny didn't even try to eavesdrop - he was just happy the captain was buying. His attempts to get the social workers to take little Rico away from his father hadn't worked. The family was receiving services and in the system, according to them, and the father, for all that he left Rico home alone, wasn't a bad father, just worked a lot. Danny didn't buy it. He'd do anything to keep his kids safe, and leaving them home alone wasn't safe. He'd been in a foul mood ever since then, and he needed to blow off a little steam before heading home to his wife and family. His little rant to the captain had been interrupted by the phone call, but it was nice to have a sympathetic ear. All Sara had said was, "I know what I'm talking about here: that kid's better off with his father than in a state home somewhere." Just because her experience in the system hadn't been all that great didn't mean that Rico's would be bad. Sara just figured she knew it all and never listened to anyone else's opinion - not even her partner's. Dante turned back to Danny, shoving his phone back into the pocket of his suit coat hung over his chair. He scanned the room quickly, then looked back to Danny with a wink and a smile. "Looks like I'm not the only one who's got my eye on you," the captain said. "I think it's time we had a serious talk about your future in the department. I think it's going to be a bright one." ***** She had to feign a stomachache, but she finally got away from Jake after a round of nachos, three beers, and a winning game of pool. At least that meant he paid for the evening, but she was a little disturbed to watch him pay from a wallet with at least six $50 bills in it - cops just shouldn't have that kind of money, not even ones who lived alone. She sure as hell didn't. Sara walked the few blocks to the precinct parking lot, trying to decide if the three beers had affected her enough that she ought to call a taxi. She easily walked the straight line between two parking spaces and decided that she was fine. As she neared her bike, she wasn't surprised to see a shape lurking in the shadows - it would be the third time in as many weeks that Ian Nottingham had been waiting for her after a long night. "Learn anything new tonight?" Sara snapped her head up at the voice from the shadows - that was Tommy Burgess' voice, not Nottingham's. "Maybe I am drunk," she said as Burgess stepped into the light from a street lamp. "Three beers doesn't really seem like enough, but what do I know?" She leaned against her bike. "What do you think, Burgess?" "Tommy," he said. "What?" "Call me Tommy." He smiled a little. "You sound like one of the guys from my football team when you call me Burgess." "You think I couldn't play football?" Sara grinned. "All right. Tommy it is." She cocked her head to the side. "So, am I drunk, Tommy?" "I don't think so. But I think you're a little confused." "A little?" Sara's grin faded. "I'm a lot confused. There's all sorts of stuff I'm supposed to be looking into and everyone is hiding-" She caught an odd look on Tommy's face and whirled around. Nottingham was standing in the middle of the parking lot, frowning at her. "Who are you talking to, Sara?" he asked. Sara looked over her shoulder, and Tommy was still there. He shrugged and Sara looked back to find Nottingham standing right in front of her. She stumbled back into her bike - there was no way he could have covered the distance that quickly. "Jesus, Nottingham!" She pushed herself back up and waved her hands at Nottingham. He took a step back, but looked around, as if he were trying to find something. He must not have found it, because his frown deepened when he looked at her again. "Was there someone here?" he asked. ***** Nottingham could feel a presence, but he couldn't see anyone. And Sara had been talking out loud in what sounded like an answer to a question. Sara glanced over her shoulder again, then shook her head. "Nope, no one here but me," she said. Nottingham wasn't sure he believed her. Her tone wasn't her usual. It was too breezy, too casual, but he didn't have any evidence to refute her, merely a feeling. He decided to shelve it for now. "You shouldn't walk these streets alone at night," he told her. "It's not safe." Her eyes widened. "I have this." She pulled her jacket open to reveal her 9 mm handgun. "And this." She held her arm up so the Witchblade shone in the light from the streetlamp. "And you think I'm not safe?" "You are special, Sara, not invulnerable. I would not wish to lose- to see you harmed." Sara frowned at him. This was not going at all the way he had planned it. He had only wanted to express his concern and friendship, not make her angry. "I should leave," he said, and turned to go. "Wait." Sara mumbled something else that he couldn't quite hear. "Nottingham, wait." He turned back around to find her with a strange expression on her face - a mix of annoyance and incredulity. "Yes, Sara?" "What do you know about my partner, Jake McCartey?" She asked the question as if she'd been instructed to, not because she wanted to. But instructed to by whom? Even though that nagging feeling of someone else was still there, he could detect no one anywhere near them. And the question itself was a strange one. Yes, he did have information that he could give her, but why did she want it? And would it profit him to give it to her? Or could he make it profit, whether he gave it to her or not? "Come to dinner tomorrow," he said, "and I'll be happy to discuss it with you." ***** Sara's next day was spent investigating a new homicide - a minor car accident that turned into road rage - and looking through the department's files for details on Bruno Dante's rise through the ranks. The accident was routine, and Danny and Jake were taking statements now, leaving Sara to work the phones and look over the notes she'd made - but not about the case. Dante's rise in the ranks was quick, starting just about the time of her father's murder, not that she thought there was any connection between the two. Dante had soared up to the rank of captain in just a few short years, passing by other officers more qualified, but generating only a few complaints about it. That, in and of itself, was enough to make Sara suspicious - cops were more than happy to complain to the union about being passed over for promotions, but almost no one complained about Dante. Dante had hand-picked his previous precinct, staffing it with whoever he wanted, getting transfers approved where they shouldn't have been. He didn't seem to be doing that here, but a careful search of current requests had shown that Orlinsky had requested a transfer to the 11th precinct - and Sara had no doubt Dante was behind that. But other than that, it didn't look like the captain was packing the precinct with his favorites. "Are you slacking off while we do all the hard work?" Sara slapped the power switch to her computer monitor at the sound of Danny's voice behind her. She turned around as the screen went dark. "No way. I'm doing research." She nodded at the notebook in his hand. "What did our witnesses have to say?" Danny stared at her for a second, then shrugged. "They saw it. The guy did it. Pretty much what we expected." ***** Danny wasn't fooled by Sara's nonchalance. He'd stood behind her for about a minute while she searched through the personnel section of the department's intranet - a section he knew she shouldn't be able to access. Her search term had been "dante," and Danny was pretty sure he knew what that meant. He wasn't going to press it, though. Last night at the bar, the captain had offered him membership in a special police fraternity - a secret one - dedicated to honor and justice. Dante had warned him that Sara would be suspicious of his involvement, and Danny was sure that was true. Apparently, she already suspected something. "I'll be right back," he told her. "Got to shake the weasel." Sara cringed. "More information than I needed, but have a good time." Danny grinned at her - an expression that disappeared the moment he turned his back on her. He crossed the precinct to knock on the captain's door. "I think you have a problem," he said when it opened. "We have a problem." ***** Jake knocked on the captain's door. He'd been pulled out of an interview with a witness to be told that Dante needed to see him immediately. Jake wasn't going to argue, even if his interview was going really well. Danny opened the door, much to Jake's surprise. "Uh, you wanted to see me, captain?" Jake asked, peering around his partner. "Shut the door." Jake did as instructed while Dante frowned at his desk. Jake glanced at Danny, but he didn't look much happier. "Danny's let me know that we might be having a bit of an issue with your other partner," the captain finally said. "I'm pleased that Danny came to me, but not too happy about the news." Jake smiled and shook Danny's hand, but it was a little forced. He's just helped Dante recruit a good family man into the White Bulls - he wasn't sure how he ought to feel about that. "Hey, welcome, man. You did the right thing," Jake said, then mentally added, because they would have killed you if you hadn't accepted. "Pezzini's been snooping around," the captain continued. "And I want it to stop." "I've been getting a little closer to her lately," Jake said with a grin, letting the two men think what they wanted. "I could have a little talk with her, not telling her anything, I mean, but maybe get her thinking about something else." That was the best way he could think of to keep Sara out of trouble, and, well, he really wouldn't mind spending a little more time with her. Even though she'd seemed a little distracted on their date the night before, he'd had a good time. After a moment, the captain nodded. "Do it." He held up a finger in warning. "But make sure she keeps her nose out of our business, or we'll have to do more than talk." ***** Sara was filling out paperwork when Jake came into the office. "Where's Danny?" she asked. "He took over for me. I needed a break," her rookie partner said, collapsing in a chair. He did look pretty stressed, which was silly with such a cut-and-dried case. Jake was a pretty laid-back guy, and Sara couldn't imagine what it was about this case that was bothering him. "Hey, you want to get something to eat?" he asked. Sara looked down at her watch. "It's only ten. I'm not hungry yet." "No, I meant tonight. Want to have dinner with me?" Sara tried to keep her face neutral. It looked like she had been successful with her "date" the night before. Maybe she should take the opportunity to find out some more about her partner from the west coast. "Yeah, sure," she said, then shook her head. "No, wait. I can't tonight. I'm having dinner with-" She stopped, unable to find the right word to describe Nottingham. "I've got plans." "I'd really like to take you out," Jake said. "Somewhere where we can talk." For some reason, Sara had the impression he didn't mean that in a romantic way. He wanted something, and it wasn't just the pleasure of watching her chow down on a plate of food. "How about breakfast tomorrow? We've got the day off," she said. "I know this great diner by my place where their eggs are just swimming in grease." At the horrified expression on Jake's face, she laughed. "In a good way." Jake still looked a little dubious about the location, but nodded. "I'll come by your place at nine?" "Sounds good." She grinned. "I'll bring the antacids." Jake shuddered. "I think I'm going to go down to the gym and start burning that off now." He hopped out of the chair, his stress apparently gone. "I'm from California, you know. Grease is illegal there." Sara smiled as Jake left, shaking his head. Once he was out of sight, though, her smile faded and she looked down at the Witchblade. It stayed annoyingly inert, offering no insight into Jake's sudden insistence on going somewhere where they could talk. Oh well. She could wait 'til tomorrow to find out what was up. For now, she had more work to do, snooping around for info on Jerry Orlinsky, Dante's best pal. And that's what she did for the rest of the day, finding out little more than what she already knew. While she got dressed in the bathroom at home that night, she recounted what she'd found out to Burgess - Tommy - who had appeared just as she had been about to drop her towel in the bedroom. He'd acted embarrassed, but Sara suspected he was just upset he hadn't shown up a few seconds later. Men. Even when they were dead, they were pigs. "Orlinsky's had more Internal Affairs investigations opened and quickly closed against him than anyone else I could find. And never had so much as a reprimand. Don't you think that's suspicious?" She pulled her sweater over her head and opened the bathroom door. "Don't you?" "Very suspicious," Tommy said, his eyes sweeping her up and down. "You look very nice." Suddenly self-conscious, Sara looked down at her knee-length black skirt and red sweater. She wouldn't have normally worn a skirt, but Nottingham had said he was sending a car for her, so she wouldn't be riding the bike. The skirt was kind of a nice change. "Uh, thanks. You don't think it's too dressy? I don't want him to get the wrong idea," she said, frowning. "What would the wrong idea be?" Tommy asked. "That I want more from him than information." Sara snagged her lone pair of heels and slipped them on. "I'm not even in it for the free food." "Are you sure?" Sara snapped her head up to look at Tommy. "What do you mean? Of course I'm sure. Nottingham's a raving loony, in case you haven't noticed." "You're connected, the two of you. Because of the Witchblade." Tommy didn't look too pleased about that. "Together, you could be invincible." "Or we could just get killed faster, which seems more likely." She grabbed her jacket and pulled it on as a knock sounded at the door. "Look, I can't help but think of him as a kid brother. I don't know why, but it's true." She headed to the door, then turned back around to look at the ghost still standing in her bedroom. "And I don't know why we're discussing this anyway - we've got more important things to talk about. Will you be here when I get back?" Burgess shrugged. "I don't know." Sara rolled her eyes. "Well, try. I think I'm going to want to talk to you when this is night is over." Burgess nodded and then winked out of existence. Sara frowned, then turned to open the door. She may as well just get this over with. ***** Nottingham refused to talk "business" until after dinner. Sara had almost stormed out when he had announced his rule, but he knew that he had little chance of keeping her there once she got the information she sought from him - or he declined to give it. He hadn't yet decided what tack to take, though he intended to draw out the evening as long as possible. Sara had calmed down quickly, though, and their dinner wasn't unpleasant. Their talk was of nothing much, the kind of thing he'd heard at his father's dinner parties and couldn't understand why people would talk of such inconsequential things. He understood now: because what you really wanted to say, you so often couldn't - not and keep your evening tolerable. After dinner, they adjourned to the study. Sara looked around with a frown. "You haven't changed anything," she said, taking the glass of wine he offered. "I thought you would." "This is my father's home." Nottingham took a long sip of his wine to hide his discomfort. "I don't feel I have the right to change it." "You can't live in his shadow forever, you know." Sara leaned next to the empty fireplace. "You've got to live your own life." Nottingham didn't let his eyes stray to the cloth-covered vase he'd hidden in one of the room's many alcoves. Sara was less right than she knew - he was still living in Father's shadow - or at least, the shadow of a part of him. He moved to stand in front of her and raised his glass. "To life then," he said. "Mine, yours ... ours." ***** For a second, Sara thought Nottingham was going to kiss her, but then he took a sip of his wine and backed off. He sat down in one of the leather chairs and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She shook her head slightly and collapsed more than sat in the other chair. Nottingham, she had to admit, had learned charm from Kenneth Irons, if nothing else. He'd started out their evening by complimenting her on her outfit and had artfully kept the conversation on neutral topics throughout dinner, despite her efforts to get around his "no Jake talk" rule. But it was after dinner now, and that rule no longer applied. "So, tell me what you know about Jake McCartey." "Can't we even finish our wine?" Nottingham asked. "You're the one who told me to savor life." "You can savor and talk at the same time. Now talk." Nottingham took what she thought was an unnecessarily lingering sip. Just as she was about to repeat her demand, he swallowed and spoke. "What, exactly, do you want to know?" "I want to know what you know about Jake," she said, trying not to let her exasperation show. "I'm sure you know something." "He was a professional surfer," Nottingham offered with a small smile. "He was?" Sara shook her head - Nottingham was trying to get her off track. "Great, but you know what I mean. What I want to know." "He's not what he seems to be," Nottingham said slowly, "but exactly who he is, I don't know." He was lying, Sara was sure of it. She looked down at the Witchblade, but it stayed quiet, like it always did around him. "You're a big help." Sara looked back up from the stubborn Blade. "Look, I'm sure you've got a file on him somewhere. I know Irons didn't do anything halfway. If he investigated me - and I'm sure he did - then he investigated my partners, too." "Actually, I investigated you." Nottingham took another slow sip of wine. "We've led similar lives." "Similar? What are you talking about?" Sara caught a certain narrowing of his eyes, like he was trying to will her toward something. "How could anything about us be similar?" "Your father was ripped from you, leaving you alone, as my father was. Both of them, killed because they sought something too big for them to hold on their own." "What? My father was killed by a mobster. I mean, I don't have any proof, but I'm pretty damned sure of it." Sara took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why had Nottingham brought up her father? "That may be true, but why was he killed? Was he just a cop who was too much trouble or was he getting too close to something?" Nottingham smiled a little as Sara felt her jaw drop. "Are you getting close to something, Sara?" "Tell me what you know," Sara demanded, standing up and stalking over to his chair. "What do you know about my father's death?" *****
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