CSI:NY The Saints Aren't Coming

Shotgun In My Soul

Chapter 73: Jimmy

Gus finished out the rest of her rotation without incident, happy that things got resolved however they did with Stella. Mac didn't make her privy to the details, but since he also took over the paperwork, she didn't push. Stella was equally tight lipped, though she seemed somewhat more self assured when she came back.

Gus pushed away from her desk, looking forward to her day off the next day when her desk phone rang, the caller from inside the precinct.

"Really?" she said, sighing, it turning into a groan as Doyle's number came up on the id screen. She had avoided him since the tequila night and had been hoping to continue to do so for a little while longer

"Got bad news, kid," Doyle said by way of greeting.

"What's that?" Gus said, dropping her bag and sitting back down.

Doyle's tone was tense, "Feds want to talk to us about the Shirazi case."

"Can't they just read the damn court transcripts?"

"Apparently our courts aren't good enough for them. They are flying us in to testify tomorrow. At least it is a charter jet. Pick you up at 7?"

"Fine, I really didn't want a day off anyways," Gus grumbled.

This got a slight laugh from Doyle. "I'll cook you dinner to make up for it."

"It better be manna from heaven to make up for getting up early on my day off," Gus teased.

"You've never had my cooking," Doyle volleyed back.

Gus hung up the phone with a smile, he hadn't brought it up, so maybe she was in the clear.

Testifying before Homeland Security was not how Gus planned to spend her day off before her rotation with Angell began. She had been thinking more along the lines of sleeping in, getting some errands done and maybe a glass of wine with a bubble bath.

She certainly was not planning on having to get up at the crack of dawn to catch a flight down to DC, even if it was a charter plane. She scratched her head in front of her closet, wonder where all her court suits were before realizing one of her errands was to pick up her mounting pile of clothing from the dry cleaners.

She kept forgetting about it since she hadn't needed a court suit. Gus sighed, slipping instead into a basic black pants suit, slipping on her last clean button up and wondering how late she would be up doing laundry before her shift tomorrow morning.

"Damn it," she swore, struggling with the tiny, delicate pearl buttons that compelled her to buy the shirt in the first place but were so difficult to do and undo that it regulated the shirt to the back of the closet. She exited her building still struggling with buttons while juggling her coffee and her tote.

"Need some help there, Broussard?" Doyle asked, leaning against his Crown Vic with a smirk. He, of course, looked perfectly put together in his suit, his shoes gleaming with a recent shine.

She looked down to her slightly scuffed pumps, wishing she had thought to do the same. He followed her glance, "you keep those top buttons undone and nobody is going to even notice you have feet, much less the state of your shoes" He pointed to her plunging neckline.

"Shove it, Doyle," she said, glaring at him as he opened her door as she continued to fight with the buttons.

The day was full of hurry up and wait and neither of them told anyone anything different than court transcripts and depositions would have revealed, but apparently Congress had gotten on the human trafficking train and wanted more answers, as if it was that easy. It was tedious at best and by the time they landed back in Manhattan Gus was irritated and starving.