Chapter Twenty-six

Ben shifts in the driver's seat of his car, trying to stretch his obscenely long legs in the limited space between the wheel and the floorboard.

It doesn't work. It hasn't worked the last hundred times he's tried to do the same thing over the past six weeks as he follows Jared around town or sits in front of his house, yawning through the boring hours until the sky turns gray with the coming sunrise, when Ben wearily heads back home for a shower and a couple of hours of sleep before he does it all again.

Janie is less than impressed with this current arrangement, having spent nearly a month pleading with Ben to take better care of himself, to give up this witch hunt if it's not bringing results, to remember that he has a wife and a life outside of this one assignment.

It has all fallen on mostly deaf ears, Ben offering a half-hearted, "I'm sorry," as he buttons himself into another wrinkled shirt, runs a hand through his tangled, damp hair, and heads right back out the door.

Because he hadn't really been worried about it - about her - until a few days ago. Until Janie gave up. Now, she would just look up, surprised but silent, on the few occasions when he walked through the door before 4 am. She'd frown and walk upstairs and Ben would hear the faint click of their (her) bedroom door closing behind her.

There wasn't food waiting for him in the fridge anymore; his suits weren't picked up from the dry cleaners and hanging in his closet. But even then, even in the fragile, frozen, foreign environment of his own home, he couldn't quite let it go. He was a dog with a bone, so sure that tonight would be the time he'd catch Jared red-handed, that he just needed a few more hours, that if he skipped it he would be sure to miss that one piece of evidence he so desperately needed.

Which is how Ben has ended up here, watching the lights flick on and off as Jared moves through his house, doing nothing more interesting than smoking a cigar while he watches some kind of exotic porn with people contorted into positions impossible for anyone other than circus performers. At least he's so careless that he leaves his curtains open, the light from the flickering TV more than enough to highlight his features perfectly for Ben's binoculars.

It's half past one and even after downing a triple red eye Ben's so tired that he keeps falling asleep sitting up, the binoculars knocking against the car's window and slamming into his eyes every time his head falls forward. And he's thinking for the twentieth time that hour that Janie is probably right and he should just give up, go back to his home and his wife - while he still has one - when a black Escalade glides to a stop in front of the house.

Ben scrambles for the binoculars again, zooming in on the driver - and nearly shitting himself when he sees her.

"Senator Walters? What are you doing at Jared's house in the middle of the night-" the passenger steps from the car, familiar from her campaign ads, "-with your husband?"

The front door swings open as if on its own, Senator and Mr. Walters stepping through like they'd done it dozens of times before. And through the open front drapes Ben can see Jared, stepping forward to wrap his fingers around the wad of cash she pushes into his hand when he leans in to press his lips to hers.

That business taken care of, they disappear into a back bedroom that Ben can only see through the open doorway; just glimpses, really, of manacles chained to the wall, a swing with strange straps, shelves filled with an assortment of whips and masks and...other things that Ben really does not want to think about.

After a long moment the three occupants move into the center of the room, where Ben sees more than enough to explain this strange arrangement.

"No. Oh, no. No no no no no-" Ben tosses the binoculars over his head into the backseat, rubbing at his eyes violently. But nothing will ever erase the sight of Jared, buck naked except for a ball gag as the Senator whips him, her husband salivating as he strokes himself on the sidelines.

So Jared's a paid...something...for a rich, prominent figure. That explains how he can afford all his swanky new shit. It's not exactly tasteful - or, for that matter, legal - but it's a long way from senatorial whipping boy to double-crossing spy for the Angelevs.

Ben gags, fumbling in his rush to start the car.

But once it's running, he slumps back into the seat, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing. This new information doesn't necessarily mean that Jared's innocent, but it doesn't make him any more likely of a suspect than anyone else.

Which means that Ben's back to square fucking one.

He punches the headrest of the passenger's seat in frustration, giving himself a solid ten seconds to wallow in the weeks of wasted time, of sleepless nights and chasing his own tail. And then he puts the car in drive.

Without really thinking about it, he turns in the opposite direction of his house, of his own bed and increasingly unhappy wife.

Instead, he heads for the office.

It's two in the morning and he's exhausted, but it's already November and his only lead has just disappeared into a red room of pain. He's got to find something solid to cling to.

The office is dark and locked, of course, and Ben's so tired and shaky with caffeine that he drops his keys twice before he can get in the building. And then, as he's rounding the corner and heading down the hallway toward his desk, he thinks he must be hallucinating from the sleep deprivation because he sees a flashing light bouncing around sporadically, hears the muffled sounds of drawers opening and closing and the rustle of paper.

It takes him longer than it should to draw his gun, crouching over as he rushes silently down the hall and swings into the doorway, the barrel pointed straight at the flashlight beam. He tenses, ready to yell, but then the light shifts. Ben gets a glimpse of the intruder's face and blonde curls so he relaxes on instinct, lowering his gun and straightening up.

"Jill?"

A muffled, "Fuck," and the flashlight falls, the room plunging into darkness for a second before Ben switches on the overhead light. Jill is standing behind his desk, files strewn everywhere and the drawers hanging open.

And she's got her gun pointed right between his eyes.

Her hand is shaking, just a bit, and there's so many conflicting emotions warring on her face that Ben can't even identify them all. But he's been to the range with Jill; he knows her muscle memory alone is good enough to ensure that if she pulls that trigger, she won't miss.

"Drop the gun, Ben."

Slowly, he does as she asks, bending down to set his gun on the worn carpet. When he stands again, his hands are raised in surrender, his face as calm and pleasant as he can make it.

"You really gonna shoot me, Jill?"

"I don't want to. God knows I don't want to be doing any of this, but I don't have a choice." She shifts her feet and it turns her face just a fraction, the light hitting her cheek better. And through the make-up, Ben can see the swelling beneath her eye, the skin already an angry shade of red that promises to turn into one hell of a black eye by morning.

"Holy shit, Jill, what happened to you? What the hell is going on?"

She sounds broken, desperate, as she pleads with him. "Just tell me where they are, Ben. I know you're talking to Reid. Just give me the address and this can all be over."

Ben tries to take a cautious step forward, but she clicks back the hammer and shakes her head.

"Damn it, Ben, just tell me where Nathaniel is, okay? It's just one witness, and a murderous, twisted, fucked-up Angelev one at that. And as soon as he's dead, this stops. She'll come back to me and it'll all be over."

Ben keeps his voice low and comforting. "I can help you. I can help stop it, whatever it is. Just talk to me."

Her eyes are watering, so full of unshed tears that he's sure she can't see clearly. He inches forward.

"Jill, please. We're family; don't you remember? Before this whole Angelev mess, Reid and I spent every Thursday night for the better part of a decade playing darts and getting drunk with you in your mom's bar. You slept on my couch when you had too much green beer last St. Patty's Day, and I sat up with you and held your hair when you puked it all up in the morning."

He takes another step. Just one more and he'll be able to grab the gun.

"And that time two summers ago when you and Reid decided to have that stupid knife throwing contest in the parking lot? He dared you to do it blindfolded and on your first attempt you chucked it right through the back window of Andy's car. Glass was everywhere, and it cut the shit of the leather seats, and you were so scared to tell Andy so Reid took the fall for you. He did that because he loves you, Jill. I love you, too."

Ben slides forward that last step and wraps his hand gently over the top of her gun, easing it from her shaking hand. "And I can help you, no matter what's going on. You just have to let me. Talk to me."

The tears spill over, rolling in fat drops down her cheeks as she lets Ben pull her face into his chest.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers over and over, although he has no idea how that can possibly be true.

*******

"It's Mom. They've got my mom," Jill says after she's finally calm enough to be able to speak. She and Ben are settled into the uncomfortably small chairs that face his desk, his box of tissues clutched on Jill's lap.

"No," Ben says. "I stopped by the bar for a drink just last week. Wayne was behind the bar but he said Sue had just run out for more beer nuts and he sounded so relaxed, so normal-"

"That's because he's had a lot of practice. He's been telling that story to everyone for two months now. 'Sue just stepped out, I'll be sure to tell her you said hi'." Jill sniffs and wipes at her nose. "He's the only other one who knows the truth. He was there, passed out in his booth after closing when they came for Mom. Four thugs with guns. She tried to fight - Wayne said she shot one in the leg. The sound was what finally woke him up."

She licks her lips, looks up at Ben through tear-soaked eyelashes as she continues. "They let him live because they wanted him to deliver a message to me. They said they would trade my mother for Nathaniel Angelev - provided, of course, that I didn't tell anyone."

Now that Ben really looks at her, he doesn't know how he missed it. The way the bones of her face are protruding from weight loss, her normally shiny blonde hair dirty and limp, the circles like bruises under her eyes. Everything about her screams that she's under enormous stress - he just never paid attention.

Because he would have never believed that Jill could be the one betraying him.

As if she can read his mind, she looks away, ashamed.

"They knew I was a marshal, that I'd have access to information on Nathaniel's whereabouts. So I gave it to them. The safe house addresses in Texas and San Diego and Lansing." Her fingers curl around the chair's armrests, tight and angry. "I mean, come on, Ben! It was just one mobster who has more than earned what he has coming, and I knew you and Reid were good enough to get out of there safely.

"But you just kept being too good - all three of you escaped every time. And then Reid disappeared and you came back, and no one would tell me anything. There was no more information in the files, there were no charges on Reid's credit cards or any signal from his cell phone. So I knew you guys had started to suspect an insider. I told Wayne to cover just a little longer, that it would all be over at the deposition. I knew where Nathaniel would be, and I maneuvered myself into the assignment clearing the buildings."

"Oh my god," Ben can't help but interrupt, horrified as the pieces fall into place. "You killed Cara."

"No!" Jill shakes her head vehemently, reaches for Ben's hands to try to make him understand. "No, I didn't have the gun. I didn't pull the trigger. I just...I told them where to be. Cara - she just got in the way."

Ben can taste something bitter in the back of his throat, feel revulsion crawling like an army of ants across his skin. A part of him just wants to slap handcuffs on Jill and lock her away so he can bring Reid back home safe, finally. He's got his mole. It should be that easy.

But he has to admit that he understands, on some level. What if it had been his parents that were taken? What if it had been Janie?

Jill can see the softening in his expression and she clings to it, trying to persuade him. "It was supposed to be over, Ben, and then it just wasn't. Reid was gone with Nathaniel again and I had no idea where. Every trail turned out to be fake, every lead ran cold so fast that I'm not sure any of them actually existed in the first place. And the Angelevs... they started to get frustrated. They'd track me down, randomly, throw a bag over my head and drive me to where they're holding Mom. And then they'd-"

Jill starts crying again, her whole body shaking with the pent-up fear and horror from the past few months. She'd been relieved, in some strange way, to finally tell someone everything that she'd been through. But this, dredging up the memories of what she was about to say, was almost too much to bear.

"They started beating her, right in front of me. They did terrible things - breaking bones, making her bleed, spitting on her...worse...and they told me the only way to end it was to deliver Nathaniel.

"The last time was tonight. They dumped me back here after, gave me this-" she gestures to her swelling eye, "-as a reminder, and said they'd kill her in front of me if I didn't give them Nathaniel by the week's end. Then they said they'd burn the bar down with Wayne trapped inside, shoot me, and start all over with some other marshal."

By the time she finishes speaking, she's hiccuping from sobbing so hard, her nose running and her eyes so bloodshot they look solid red. "So you have to tell me, Ben. You have to let them kill Nathaniel, or they're going to kill us all. They're too powerful, they know too much - this is one witness that we just can't save."

But Ben barely hears her plea. He's focused on an earlier part of her story, his mind already forming the beginnings of a plan. "You said they drove you to Sue. Do you know where they took you?"

Jill shakes her head. "I was blindfolded. From the distance we traveled and the turns we made, I'm pretty sure we were somewhere in the warehouse district, but that's as narrow as I can get it. So we'd have to systematically clear all the buildings, and if they hear or see us coming, they'll kill her. I can't risk it, Ben."

Ben's so close he can taste it. If he can just get Sue back and tell Andy about Jill - it'll be his call whether to put her in protective custody or prison - then his months of agony will finally be over. He can call Reid, tell him to set up Nathaniel somewhere with agency resources again, and then his partner can come home.

"We're going to save her, Jill. She'll be safe by this time tomorrow night, I promise. You've just got to trust me, okay?"

Jill's exhausted and terrified. She has spent months trapped, backed into a corner and all alone. If she hadn't been so worried about Sue she'd probably have killed herself weeks ago just to end it all.

So even though she doesn't have any idea how Ben is going to keep his promise, she just nods, sagging against his shoulder.

*******

"What exactly are we looking for, boy?"

Andy is driving one of the only cars in his shitty collection that actually runs, a rusting 1971 Chevelle. The fact that his house looks like some kind of crappy junkyard has always annoyed Ben, but it's finally come in handy - a vehicle any nicer would have drawn too much attention in the run-down warehouse district.

"A sign, Andy. We're looking for a sign."

Ben had called him in as soon as Jill had finished her story, and they'd spent the early morning hours developing a plan to rescue Sue - and quietly discussing what to do about Jill when it was all over. Andy had been set against her coming along on the raid - scheduled for that evening - because he was concerned that she would still be working against them. But Ben was insistent that she'd be useful; she was the only one who'd actually been inside the building, after all.

But none of it matters if they can't pinpoint the right location. So many of the factories are abandoned and likely targets, the windows broken out and the crumbling walls covered in graffiti - most of it gang tags that the two marshals easily recognize.

Andy sighs and turns down yet another empty street, the Chevelle's engine protesting loudly. "How many Angelevs are we up against?" he asks again. They've been over this already, but Andy wants to make sure they're as prepared as possible.

"Well, none, in the strictest sense. Jill says these aren't actual family members, just low level employees - grunts that do the dirty work. And Wayne told her that four of them came for Sue, but she's only seen two every time they've brought her in for their little 'motivational sessions.'"

Andy nods and drives in silence for a whole fifteen seconds before asking (for the fourth time that hour), "She's sure this is where they brought her?"

And for the first time, Ben smiles in answer.

"Yep. And now I am, too. Look."

He nods toward a warehouse in the distance. There's garbage littering the cracked parking lot and the cold air is whipping freely through the busted window panes. It looks just like every other building on the block at first glance - but then Andy notices it.

"No graffiti. And not because it's been freshly painted or nothin'."

"And what's the only thing that would scare the gangs enough to stay off a building in this part of town?"

Andy makes a mental note of the address and layout of the surrounding area for later.

"The Angelevs."

*******

Just after sundown, they move in. A swarm of a half-dozen marshals and twice as many police officers, outfitted in helmets and bulletproof vests, moving as silently as possible into the dark building. The occupants hadn't even bothered to lock the doors, so sure that there was no one dumb enough to want to come inside.

It's an old tile factory, plaster dust and broken pieces of ceramic still covering the floor, huge industrial blades hanging suspended from the rusting machinery. Ben tries to get his bearings in the brief glimpses as his flashlight beam sweeps across the vast room, searching for any sign of Sue, his finger on the trigger in case he runs across any of her guards.

Jill takes point, Ben and Andy keeping close to her flanks, weaving through the dark with laser-like focus. They're concentrating so hard, keeping so silent that they can hear each other breathe, the tiny crunches of tile under the boots of the officers behind them so loud they're nearly deafening.

Finally, Jill pauses at a doorway at the far end of the room, signaling that Sue should be in the first office on the right.

She and Ben stand back as Andy tosses in a flashbang grenade and they wait with their eyes squeezed shut until they hear it blow, storming in through the smoke and confusion.

A guard at the door struggles to stand, a gun waving in his hand as he fires blindly. Ben steps over him, shooting him in the head before anyone gets hit.

Jill moves in behind him and through the clearing smoke she can see a guard standing over her mother, a knife held at her throat. Jill doesn't hesitate, firing into his chest five times, leaving a perfect cluster of holes over his heart. She grins viciously as she steps up to his fallen body, pushing the end of her assault rifle against his left eye and pulling the trigger once more.

"That's for hitting me," she hisses. "An eye for an eye."

Sue is sagged in the room's only furniture, a bent metal chair, her hands bound behind her back and each ankle zip-tied to a chair leg. She's bruised and bloody; her clothes are torn and stained and her hair is matted, hanging in greasy clumps. But she's alive and conscious and - when she recognizes Jill under all that gear - she even attempts a smile.

Other than that, the room is clear. But they hear more gunfire in the distance, so Ben and Andy run off to help the rest of the team search the remainder of the building.

Jill starts hacking at the plastic binding Sue's hands and the two women fling their arms around one another as soon as it breaks. Jill can't think about anything but the overwhelming relief that this is finally, finally over.

She's crying and laughing at the same time, so loudly that she doesn't hear the footsteps approaching in the hall behind her, isn't prepared when another Angelev lackey appears in the doorway.

But Sue is. She reaches down Jill's back and pulls the back-up gun from her waistband, holding her daughter to her chest as she shoots the son of a bitch over and over.

Her rage is burning white-hot, blinding her from seeing that her attacker has fallen, the body no longer twitching, or that her clip is empty, the trigger clicking quietly and uselessly as she keeps pulling it. All Sue can see is the way he had smiled when he tortured her, the way her bones had sounded when they snapped under his hands.

Jill finally pulls away, slowly, and eases the gun from her mother's shaking hand. "I take it you didn't exactly make friends in here?"

Sue tries to stand but falls back into the chair with a cry, her right ankle twisting in an unnatural direction. "Fucking bastards," is all she says, her split lip cracking open and bleeding as she speaks.

Ben had started running back toward them when he heard the shots, barely pausing to hop over the mangled body in the doorway. "You guys okay?"

Jill cups Sue's swollen cheek and smiles shakily. "Yeah, Ben, I think we're good now."

But Sue's shaking her head, reaching one hand out for him. He notices that three of her fingernails are missing - pulled off, from the looks of the raw, bleeding nail beds.

"Sue, please don't try to talk yet. We'll get the EMTs in here to patch you up and we'll go over everything once you're at the hospital with a buttload of the good drugs in your system."

She shakes her head again, clearing her throat to talk around the blood in her mouth, her teeth smeared with red. "No, Ben. I heard them talking earlier. They've found out about you, about how you're keeping in touch with Reid."

Ben glares at Jill immediately, accusing, but she backs away and shakes her head.

"I didn't, Ben, I swear-"

"No," Sue says again. "They've been watching the office or hacked the computer system or something. They know Reid is with Nathaniel and that you're Reid's partner." She coughs and spits blood, frustrated at how hard it is to get this out. "They said there was no time to wait or to run it up the chain and get orders. They were coming after you. Tonight."

Ben squats down so that he's on Sue's eye level. "It's okay. If they didn't take the time to tell their boss, then I'm safe. We killed all four of them-"

Sue's eyes go wide. "There were five of them, Ben. And they know where you live."

The realization of what Sue is saying washes over Ben like he's been dunked in a vat of liquid nitrogen, leaving him frozen, immobile, for precious seconds. Then the assault rifle in his hands clatters, forgotten, to the cement floor.

"Janie."

*******

Ben steals a cop car from the warehouse parking lot, blaring the lights and sirens as he peels out so fast that the car catches air when he crosses the railroad tracks. He calls Janie' phone over and over, begging uselessly on her voicemail, angry and terrified.

"Janie, where are you? Dammit. I really need to talk to you."

"Come on, babe, answer your phone. It's an emergency."

"Goddammit, Janie, just pick up the fucking phone already."

Ben's blinking back tears, his voice cracking around the lump in his throat by the time he leaves his fourth message.

"I'm sorry. I just - look. If you get this, just don't go home until you hear from me."

"I know I haven't been around lately like I should have been. I'm sorry. I wish I could take it all back; I wish I could spend every second with you."

"Janie. Please. I need you to be okay. So just - be okay, alright?"

She never answers. She never calls back.

So even though the drive from the warehouse to his home would take at least half an hour at any remotely safe speed, Ben makes it in under fifteen minutes.

The house is dark when he squeals to a stop outside, not shutting off the engine, not pausing to do anything except grab the police-issued shotgun from the trunk. The car's flashing lights paint his lawn an alternating red and blue as he sprints up the sidewalk and through the front door. It's been broken, the lock picked and the handle hanging loose, but pushed back closed like someone was hoping that the damage would go unnoticed.

The house is cold and pitch dark, the November night chill seeping through the broken door frame. And Ben's more terrified than he has ever been as he steps into his living room. He wants to throw up; he wants to curl up in a corner and hide; he wants to go back outside and never confront whatever is waiting for him in that house. Because he's not sure what would be worse - finding Janie cold and mangled, or missing and held hostage like Sue, used as leverage to break him.

But not knowing is unbearable. So carefully, carefully, he works his way through the dark first floor, using his familiarity to avoid knocking into the furniture or stepping on the squeaky floorboard.

Everything seems exactly as it should, neat and comfortable and predictable.

He eases up the stairs, strangely numb and hollow now, his senses clear and focused. He works his way through the guest bedroom, through Janie' home office and the small hall bath, and he's almost believing that nothing has really happened, that he hallucinated the broken lock and that Janie will come home and everything will be fine when - there, in the far corner of the master bedroom. It's nothing more than a shadow that doesn't belong, but Ben knows that he's got him. In one fluid motion he steps into the doorway, aiming his gun and flipping on the bedroom light.

The calm that had washed over him as he'd searched the house dissipates at the sight of the Angelev thug standing on Janie' side of their bed. And when Ben speaks it comes out as a scream, all his fear spewing out as vitriolic rage.

"Where is she, you little piece of shit?! What have you done with my wife?!"

The bastard just grins, his eyes small and black, rat-like as they glint in the bedroom light.

"If you kill me, you'll never find out."

Ben snarls, the sound nearly inhuman as he crosses the room and shifts his grip on the shotgun, swinging it like a baseball bat into the much smaller man hard enough to loosen a few teeth, sending him to his knees and drooling blood on the beige carpet. But he's laughing, a thick, wet sound as he straightens onto his knees enough to look up at Ben looming over him.

"You'll never see your bitch of a wife again. We only needed her to get to you. And now that we have you-" he draws a switchblade from his pocket, moving so fast that it's over before Ben even sees it.

He stabs into the back of Ben's knee, twisting the handle until he slices a tendon that collapses Ben's leg beneath him, forcing him to drop helplessly to the floor. His shotgun is pinned beneath him, his vision going white with pain and fear.

The man leans over, spitting a loose tooth onto the back of Ben's head. "We don't need to wait for her to finally come home now. You know, Ben-" he hisses, shoving the knife in further until the tip of the blade scrapes against the back of Ben's kneecap, "-she's probably so late because she's found some new man to screw. One who comes home at normal hours and doesn't lure guys like me into her bedroom. And that's good - it means she won't be alone after I drag you out of here-"

Those are his last words.

Ben rolls onto his side with a grimace, pulling the shotgun out from where he'd landed on it and holding it only a few inches from his attacker's left ear before pulling the trigger. Blood and bone and tissue splatter onto Ben and paint the walls behind him, the whole room suddenly looking like some sort of grotesque Jackson Pollock work. The body slumps down on top of Ben, the head little more than a handful of mangled mush on the top of his stump of a neck.

"You shouldn't have admitted you didn't have my Janie, you dumb fuck," Ben says as he leans up, shoving the body away. "It's the only reason I didn't kill your ass from the doorway."

He cranes his neck to look down his back, groaning when he can see the knife handle still sticking out of the back of his knee. He knows better than to pull it out, but his leg is completely useless and he left his cellphone in the car.

So he sets the shotgun down and rolls back onto his stomach, beginning the slow and painful process of army crawling down the hallway. He leaves a trail of blood as he goes, a messy red line that connects him with the corpse in his bedroom.

His arms are aching and he can feel the beginning stages of carpet burn on his elbows; he's just wondering how the hell he's going to get down the stairs when he hears a car door slam outside and frantic footsteps on the sidewalk.

"Ben? Ben are you here? There's a cop car outside and the door is broken and I accidentally left my phone here this morning so I have no idea what's going on..." Janie' voice bounces around as she moves through the downstairs, presumably looking for him. She sounds frantic, panicked, but it's such a relief to hear her and know that she's alright that Ben starts laughing.

"I'm upstairs, babe," he calls. "And I'm going to need you to call an ambulance. And Andy. And the coroner. And-" he glances over his shoulder at the mess he's left behind him, "-and whoever it was that installed our new carpet last year. We're going to need him to come back."

Janie rushes up the stairs two at a time before sinking down onto the top one, her mouth hanging open as she takes in her bloody husband. The only thing she says, though, is a slightly-horrified "Are you okay?" And when Ben nods, she pushes his sweat-soaked hair from his face, wipes the blood off his mouth and kisses him, hard.

He's smiling when she pulls back and eyes the knife sticking out of his leg, her gaze following the blood trail to the bedroom. She can see a shotgun in front of her dresser and a foot poking out from behind their bed.

She turns back to Ben and arches an eyebrow. "I go out for drinks with the girls after work once and this is what happens? You use our bedroom for some kind of weird, kinky blood play?"

He winks and squeezes her hand. "Just trying to keep things spicy, sweetheart." And he tries to push himself up and kiss her again, but the shooting pain in his leg stops him.

"Um, Janie? 9-1-1 now, please."

She's already stepping over him - carefully - before running to her phone in her office.