Dance With Me
AUTHOR: Lucky.
DISCLAIMER: Except for the creations of the author, all characters, characterizations, situations, and locations described in this unsolicited and not-for-profit work of fiction are the property of ABC Television, Capitol Cities, Inc., Steven Bochco Productions, the many talented people who created the world of NYPD Blue, and the actors who have made that world such a lively place. The author would also like to extend her personal gratitude to Mr. Scott Cohen for his light, his vitality, his inspiration, and for being such a compelling muse. Thank you, sir.
FEEDBACK: To Lucky
"Okay, Serena," Matthew said gently, holding his arms out at her. "You're gonna want to put the gun down."
"I don't think so, Quinlan," Perry snorted, tossing her head.
He took one, slow, careful step towards her and she thrust her weapon at him dangerously.
"You stay back!"
Matthew stopped short. "Okay," he returned in a light voice. "Okay... I'm staying right here."
"Good... good." Perry put her head back, drawing a sharp breath through her nose and blinking like she couldn't see straight. "I want the woman anyway."
Posey had been furiously flipping through the psych file Matthew had pulled, snapping her head up at Sherill's sudden demand.
"No," Matthew replied flatly. "She's not a part of this. Leave her alone."
Posey laid a hand between Matthew's shoulders. "Wait a minute."
He put his arm back in a wide arc, pushing at her. "There's no 'wait a minute', here."
Posey ignored him, leaning into his arm and speaking around him to Sherill. "Why do you want me?"
"Because you're who I'm here for," she snorted back, fixing Matthew with an evil grin. "Jealous, Jake?"
"Hardly. What do you want with her?"
"It's not me," Sherill responded.
Posey whispered the same thing from behind Matthew at the same time. "It's not her."
Sherill took a step towards them, motioning with her weapon for Matthew to step aside. "She's for someone else. Might as well, Quinlan. Better for her to find out how full of shit you are from someone who cares."
"Like you?" Matthew growled, standing his ground.
Sherill regripped her gun. "I'll kill you if you dick with me again. Be sure about that."
"I never dicked with you in the first place, Serena," Matthew grumbled sarcastically, earning himself a frustrated shriek.
"Shut up!" Sherill pointed her weapon just off his left temple and fired into the cinderblock wall behind him. Taking her line on his head again, she hissed, "Now... the woman."
Posey stepped from around Matthew without a word and he grabbed at her. "Posey... Mariposa!"
She picked a spot halfway between Matthew and Sherill to turn around and address him, picking her words carefully. "Detective Denby, I don't see another way for you or I to get out of this file room." Posey turned to Sherill. "I have to tell you that I'm armed and the first person who tries to take my weapon is getting their brains blown out. Is that clear?"
"Crystal," Sherill purred, still holding her gun leveled at Matthew's forehead.
Posey gave a prim smile. "Good."
Matthew started forward again. "No! Absolutely not." Fixing his attention on Posey, he forgot to keep an eye on Sherill. Just for a second.
"You're not going anywhere until someone tells me..."
His inattention cost him. With a quick thud that made Posey jump a little, Sherill drove the butt of her gun into the back of his head, pitching him forward as he fell unconscious.
"Windbag," Sherill muttered, holstering her weapon. Stepping over his prone form, she grabbed Posey by the arm.
"Let's go."
"Jackson, Mariposa. Fifteenth Precinct, New York Police Department badge number nine-one-four-four-eight. Rank: Detective."
The French gentleman gave a little chuckle, setting a glass of red wine in front of her. "Cheri, this is not an interrogation. Just a conversation between acquaintances."
Posey sat in silence, making no move towards Roux's offering.
He watched her for a moment, then dropped himself into the same couch he'd sat on when Posey first saw him, taking a small sip from his own wineglass. "Do you know why you are here?"
"No."
"Well then, cheri... let me tell you. The last time you visited my... establishment, you were in some very interesting company, no?"
"I've never seen this place before."
"Oh, come, cheri. A beautiful woman should never lie."
"Fine." Posey kicked up her leg and crossed it over her knee. "If you're so sure I was here, why don't you tell me who I was with?"
Roux chuckled low in his throat. "Of course. You were with a man by the name of Denby. Do you remember now?"
"No."
"You sat in that very chair... in his lap... and you don't remember him at all?"
"Sorry."
"He threatened to have you murdered."
"You have me confused for someone else."
Roux's smile grew tired on his face and he set his wineglass down with a delicate click. "Maybe not you, but definitely him. Do you know who he really is?"
"I told you, I don't know who you're talking about."
Roux's smile disappeared completely. "Jake Quinlan."
"Jake Quinlan is dead."
"I'm sure you think he is."
"You killed him. How could he not be?"
Roux nodded slowly. "Indeed, cheri." He took his feet and crossed the room to where she sat, circling her chair carefully. From up close, Posey could see the clear lines in his clean-shaven face and the little bits of soft brown still left in the gunmetal gray of his close-cropped hair. "So you know who I am?"
"Jean-Claude Roux. Head of Roux International."
"And how do you know that?"
"I'm a cop. It's my job to know."
His hiss came dangerously close in her ear as he leaned quickly over her shoulder. "Don't tell me another lie, cheri. You'll regret it. I promise."
Posey flinched openly at the slithery presence forcing itself on her, smelling of Bordeaux wine and stale tobacco.
Roux circled in front of her, planting his hands on the wings of her chair and leering into her face. "Or possibly not regret it so much."
Posey forced herself to meet his stone-blue eyes. "What do you mean?"
"Who is Denby?"
"What?"
Roux slid a hand around her throat, suddenly demanding. "Who is he? He can't be Denby if he's Quinlan, and he can't be Quinlan if he's not dead! Who is he!?"
Posey squeezed her eyes shut and dragged a breath past her strained windpipe. "Jackson, Mariposa. Fifteenth Precinct, New York..." Her words vanished in a strangled click as Roux closed his grip. She opened her eyes into his sick smile.
"As enjoyable as this might be for either of us," he murmured, almost romantically, "as long as I have you like this, you'll never tell me what I want to know." His hand released, but didn't leave her neck.
"It doesn't matter how you have me," Posey rasped, gasping for air.
Roux lifted his hand then, stroking her face gently, then leaning in to press a sour kiss to her forehead.
"It will."
Matthew woke up to a faceful of concrete floor. He tried to drag himself upright, setting off bright, clanging pains in his head.
"Ow..."
He'd been knocked unconscious before, so he knew exactly what he was dealing with. As much as he could move, he ran his hand back through his hair and over his scalp, feeling the distinct bump in the back, but no blood.
Well, it's a start, he thought fuzzily. Then, Wait a minute...
"Posey?" He lifted his head, ignoring the pain that shot down his brainstem in the process, and looked around.
He was alone.
He cracked his hand against the cold, stone floor. "Dammit!" The dull ache in his head barked at him for making noise, and he groaned aloud.
After a minute of coaxing, he finally talked his head into getting up above the rest of his body and folded his legs in front of him, holding himself up and looking around, waiting for his vision to focus a little more.
His eyes fell on Serena Perry's psych file.
"... the only way out of the file room..." He let her careful words echo in his mind's ear for a moment, then rolled up on the point of his hip and made a grab for the folder. In a few tries, he snagged it and flipped it open in his lap.
"Okay, Posey... what?"
He read.
"... Subject expressed delusional connections with persons she was only willing to identify as 'higher authorities'. When pressed on the issue of identities, subject became angry and defensive to the point of threats. Of the more notable arguments: "They've killed plenty of people. I'm sure one more (referring to examiner) won't matter much, will it?" "Once they find you've run out their mole, I'm sure they'll figure out how to choreograph a tidy little suicide." "There was only one person who could have stopped him, and he's gone, now." Examiner notes that subject speaks often of this "only one", expressing idolatrous worship and romantic obsession, occasionally interspersed with pointed references to a betrayal which either occurred or has been fabricated by subject. Subject has referred to this person by the name 'Jake' several times, but refuses to give a last name."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Matthew grumbled at the printed words. "I just turned her down. I didn't kill her puppy."
He remembered the moment in stunning, perfect color, too. He'd gone into the men's room on the fifth floor of the Roux building to take care of business. Nothing special. He'd heard the door open, then fall shut, and knew better than to make eye contact with what he assumed was another man on a similar mission. But when he'd finished and turned around to locate a sink, what he saw was about as far from what he'd expected as he could have asked for.
There was Serena, naked as a jaybird.
It was the scene that played in his head every time he'd laid eyes on her since then, up to and including when she became his lieutenant. He always knew he'd have to deal with her again after that someday, and having Posey right there beside him made it much easier to put it out of his head.
But he couldn't help but wonder...
He shook the memory out of his head and refocused on his reading.
"... Examiner requested information on the 'higher authorities' on numerous occasions, retrieving only cryptic responses. Subject firmly believes herself to be aligned with these authorities, even though she admits to not having had direct contact with them since 'Jake' brought them to harm. Subject will not discuss the nature of the harm."
Matthew gave a little snort. "I'll bet." He read the page over again, thinking. Wait a minute... if she was still working for Roux when she was a detective in juvie... and now Roux is here, then...
He knew exactly where Posey was, and he knew exactly what it was going to take to get her out.
"Oh, come, cheri... it's only wax."
Posey twitched as far as the restraints would let her, trying not to shiver in the cold of the room, trying to move her fingers and toes enough to keep at least some blood flowing past the cords around her wrists and ankles. She'd made Roux fight for it, calling in three other men to accomplish his task, but he'd stripped her, binding her wholly to a hard-framed wooden chair. As soon as he'd wheeled it into the room, she'd hated it vehemently. It looked like an instrument of torture, with a metal plate in the seat and two more at the ends of the arms. She already wore several bruises from her struggle, and was clinging to the satisfaction of knowing that Roux had gained himself a particularly nasty dental record in his hand for it. As soon as he'd realized that she was buying her strength against him from the sight of the wound she'd given him, he'd blindfolded her, strapping her neck tightly against the back of the device. Now he stood over her with a lit candle, passing the flame close beneath her chin as the wax melted down over her skin.
She refused him any sound at all, biting her lips shut and holding her breath for as long as she could between gasps.
Matthew will be here soon. He has to be here soon. He has to know...
The scorching heat of the candle was taken away with a little sigh from Roux. "I can see you're tired of this game. Perhaps you'd like something a little more... lively."
He's not gonna kill me... he's not gonna kill me...
She jumped as an odd sensation raced out from her tailbone to touch her whole body at once. Not pain, but definitely not pleasant.
Electricity... the metal pad in the seat... Oh, shit.
Roux gave a chuckle at her expression. "I see you're familiar with this game."
"I think you should know I have a heart condition," she lied. "You sure you want to kill a cop?"
"It wouldn't be the first time, cheri." The unpleasant sensation happened again, a little more this time, drawing Posey's back up in an involuntary arch. When he finally stopped it, her fingers and toes were numb long enough to worry her. "But I have no intention of killing you... yet."
"Why not?" she played off. The longer I stay alive, the closer Matthew gets...
Her diaphragm went into spasm as he shocked her again, clearing her lungs as he yelled over the panic in her head. "You know exactly why not! Who is Denby?"
He let go and it took her a few seconds to gather enough air to speak. "I don't know who you're talking about."
He sent her into convulsions, shooting pure blue pain through every single bone in her body. When it finally cut out, she lay limp against the restraints, panting, on the verge of tears.
Roux laughed aloud. "Where's your heart condition now, cheri?"
She sucked in, realizing that she was drooling on herself and too juiced up to care in the least. "Die, motherfucker."
His hand cupped her chin roughly, tossing her head upright with a dizzy spin. "Such language for a pretty girl. Where did you learn such words?"
"Detroit," she snarled.
He clucked sadly and she heard him turn away. "Where I come from, the women are much less... crass." His voice came clear as he faced her again. "But I must say they're not quite so hardy as you."
"Maybe it's your dating technique."
"Who is Denby?"
"Jackson, Mariposa. Fifteenth Precinct, New York City Police Dep..." Everything froze as he threw his switch again. She could see her synapses misfire and wondered fleetingly through the pain exactly how much more time she could spend like this before he did irreparable damage. She could only hope the extra electricity would help her telepathy as she thought as hard as she could, infinitely grateful for the small favor of not being quite able to breathe or speak the name in her mind.
Matthew!!
He forced himself to point, practically broadarming the armored federal SWAT officer who was already there aside.
"Agent Grayling..." the appointed pointman began to protest.
"Shut the hell up and get behind me," Matthew hissed through his teeth, drawing out his berretta.
"Yes, sir."
Carefully, he pushed open the door to the Common Revolution and stepped into the darkness of the main tavern. He caught the sliver of light coming from beneath the back storeroom door. Putting his hand up to catch the attention of the officer behind him, he pointed to the light. Immediately, a silent flutter of SWAT movement coursed from behind him and covered the dark room.
From the near corner, a faint whisper. "Dead body."
Matthew took a few careful steps over to take a closer look. "Oh my..." He knelt down, touching her cold face, seeing the perfect little hole in her neck. "Serena Perry. He must have killed her when she brought Detective Jackson."
The officer whispered his reply. "Outlived her usefulness."
"Apparently." Matthew straightened up, giving one last burdened grimace to Serena's corpse, then returned his attention to the storeroom. "She's in there with him. Is this room clean?"
He received a series of tongue-clicks from around him. The all- clear. It was just as Matthew expected. Roux liked to keep this sort of thing private. He wouldn't want a bunch of henchmen around him to see how sick he could be.
"Let's go."
Matthew walked over to the storeroom door, gripping his weapon at up and ready. He waited for the team to move into position around him, then took a deep breath and kicked the door open as hard as he could.
"Federal agents! Everyone down right now!"
Immediately, the room went from an inquisitioner and his lone victim to one FBI agent, one NYPD detective, twenty federal task officers, and a very startled criminal.
Roux pulled his weapon.
Before he even made his aim on Matthew, he was covered in a mammoth of Kevlar-coated bodies, shrieking out French vulgarities and whipping around like an angry housecat. It took two officers to cuff him and cart him out of the room while the rest of the SWAT team scanned for more threats.
Matthew was wholly preoccupied. He slung off his trenchcoat fast enough to lose a button, draping it carefully over her limp, nude form.
"Please be conscious..." he whispered. "Please." He lifted the blindfold, and she opened her eyes. She was shaken, fried, exhausted.
But she was alive.
"Posey..." he stroked her face, pushing her hair back and holding her fluttering gaze up to his. "Are you okay?"
Running her tongue over her mouth, she muttered, "I'm naked, glowing, and strapped to an electric chair in a room containing every guy the FBI could dig up at this hour." She focused on him, letting the weight of her head fall against his palm, and smiled a little. "I'm fine."
"Anything broken?"
"I think he stepped on my watch when he yanked it off me."
"Anything broken on you?"
"I don't think so." Her eyes focused over Matthew's shoulder for a moment and he twisted to look.
The SWAT guy looked away, turning pink.
"What the hell are you looking at?" Matthew barked at him. "Go get a blanket or call an ambulance or... find her clothes or something." He turned back to Posey as he finished with a grumble, going to work on her restraints.
She gave a weak laugh. "This is familiar."
He chuckled a little in spite of everything. "The difference being that you're not bleeding and I'm not talking a bunch of trash at you." He freed her ankles and started on her wrists.
She watched him for a second, taking in his dedicated profile, sketching the lines of his fingers with her eyes. "I love you," she whispered.
"What's that?" He murmured, completely engaged in getting her out of the chair.
"Nothing." Her eyes drifted shut and she felt herself start to spin out.
He undid the strap at her neck and lifted her head in his hands. "No, no, no, no... You stay here. Posey..?" Her eyes came open with little starts at the sound of his fingers snapping just off her nose. "Stay awake until the ambulance gets here."
She focused on him as much as she could. "I didn't..."
"Didn't what? Keep talking."
"I didn't tell him."
He smiled gently. "I know you didn't, baby."
"I didn't... but..." Her eyes started to cloud again, this time with tears. "I don't think I can do this again."
He gathered her up in his arms, trenchcoat and all.
"You don't have to anymore."
Continued in Part 10.
