"The criminal is the creative artist; the detective only the critic."
~ G.K. Chesterton
~**~~**~
Mateo Emblem's office took the saying 'cleanliness is next to godliness' to a whole new level. Spotless, organized, and extremely color coded.
Sticky notes of a variety of colors were stacked in neat piles on the corner of the desk.
One of his drawers even contained seven sharpened pencils, all the exact same length, the same amount of spacing between them.
The floor-length window behind his desk cast a gleam of natural light across the room, reflecting dazzling shapes onto the opposing wall, which fluttered and danced with the movement of the sun.
Adrian Monk would have an office like this, V.C. thought as she shuffled through the desk. Jack was to her right, inspecting the only bookshelf in the room.
She pawed through a stack of receipts paper-clipped together.
Some were for work expenses: client dinners, fundraisers, and even an occasional hotel charge.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
V.C. moved down to the next drawer and opened it. Stacks of files were piled inside.
As she pulled them out, V.C. noticed they were court records. Again, nothing unusual for a lawyer.
She was just about to close the draw when a flash of black captured her eye.
Under a stack of blank paper, the corner of an ominous black folder stuck out. V.C. dislodged it and flipped it open.
The first line read- 'Divorce Application Form'. Mateo's name made an appearance more than once as she read on, her eyes skittering down the page rapidly.
On the line, 'Reason for Divorce', Emblem had scrawled 'Irreconcilable differences'.
A light dinged in V.C. head and she filed that information under 'Super Duper Important Information!!'
She looked up from the file to glance at Clark Jameson. He was still leaning against the door, both hands covering the handle of his cane.
His head was pointed towards Jack but his eyes were glossy. It was like he wasn't even taking in the scene as the Commander pulled a single book from the middle of the shelf, flipping open the cover.
She could see the cover of the book, a beige color with curvy white font.
Uninteresting.
For the life of her, she couldn't fathom why Jack had selected that book from the shelf.
Catching his attention, she called to him. "Rhodes, take a look at this."
At the sound of her voice, Clark Jameson broke his train of thought and watched Jack stride toward her. Not casting one glare at her, it seemed Jack had momentarily forgotten their never-ending feud and temporarily reconciled.
V.C. handed Jack the folder and pointed to the document. Still speaking in a whisper, she slid her hand down the page, pointing at the divorce application. "It looks like Mateo and Silvia weren't a happy couple after all."
While Jack scanned the page, V.C. bent down and tried the bottom drawer of the desk.
She pulled the handle but it was locked.
Inspecting the desk for a key that would unlock it proved futile as she came up empty.
She grimaced and looked up at Clark Jameson. His secretary had come and started up a conversation. While he was distracted, V.C. came to a decision.
"Looks like I'll have to do this the old fashion way," She murmured to herself as she grabbed the letter opener from the desk.
Jack heard her speak, glancing up. "Do what the old fashion—? Hey! Wait, you can't just—"
A loud creak blocked out Jack's demand as the lock gave way. V.C. winced at the sound but luckily, Mr. Jameson didn't hear.
She quieted Jack's protests, "Oh, hush. It's not a big deal."
Expiring a blow of air, Jack said, "What did I tell you? Come on," He motioned with his hand and went to grab his cuffs. "I can't stand by and watch you break into private property."
"Actually, it's not private property, it belongs to the firm and the owner let us in. . . so technically—" She stooped down and dropped to her knees behind the desk. "Not illegal."
V.C. grabbed the handle and pulled. This time, it gave way and slid open.
When she saw the inside, her eyebrows raised.
Piles upon piles of prescriptions bottles lined the bottom. "You're gonna want to take a look at this."
Jack circled the furniture to examine the contents. "What the—" He soon forgot all about V.C's indiscretions as he picked up a bottle and read the label. "Coumadin. . . ?"
V.C. was busy looking through all the other bottles but absentmindedly said, "It's an anticoagulant. . . like a blood thinner. Usually, for patients after a major surgery. All of these are prescriptions for it; they go back years."
"Why would he have them?"
"I dunno, maybe he had a heart condition or something. Any number of diseases could call for blood thinners."
Clark Jameson paused in his conversation with his secretary and glanced her way. Leaping up, V.C. kicked the drawer closed, pasting an innocent look upon her features.
Her eyes slid to the file cabinets hugging the wall. All of Mr. Emblem's client information was housed in those drawers.
Maybe if she got Jack to distract Jameson. . .?
No— scratch that— that would never work. Not even in an alternate dimension.
"Are you all set, my dear?" Mr. Jameson's gravely voice filled the office as he addressed V.C. and Jack, breaking her out of her devious planning.
Bouncing forward, V.C. sent him another smile and rounded the desk. "Yes, of course. Thank you for letting us look around!"
She exited, Jack nipping at her heels. Standing outside in the hallway, V.C. watched as Clark locked the door once, and then checked the latch to make sure it really was closed.
Obviously very thorough.
Annoyingly thorough.
Bidding them goodbye and handing them over to his receptionist, Clark Jameson hobbled down the hallway, his cane striking the floor with an odd rhythm.
At the sight of Jack, the woman smoothed her hair and straightened her pencil skirt. "I'll be happy to show you to the elevators, Commander."
He flashed his captivating smile at her, dimples and all. "Thank you, ma'am, I would appreciate that."
The woman blushed a fiery red and briskly walked down the hallways towards the elevator
V.C. rolled her eyes and followed the woman, looking over her shoulder to wink at Jack. "Be careful with that one, Rhodes, she's already planning your wedding."
Jack ignored her jib and strode forward, leaving V.C. behind.
She watched as he walked down the hallway and then glanced at the closed door of Mateo Emblem's office.
The key card in her pocket burned, reminding her of its existence.
She called after Jack's retreating figure and pointed to the adjacent door. "I'm gonna go to the washroom before, okay?"
~**~~**~
While he waited for Coldwater to join him, the receptionist had kept Jack company, laughing at all his jokes.
What could he say? He was funny.
She stayed with him until her phone started to ring and she excused herself.
But not before slipping him her number.
Of course Jack was flattered but he was on duty. There was a time and a place for romance and that time and place definitely didn't involve murder.
Or Dr. Coldwater.
Not that she had anything to do with romance.
Remotely.
In any way.
Whatsoever.
It was just that he had been waiting for her for what seemed like forever.
Rapping his knuckles on the wooden desk impatiently, Jack glanced down at his watch. It had been more than five minutes since the doctor had disappeared with her claim of needing the bathroom.
But as the minutes ticked by, Jack was becoming more suspicious of her story.
Maybe she had gotten lost.
It was a possibility.
The woman perhaps had the worse sense of direction out of anyone he had ever met.
(Seriously, she had once gotten lost in her own house. Jack had had to rescue her from between the bookcases in the library).
But the feeling in his gut told him something else.
So, backtracking down the hallway, Jack set out in search of her. The gray carpet of the corridor continued down the narrow expanse, leading him through the maze. Standing outside the women's bathroom, Jack knocked on the door.
No answer.
He waited for a beat and then knocked again.
No answer.
Nudging his toe against the door, Jack opened it a crack and called in, "Dr. Coldwater?"
No answer.
Starting to grow concerned that she had electrocuted herself on a hand dryer, Jack started to edge the door open again but stopped when he heard a squeaking sound.
That hadn't emanated from the door.
Whipping around, Jack craned his head to the side, listening hard.
He heard the squeak again.
Glancing around, Jack saw that the door to Mateo Emblem's office was ajar. No light shone through the crack, only a dark outline.
Which was strange.
Jack had watched Clark Jameson lock the door himself.
The files.
Jack had seen the look in Coldwater's eyes when Clark refused her access.
Casting one glance around at the abandoned hallway, he crossed to the door and silently slipped inside.
~**~~**~
The drawer on the bottom filing cabinet was stuck.
V.C. pulled hard at the handle, the metal protesting with each tug.
"Open. Up."
The cabinet ignored her direct order, instead sticking even further.
Concentrating intently on her task, V.C. didn't even hear the door open behind her before it was too late.
"What the heck do you think you're doing, Dr. Coldwater?!"
A silent scream threatened to escape her mouth as she whirled around, one fist flying out in terror.
Her clenched hand slammed into Commander Rhodes' gut.
A sharp breath escaped Jack as he doubled over, groaning. His hand moved to his stomach, holding the injured muscles.
V.C. would have felt bad for it if he hadn't wounded her at the same time.
It was like she had struck a solid wall, made of cement and reinforced with rebar.
Pain radiated up V.C's ulna all the way to her humerus.
She cried out, clutching her hand to her chest.
"What are you made out of? Rocks?!" She struck out against him in aggravation, her foot colliding with his shin.
Yet another mistake.
Now both her hand and foot were throbbing.
Recovering quickly, Jack collected himself, his teeth grating against each other. He rose, towering over her with a disapproving glance on his face.
He loudly repeated the question that had gotten them into this mess.
V.C. hushed him. "Shh, do you want to get us caught?"
"There is no "us". There's only you and whatever illegal thing you're doing now. How did you get in here?"
She watched his eye revert to the white access card peeking out from her jean pocket.
"Where did you get that?"
"I found it. . . around."
"You have to be kidding me, you pick-pocketed that old man, didn't you?! This is breaking so many laws, I can't even start to name them."
When Jack had an ethical crisis behind her, V.C. turned around to wretch the locked drawer free. It popped open with a hiss and squeal as the tracks grated against each other.
She felt—rather than saw—Jack step up behind her, a hand stretching out to hold the drawer closed.
"Dr. Coldwater. Don't you even think about looking at the records! It's illegal; we don't have a warrant."
She twisted around to look at him.
He was closer than she expected.
A lot closer.
She had to crane her neck upward to reach his eye. Jack glared at her, definitely lowering the temperature of the room by several degrees with his icy fury.
The darkened office extenuated his high cheekbones and clenching jaw, and if he didn't look like he was going to throttle her, V.C. would have thought he looked rather handsome in this alpha mode.
With a tilt of her head and a bend of her lips, she retorted. "Commander Rhodes, it's only illegal if you get caught. And I don't plan on getting caught."
Jack blocked her as she made for the records. "I can't, in good conscience, let you do this!"
"Then do it in bad conscience."
She knocked his hand off the cabinet and swiftly pulled a sleek file from its place with ease.
Before she could flip it open, Jack grabbed the file out of her hands.
"Not. A. Chance." He punctuated each word with a flash of teeth, leaning closer to her until their noses touched.
Cocking an eyebrow, V.C. rose up on her tiptoes to brush his nose with hers. Eyes flashing, she challenged him.
"Try. And. Stop. Me."
The vein in Jack's neck throbbed and he ground his teeth so hard, V.C. thought he might break them.
Tension cocooned around them, gripping the two tighter and tighter in its hungry embrace.
Nostrils flaring and pursed lips assaulted him; irritation sparkled in her tempestuous eyes. "Jack Rhodes, if you don't give me that file back right now, I will scream at the top of my lungs. And then you'll have to explain to whoever comes why you broke into an office of the most prestigious law firm on the East coast!"
With that ultimatum, she ripped the file from Jack's clenched hands. "Now that we're accomplices in this, you can stand watch."
Just when V.C. was getting ready to take the file and run, Jack relented and backed away. "Just hurry up!" He ordered.
V.C. beamed and nodded.
She took out her phone to photograph the contents of the file, but Jack stopped her, saying 'one shouldn't document criminal offenses' and he didn't want 'incorrigible proof of their misdoings.'
Shaking her head in exasperation, V.C. flipped through the pages, reading aloud as she went. "Drayton Industries, Tower Liquors, Adoption Action...any of those sound familiar?"
When Jack shook his head, she continued "Renbroke Donations, Hendricks & Pott Oil? Hold on, wait, there's a page missing. It skips from ten to twelve."
Jack moved closer, standing close behind her, to observe over her shoulder. "Maybe it was just a miss-print. Or someone removed it. Mateo would have seen exorbitant commissions for these businesses. It's possible one of the other lawyers wanted his clients and killed him for it."
Craning her neck towards him, V.C. looked into his azure gaze. "Well, we need to find out which lawyers were assigned Mateo's caseload at his death." Nodding at her own decision, she started to open another filing cabinet.
With perfect form, Jack lunged forward and plucked the folder from her hands. "Oh, no, you don't! We need to leave. Someone could come at any second"
He shoved the file back on the shelf and dragged V.C. out of the room at her elbow, down the hallway. He didn't let go of her until they were safely tucked away inside the elevator.
Leaving her no escape.
Or so he thought.
~**~~**~
A/N
Next chapter is: A Deal With The Devil
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.
Remember to VOTE. COMMENT. AND SHARE!
THANKS!