"Sometimes a deal with the devil is better than no deal at all."
~ Lawrence Hill
~**~~**~
The taillights in front of his cruiser blazed an alarming red, knocking Jack back into reality.
His mind was still trying to catch up to what had happened fifteen minutes earlier in the parking lot of Jameson & Kirk.
As soon as the steel elevator doors parted, V.C. had scurried out and away, leaving him behind to follow in her wake.
She was quick, he would give her that.
By the time he had navigated through the lobby and revolving doors, she was already halfway through the lot.
Jack dashed across the pavement, weaving through the parked cars in an attempt to apprehend the doctor before she vanished again.
He finally caught up to her, while she was in the process of wrenching open the door to an onyx Charger.
Jack whirled around her and blocked her entrance to the driver's' seat.
He propped one elbow on the roof of the car and the other on the open door, staring her down.
"Don't even think about it!"
She had stopped abruptly, flipping her long mane over one shoulder, accidentally or on purpose, Jack had no idea.
"Is there something else I could do for you, Commander?" She questioned innocently, arching a single eyebrow in response to his command.
"That stunt back there." Jack sucked in a breath before he continued, " That stunt back there, what was that? You can't do stuff like that! Think about what would have happened if we got caught? We could have been arrested!"
He ran a hand down his face in exasperation and pressed his lips together. "And don't think I forgot about that evidence you stole."
V.C. tilted her head and scrunched up her delicate nose.
"Oops. But in my defense, I didn't plan for you to follow me. That's on you."
He responded sarcastically,"Oh, well that makes it okay then."
She leaned past him, down into the car to retrieve a bag. Raising back up, she handed the plastic to Jack with a shrug.
"Here, take it. I don't need it anymore."
Jack, still cornered between the car body and the open door, examined the metal sliver and held it up to the sunlight as V.C. continued speaking.
"It's made of unprocessed rhodium ore, by the way. Rare, but not rare for a town like Rinshawn. There weren't any prints and the only particles on it were classic dirt minerals." She shrugged one shoulder. " Nothing much."
Jack stopped rotating the bag in the air and look down at her.
"How. . .?"
She gave him a cheeky grin which highlighted her youth. "Oh Commander, even you know I can't reveal trade secrets."
After Jack gave her a deadpanned look that left no room for negotiation, she relented. "Okay, fine. You know Kingmaker labs rival even the FBI's forensics team. . . I may have had it analyzed last night after I left. No biggie."
"It doesn't matter. You broke the chain of custody. It can never be used in court. It's worthless." He lowered the bag and met her gaze. She didn't even have the decency to look even the least bit ashamed.
Instead, she winked and nudged his side with her elbow. "I won't tell anyone if you won't."
Then, with a move that would have impressed Gotham's hero himself, she dodged Jack's body.
Sliding behind the sleek steering wheel, the doctor closed the door and donned on a pair of silver aviators.
It happened so fast, Jack hardly had time to process it before she spoke again.
"Yanno. . . those bullets you recovered from the scene, I'd be more than happy to take a quick look: send them over to my lab. "
Jack scoffed at her. "Not a chance."
"All right, but if you change your mind--" V.C. reached into the driver's seat visor and pulled out something to hand to Jack through the opened window.
After a millisecond of hesitation, he grasped the paper: a small white business card.
A lustrous ebony crown was etched into the surface and underneath, in sharp bold letters, read a seven-digit number.
Nothing else.
Very Bondesque--in Jack's opinion-- and very Coldwater.
As he was examining the paper, the doctor tapped her nails on the car body to get his attention.
She revved the engine and threw him a playful wink. "I have this strange premonition that I'm going to be hearing from you in the near future, Commander. See you around."
It was that statement that confounded Jack as he merged onto the highway.
He knew her.
And he knew she wasn't about to let this go. He just had to figure out what she was planning on doing next.
~**~~**~
"What do you mean you can't process my evidence?!"
Jack had driven back to the Rinshawn precinct after his encounter with V.C.
He had ignored the blatant curious stares of the officers loitering around his makeshift office and settled into a flimsy chair that squeaked with every movement.
Fingering the bullets from the Praxton crime scene, he had pulled out his phone with every intention of calling FBI headquarters.
However, before he could even dial, a shrill ringing pierced the silence as an unknown number called.
Answering had been a mistake.
He should have just ignored the call and went on with his day.
But he didn't.
He answered.
The talkative woman on the other end informed him that the FBI Forensics Investigation Unit could not expedite analysis on his evidence.
The Chief Investigator had been recently nominated for a grant research program all the way across the pond in Oxford: and therefore; until a new head of Forensics has been hired, all new crime scene evidence will have a waiting period of two to three weeks.
She then wished him a good day and promptly hung up.
Jack sat in stunned silence processing what he had heard, or what he thought he heard.
There was no way that this fortuitous serendipity (for the criminologist, not Jack) was just a coincidence, especially when that conniving doctor had practically told him this was going to happen.
In exasperation, he abruptly paced in the narrow space.
One stride.
Two strides.
Three.
Turn.
One.
Two. . .
He repeated the sequence until his head started to spin and his eyes crossed.
Jack paused in the middle of the room and massaged his temples with his fingers.
He didn't put it past V.C. to have bribed a government official to get what she wanted. Jack couldn't believe that that woman was allowed to walk around free.
In the very immediate future, he was going to recommend to his superiors that Dr. Coldwater be committed to the nearest hospital under the guise of insanity.
Rhodes was just imagining how it would feel to slam a maximum prison cell door in her face when his eyes fell back on the bullets left on the table, slamming himself back into reality.
Here he was, in a Mayberry of a town, Barney Fife pacing outside his door, and no way to process his crime scene. He had no options.
Except for one.
With a groan, Jack paced back to the table and snatched off the bullets.
He tore the door open, banging it against the wall in his haste.
He nearly plowed down Officer Pierson who was waiting directly outside the office. Marching past him, Jack paused after a few paces. He analyzed Thomas for a beat and then gave an order.
"Officer Pierson. Come with me."
Thomas, shocked that the Commander was even addressing him, stared blankly. After Jack's expectant look, Thomas questioned with a stutter, "Where. . . where are we going?"
Raising his phone to his ear, Jack retrieved the accursed business card he had earlier placed in his wallet.
Shaking his head, he strode towards the door to exit.
"We're going to find the Devil. And make a deal with her."
~**~~**~
As soon as the wheels of his car rolled to a stop, Jack knew he had made a mistake.
No self-respecting, law-abiding, criminal apprehending, officer of justice would ever frequent the sketchy building in front of him.
After he had swallowed his pride and called the number printed on the card V.C. had given him, Jack had been told to sit tight and wait for instructions by a man who sounded suspiciously like a robot.
Sitting and waiting were two things that Jack Rhodes hated most in the world.
And conjecture, he hated conjecture.
Luckily, a few minutes later, a local address had been texted to his phone by a blocked number.
So there he was, with Officer Pierson (who was looking extremely gleeful), in front of an abandoned warehouse, on the outskirts of Rinshawn.
Jack knew he should stay in the car, stay away from questionable infrastructures, and especially, above all else, stay away from crazy doctors who insinuate themselves into cases that were none of their business.
But before he could rectify his mistake, Officer Pierson was out of the car and heading towards the building.
Jack decided that he really needed to get child locks for his car when it came to that kid.
Ducking under the chain link fence enclosing the lot, Jack paused to observe his surroundings.
The warehouse rose four stories to the sky. The outside bricks were charred a smokey grey, and the bricks that weren't damaged were covered in whirling streams of faded graffiti.
On alert, the SEAL patrolled the area, searching for signs of life, but came up empty. The cracked pavement lot was the effigy of a ghost town.
Thomas popped up at Jack's elbow, causing him to twitch in surprise.
"Should we go inside or. . .?" Thomas motioned to a subtle door, hidden in the shadows of the building.
Jack debated in his head: he had the needling suspicion that maybe if Dr. Coldwater ever wanted to kill him, it would definitely be dramatically cinematic; and this would be the perfect place to do it.
No witnesses, no problems, no more Jack Rhodes.
But, when he decided that she probably wouldn't kill innocent Thomas, he stepped forward.
"Here we go."
The men entered the building, Thomas lagging slightly behind Jack, his previous courage evaporating into the strange darkness.
When his eyes adjusted to the shadowed space, Jack peered around. The room had many nuances of a parking garage: a low ceiling with cement pillars supporting the ceiling above and a smooth floor went on for miles.
Cracks in the foundation rose steadily along the walls like maps of rivers and nips of daylight shown through broken windows.
Parked casually in the middle of the pseudo-garage were three cars: an SUV, Cadillac, and a very familiar black Charger.
At the far end of the area, a few overhead lights swung haphazardly, shifting bright flashes around ominously.
The bang of the door closing behind them echoed off the cement walls, causing Jack to place a hand on his weapon and Thomas to leap a mile in the air.
Around the corner, Jack saw the dented doors of a freight elevator. A piece of paper was taped to one of the doors, a message haphazardly scrawled in black ink.
Third Floor. See you soon. XOXO.
A heart was drawn over the 'i' in the first word. Upon seeing that, Jack sighed, his head tipping towards the floor.
Of course.
The message could only be from one person and one person alone. And there was no one else with the ability to tighten his nerves with just fourteen letters.
Knowing that there was no other option at the moment, Jack entered the elevator with Thomas trailing behind. The cables groaned under the men's combined weight but rose steadily.
During the ascension, Jack bounced on the balls of his feet but then decided it was better to run his fingers through his hair anxiously.
He didn't know what to expect, but he knew he had to mentally prepare himself for the criminal bustle doubtlessly marinating above him.
The steel death trap gave one more shake before struggling to arrive on the third floor.
The doors grated apart and Jack took a step out, advancing into the unknown.
~**~~**~
A/N
Next chapter is Seduce Me With Your Paperwork:
Blurb:
He noted that it accentuated her collarbones and elegant neck in a way fashion models would be jealous.
Her chestnut hair was pinned in a haystackish ponytail, a pencil protruded from the mess.
She looked more like a forensic scientist than the sneaking trespasser he knew her to be.
When she caught his gaze, he stepped forward.
On the outside, Jack was the epitome of confidence as he towered over the slight woman; but inside, his mind screamed 'May Day, May Day' on repeat.
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