Hi everybody. I hope you enjoy this. I'm suffering from Profiler withdrawal and this is the only way to relieve symptoms. I suppose its rated G or PG. Not SJR. This time. : )
Thank you so much, Glenna!!
Surprise Attachments
By Bridget
******************
"Hey Bailey," John said, hanging up his desk phone. "We've got a lead."
Marcus and Bailey looked at him expectantly. John grinned.
"There's a witness."
****************
Sam stood in between her boss and John. The dim light and their dark clothes gave the room a dismal feeling. On the other side of the two-way window, sat a young woman, fifteen years old, wearing a Cowboys jacket. A local cop interviewed her while the three agents watched.
After five minutes with no progress, Sam spoke. "Bailey, she isn't going to talk to him. I'm going in there."
Bailey nodded and both men inched closer to the window. They had far more faith in Sam's ability than in any cop. The girl, Natasha Lee was much more hostile than anyone expected. According to her records, she was a straight-A student, who was liked by everyone. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, becoming the key to cracking a string of Kentucky murders.
Within ten minutes Sam emerged, looking defeated.
"I can't get through to her. She'll give us a description of the car, but that’s all. I'm sure she saw him, but I can't be positive."
"Why do you think she isn't saying anything?" Bailey asked. "Do you think he spoke to her? Threatened her?"
Sam shook her head in confusion. "I don't know. I can't get a handle on her at all. She's incredibly stubborn. I think the cop gave her the wrong impression. He tried to scare her into giving us the information, and she will not give into intimidation. I've only met one person who guards feelings so closely and he--" Sam abruptly stopped, watching John from behind her hair.
Bailey put his hand on her shoulder. "Well, let's take a break. You can try again after lunch."
The two of them shrugged into their coats, and opened the door.
"John, aren't you coming?" Sam asked.
He stood by the window, studying the brunette inside the room. Looking quickly at Sam, John shook his head. "No, thanks. Just bring me back a sandwich or something. There's some stuff I want to follow up here first."
After they had left, John turned back to the window. He knew that Natasha Lee couldn't see him; the glass was specially designed for that purpose. But it seemed as if she were looking straight at him. It felt as if they were involved in a staring contest. And John refused to be the first to look away, childish or not.
He had a feeling that she wouldn't look away either.
Swiftly John entered the room. He sat down across from her. "Natasha, my name is John Grant."
***************
Natasha stonily observed the new cop. He didn't smile at her, the way the woman had. He didn't say anything beyond his name, didn't try to frighten her, the way the first man had. He simply sat there, watching.
Unused to the silence, Natasha spoke first. Triumph glinted in his eyes, but disappeared immediately. Crap. It was a challenge. And I lost.
"What do you guys want? I said I didn't see anything. Can I just go home already?"
"No. See we don't believe you. Are you lying to us because you're afraid? Is that it? Did the big bad man scare you?"
He was making fun of her, she perceived. She set her jaw. "Yeah, he scared me. And he paid for it, too." Too late she realized what she said.
John smiled slightly. Think before you speak, kiddo. Believe me, it'll save you a lot of trouble in the future.
"Really. Well, why don't we come back to that later, huh? Why didn't you talk to the first cop?"
"Because he was a moron," she answered quickly. "He sat right there in that chair, doing his best to persuade me using threats. I don't do threats."
John nodded. That certainly sounded familiar. The girl narrowed her eyes. That nod was not just an acceptance of her words. It was an understanding of her words. Who is this guy?
"How about Sam? Why didn't you talk to her?"
"Sam? Is that her name?"
John didn't reply. The answer was obvious, and if he responded to such a question he would be insulting her intelligence. Then he'd lose.
Natasha was talking. John focused his attention on her. "Dr. Waters came inside, looking all sweet and understanding and helpful. Maybe she is. I wouldn't know. But I'm not some porcelain doll and I don't appreciate being treated that way."
"I bet." Natasha raised her eyebrows, confused at this man's behavior. He wasn't mean, he wasn't nice. He was straightforward. And in her book that beat almost anything.
Then he did something really strange. He started talking about football.
***************
Nearly two hours later, Bailey and Sam were back. They stopped in shock at the scene opposite them.
Natasha Lee was laughing, a handheld video game in her hands. Her eyes were bright, and never left the screen. Across from her sat John.
Bailey knocked on the door, signaling to John that they had returned. He excused himself, and rejoined his colleagues.
"She gave me a description: About six feet, probably a little shorter. Blond hair, green eyes. Broad shoulders. His clothes were dark, either black or dark blue; she couldn't tell. And he has a broken nose."
Bailey had been writing his words down, and looked up to ask a question. "It was dark. How did she get eye color?"
John looked uneasy. "I think we should have someone guarding her, Bailey. This guy came right up to her."
Sam looked at the girl, noting she didn't look at all afraid.
"And we should also be watching the hospitals for anyone coming in with a broken nose. It's been broken within the last fourteen hours."
"How could she possibly know that, John?" Doubt edged Sam's voice.
John grinned in response. "Because she broke it."
Sam's eyes widened and she turned back to look once again at their witness. In the background she heard John explain.
"She's been into kickboxing since she was twelve. Our perp saw her, chased her, and made the mistake of touching her."
There was a pause. Bailey spoke first. "I'll get a guard stationed with her. We should get into a hotel for now. According to Sam's profile, this guy will find out who she is, where she lives, and remove her as a threat."
John nodded. As he was putting away his pen, Bailey said, "John, you seem to get along with her. I think we'll let you tell her."
Staring at Bailey, John shook his head slightly. He'd reached the same conclusion Bailey had: The kickboxing Natasha Lee would not liked being tucked away as if she were fragile.
Before he could come up with a likely argument, Sam and Bailey were gone.
"I should get hazard pay for this," he grumbled as he turned back to the door.
***************
VCTF Headquarters
The team sat around the large table, watching the photos change from crime scene to crime scene. Finally George stopped at a picture drawn by the Lexington sketch artist, based on Natasha's description. Next to it was a semi-recent photo of the same man.
"Information just came back from the NCIC. His name is Charles Woods. He's a bigshot accountant for a Lexington race bookie. And this guy will *not* like having his business partner arrested, for whatever reason. The only thing we have that could connect Charles Woods to the murders is Natasha's testimony. Woods' boss would be willing to get her out of the way if Woods is brought in."
"Maybe we can put her under our protection. Hide her and her family until after the trial," Sam suggested.
"What's to stop the bookie from coming after her when it's all over?" Grace asked.
Marcus spoke up. "The mob is interested in revenge, not some local bookie. He doesn't have the support to protect himself to that length. He's not going to waste his time after the trial. He'll cut his losses and leave it alone. Beforehand though…."
John and George both nodded their agreement, having seen both sides. John had the unique experience of being a loanshark's son; George knew to what lengths the mob would go to for retaliation.
"All right," Bailey said. "John, you talk to Natasha. In the meantime, everyone find whatever you can that connects Woods to the victims or crimes. Her word alone isn't going to convict him."
Looking up from his notepad, John realized that the table was already empty. He groaned and grabbed his coat.
Forget hazard pay. I want Braves tickets.
***************
Sam met him in the parking lot, surprising him at his car.
"Geez, Sam, you're going to get shot sneaking up on people like that."
"Sorry. I'd like to go with you to tell Natasha about being put under protection. If you don't mind."
John nodded. "Hop in."
Sam eyed the Porsche doubtfully. "You won't go speed-demon on me, will you?"
"Sam, I'm a federal agent. I do not break the speed limit."
She nodded and slipped into the passenger seat. Under his breath John mumbled, "In this thing, I make them."
As they drove (slowly) to the hotel Natasha was checked into, John noticed Sam was unusually quiet.
"What's up, Sam?"
"She's going to have problems with this, John. It won't be easy for her."
"For her? What about me? You aren't the one who has to tell a hot-blooded kickboxer she has to live in secret for the next few months."
Sam's tone was reproachful; she was resentful of his joking attitude. "I'm serious. Leaving your life behind to hide isn't exactly easy."
"No, its not."
Sam looked at him sharply. Immediately she regretted his words. Often she forgot that he had spent most of his life running. She had a feeling that no matter how alone she had felt during the three years on Angel's farm, nothing could compare to what John had experienced. Changing his name. Moving around the country. Few friends. And always knowing that the man he was trying to escape was his father. Not a sociopathic serial killer, but *his father*.
John didn't take his eyes off of the road and Sam turned back to the window. No wonder he gets along with that girl. They're both so damn self-preserving.
***************
John walked into the large hotel room, followed closely by Sam. They dismissed the agent on guard and she smiled in relief.
"Best poker face in the world," Sam heard her say right before she closed the door.
Natasha stood up from the table, laying her cards face up on the surface. Two of a kind. Sam looked at the cards the guard had folded. Straight flush. Sam raised her eyebrows. Something told her that John was hell at a poker table as well.
"Hey John. Dr. Waters," Natasha nodded at them both.
"Call me Sam, please."
Natasha looked at her for a few moments then nodded. "So can I go home now?"
Sam glanced at John, who took a deep breath. "Natasha, you better sit down."
"Give me a break. If you have bad news, just say it."
Five minutes later, Natasha began to pace the room. She had been silent through the entire explanation and finally she turned to them.
"You want me to run."
Sam looked up at her words. "We want you to stay alive."
"That isn't what I asked."
"Yes," John said, "we want you to run."
The girl was silent, attempting to stare him down. But no matter how intimidating the fifteen-year-old could be, John had twice as much experience. She gave in, shifting her eyes to the window.
"I don't run."
"Natasha, we understand how you feel--" Sam began, but the girl cut her off.
"Maybe you don't get it. I *won't* run."
Sam glanced at John, hoping he would answer. He showed no signs of saying anything.
"Natasha, you are in danger. I realize that you don’t want to think about that right now, but the only way to keep you safe is through the Witness Protection Program."
John flinched. Bad move. So far, Natasha had thought that she would simply be 'transplanted'. Moved from her current life to another location. Mentioning Witness Protection gave away the fact that everything would have to change. Her name and her history would be altered, not just her address.
Slowly, Natasha turned her eyes to John. "Not only do you want me to run, but you want me to hide too?"
John said nothing. He had stood up long before, and now he watched the younger woman from the near the door. Sam, sitting in her chair, was startled at how much they were mimicking eachother's stance. Legs apart, arms crossed, head high.
Natasha's voice was low. "I will not change my life, my name, or myself. It wouldn't work. You know that. What's inside is still the same. I can't change who I am. I'd stick out, draw attention. They would find me, John, no matter who I claim to be. You can understand that, can't you?"
Damn it, yes. I understand. More than either of you know, John thought, recalling exactly how O'Doyle had found his mother after ten years.
A minute later, John nodded. He still didn't say anything. He wasn't sure his voice would work. Sam was shocked at how old his face looked when he turned away. Before she realized it, John was in the hallway.
Wonderful. Thanks, John. Okay, maybe she hit a little close to home, but it's our job to keep her safe.
Sam turned back to Natasha, who stood watching the closed door, wondering what she would have to say to win this argument. Waiting about ten seconds, Sam plunged in. She was completely out of her league when it came to dealing with people so self-protective. Two years of working with John had proven that.
"Listen, it's okay to be afraid. It's a natural feeling in a situation like this. But you have to be sensible, Natasha."
The young woman gave an almost smile. Almost. "I am afraid, Sam. Admitting that doesn't bother me; it does not make me weak. What I have a problem with is letting fear dictate my life. *That* makes me weak. I'm not going to hide from the world simply because I'm afraid, even for a few months. Sooner or later I have to face it."
Sam blinked at the girl's words. Bullseye.
A few minutes passed where neither of them spoke. Natasha moved over to the window. Watching the cars drive by five stories below her, she said quietly, "I'd rather fight face to face, than get shot in the back running."
Slowly Sam gathered her purse and coat, slipping in first one arm, then the other. She concentrated on each movement, refusing to give in to memories. Without a word, she met John in the hall.
There was no communication during the drive back to headquarters.
***************
VCTF Headquarters
"John, how did it go with out witness? Did she agree?" Marcus asked.
Bailey watched John rub his hand over his face, waiting for the answer.
I deserve the World Series, Bailey. Field level.
"She won't do it, Bailey. She says no."
Grace tossed her pen onto the table in aggravation. "I've barely scratched up enough forensic evidence to legitimately bring him in. But the only way to get a DNA sample is to arrest him."
"And if he's arrested, Natasha Lee is history," George finished.
All of the younger agents nodded in defeat. Bailey looked at his team, deciding they definitely needed a vacation.
"No one knows where Natasha is. So far, anyway. We can arrest him, get the sample and contact her parents."
John interrupted. "Then what? She won't do the Witness Protection, and she has too little confidence in her parents' intelligence to listen to them. Woods won't come to trial for at *least* another three months. That's plenty of time for the boss to get to her."
Before Bailey could answer, another agent rushed into the room. Everyone was startled at the intrusion. No one ever came into this room unless they were directly involved in the investigation.
The man was breathless. "Sir, your witness," he gasped out. John jumped from his chair.
"They found her. He found her. She--"
"Slow down. Tell us exactly what happened," Bailey ordered.
"A cop in Lexington--one of the three who knew where she was--turned. He had connections with the bookie and sold out her location for cash."
John barked out, "Is she all right? Did they get to her?"
The younger agent looked around the room, taking in their expressions, suddenly realizing what they thought.
"Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir." He sighed. "Aside from a broken arm, she's fine. Charles Woods took out the guard with a blow to the head then came after her." He paused, unsure how to continue.
"She…she broke his neck, sir. He's dead. There's no question of self-defense, but I think she…." He trailed off, rushing out of the doorway as John ran from the room. After a moment's hesitation, Sam followed.
She didn't even complain about his driving.
Natasha Lee felt very small sitting alone on the hotel bed. Somewhere in the last hour a blanket had been wrapped around her shoulders; it almost hid her bright white cast. Her eyes were locked on the carpet, but she didn't see it. Loud noise from the hallway drew her attention and she looked up to see John and Sam enter. They stopped halfway to her, just watching.
Natasha met the stares of each of them, before finally returning her gaze to the floor. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "I've never killed anyone before. Definitely a new experience."
In the back of her mind, Sam registered that this was the type of joke John would make in a tight situation. Gradually she moved toward the girl.
"Natasha you saved your life. You saved the lives of the people he would have hurt in the future." Sam faltered, unsure what else to say. John was at a loss as well.
Wiping away a tear that escaped unnoticed, Natasha stood up shakily. "I'll be fine. I didn't have a choice. I'll be fine." She began to walk away, refusing to discuss it any further.
Suddenly Sam knew what to say. "Yeah, you'll be fine. For about a week. Then while buying a hockey stick somewhere, it'll all blow up in your face."
John glanced up, not knowing where his friend was going with this. He had told her about Marco in order to help her, and somewhere inside it helped his own conscience. Sam hadn't even told Bailey about it after that case, why would she tell the girl?
Natasha turned around. "Why do you say that? What does that even mean?" She paused; a thoughtful look crossed her face. "Is that what happened to you?"
Sam smiled sadly. "No, not to me. I've been the cause of a lot of deaths, whether intentionally or not, but I ran instead of facing of it right away. And in the end, that hurt more than if I'd stayed."
Sam saw tears on Natasha's cheeks, ignored by their owner.
She whispered, "I didn't want to."
Samantha nodded. Sympathy showed in her eyes. Cautiously Natasha sat down next to her on the bed.
"I didn't want to," she repeated.
John made eye contact with Sam as they held a silent conversation.
You didn't let anyone in that first time. You didn't let anyone help. She'll let *you*. Help her.
I don't know how.
Let her know she isn't alone.
Briefly John's eyes closed, then he moved to sit next to the girl on the bed. She was neatly caught between the two agents.
"I know what it's like. About eight years ago I killed a boy. He was barely older than you. His name was Marco…."