"The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him a friend. "
~ Abraham Lincoln
~**~~**~
It wasn't what he was expecting.
Jack had been all over the world; missions in countries most people hadn't even heard of.
He had been in decrepit shacks, down in the trenches, visited holes in the wall, but he never expected this.
When the doors had creaked open, he had thought the upper floors would have mirrored the decor of the parking garage below.
But the room he stepped into was nothing of the sort.
For starters, he wasn't expecting the sudden influx of sunlight to blind him. Industrial windows lined the walls of the large room, reflecting natural light through each pane.
Twinkles of sunshine danced across the concrete charcoal floor in synchronized patterns.
Two concrete pillars stood at attention in front of the elevator, blocking Jack's view of the room.
A low humming thrummed towards Jack, so constant that he couldn't even begin to guess where it came from.
Into the vacant space, he called out, "Dr. Coldwater?"
A brief 'over here' echoed back to him.
At the sound of the voice, Jack ventured out of the box, with Thomas biting at his heels. He rounded the poles quickly, taking in the room as he went.
The first thing he noticed was a set of white folding tables, placed flush against the windows.
Buckling under the weight of computer monitors, wires swarmed from underneath, covering the surrounding floor in a tangle of cables running to electrical wall sockets.
The second thing he noticed was the back of an office chair, rotating slightly from side to side, obscuring most of the man occupying it.
Only a receding hairline peeked over the leather top.
At the sound of footsteps behind him, the man whirled around to give Jack a full view.
He looked like he had jumped straight out of the 20th century.
His blue jean dress shirt was stuffed into a pair of faded Wranglers; a monochrome stream of denim accented with rimless aviator eyeglasses that slouched down his nose.
Sock-clad feet slid into sandals before the man rose and extended a suspicious look towards Jack.
"So, you're Big Brother. The doc told me you were coming." He briefly ran his eyes up and down Jack, turning to do the same to Thomas. "You can call me Pager." He shouted, a bit too loud for Jack's taste, "Doc! The Fed is here."
At the call, V.C. sauntered over to the three men from an office in the corner. "Commander, you made it here in one piece. Surprising." She gave him a thorough once over before motioning to the hovering policeman by his side. "And it's good to see you again, Thomas."
Thomas blushed and looked anywhere but at the approaching doctor.
Jack glanced up and down at V.C. as she came closer.
Clothed in the same pair of skinny jeans as before, she seemed to have swapped her leather jacket for a form-fitting sweater with a swooping cut.
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.
He knew he was making a mistake, but with no other options, Jack decided he would burn that bridge when he came to it.
He ran his fingers quickly through his hair and cleared his throat.
V.C.'s eyes followed the flustered movement, eyes shining in triumph.
Jack could just imagine what thoughts were rattling around her mind: he knew she was debating between mocking him outright or little by little, to drive him into an irritated temper.
The last time he had asked her for help, she had called him 'Inspector Lestrade' for a week straight.
But this time, it was different. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, and perhaps even the entire universe, she was merciful.
Before Jack could open his mouth and play the fool, she winked at the man dubbed 'Pager'.
"Page, why don't you show Thomas around? Get his take on the case while Rhodes and I. . .' compare notes'." She aired quoted the last part, but Thomas was too distracted by the prospect of real police work to notice the jibe.
When the balding man led the enthusiastic amateur further into the warehouse, V.C. spun on her heel and retraced her steps to the enclosed office.
Jack followed behind her, accepting his fate. He felt like a Spartan prisoner walking to his execution but still held his head high.
The office was smaller than the room the Rinshawn Sheriff had given him but in better condition.
A rustic oak desk was kitty-cornered against a wall, piles of papers stacked atop, overlapping in crumpled heaps.
Not even the table lamp was safe from the sea of white that washed up on the desk in organized chaos.
A stack of takeout containers was tossed into the trash-bin by the door, remnants of garlic sauce clinging to the sides.
Jack premised the young doctor had an unhealthy obsession with 'Chicken Lo Mein'.
Next to the door, a window showcased the warehouse. Jack guessed the room had been the floor manager's office when the factory was operational but now the window just revealed a hyperactive boy in blue and a man, whose odor closely resembled Camembert, bonding behind a computer screen.
Watching V.C's movement, Jack stood as she claimed the expensive high-backed leather chair behind the desk with authority.
For a brief moment, he admired the seat, he could even make out hand-carved engravings etched into the padded armrests.
'Obviously—' Jack surmised, 'Kingmaker is very invested in the comfort of its employees. If only they were more concerned with the state law than the state of their backs.'
V.C. kicked out a chair, inviting Jack to take a seat, one step closer to accepting his demise.
"It's best if you leave your inhibitions and gun at the door. I'm still not too sure you didn't come here to kill me."
"Funny," Jack retorted, "I could say the same thing about you."
With a toss of her hair, V.C. leaned back in the chair and smiled at him.
"C'mere Rhodes, I won't bite—hard."
~**~~**~
She knew he would come.
Men like Jack Rhodes were stubborn, arrogant, and egotistical.
Their testosterone levels were so high, one could barely see over them.
But V.C. knew that despite it all, the Commander was dedicated to his career.
He would never let his pride get in the way of justice. He just needed a push in the right direction.
After calling in a few favors and perhaps begging a little too hard, V.C. Coldwater made sure the Director of Forensic Affairs at a certain Commander's field office was miraculously flying across the Atlantic on a private jet, leaving the lab helplessly behind.
So when the man had called, V.C. knew she had him. And she planned on keeping him.
Without the Commander's clearance, things were going to be very tricky while investigating this murder.
So it was best that she made peace when she still could.
Back in the moment, V.C. gestured to her surroundings. "So, you like?" She leaned over the desk and handed a rental agreement over to Jack. "And before you arrest me for trespassing, I'll have you know that everything is perfectly legal. You can keep those in your pants." She nodded to the handcuffs peeking out from under Jack's belt.
Jack fixed a pointed look at her and warned, "Then don't give me a reason to take them out. Tell me what you can about these." She hadn't even seen him retrieve the evidence bag and toss it on her desk.
"Hang on, Fast n' Furious, I know guys like you—always want to jump right in. But before we start this, I need something from you."
V.C.'s nails bit into her palms as she turned away from him, rustling through the top drawer of the desk.
This was a critical moment.
This was the one deal that could make or break everything.
She had already gotten him to loosen his morals and come to her — all V.C. needed to do now was make it official.
Holding her breath, she handed Jack a group of papers stapled and sticky noted —just awaiting a special 'someone's' signature.
"I just need you to sign this first."
Before Jack could even voice an objection, she hurriedly spat out the next sentence, "If you want me to analyze these bullets, Kingmaker must have a consulting contract with the local police. Or the investigating agent. Just so it's all legal. And admissible in court"
V.C. scrounged a pen out of the pool of papers and passed it along. "It's all filled out, you just need to sign."
Jack clenched his jaw, torn by an inner struggle.
He looked like he would rather be refereeing a bingo tournament at an old folk home than admit that he needed V.C.
Finally, after a battle of mental deliberation, he seemed to relent, snatching the pen from her, grumbling the whole time.
"Since when do you do things legally?"
V.C. smirked and lifted one shoulder. "What can I say? I'm trying to seduce you with paperwork."
She took the bag from the desk while Jack read through the packet. Perched on the edge of her chair, V.C. leaned forward to examine the bullets under the lamplight.
"9mm. . ." Rotating the bullets through the bag, the doctor continued, "115 grain jacketed hollow point. Huh—these are expensive. Not the regulation of standard self-defense weapons."
"If you're just going to tell me things I already knew--" Jack mumbled, his nose firmly pressed into the paper, examining every sentence for a trick.
She rounded the desk and left the office. A makeshift lab had been set up right outside her office.
V.C. prided herself on having the best equipment money could buy, and while the warehouse wasn't the best place to conduct laboratory analysis, but it would work for what she had in mind.
Transporting equipment was hard but she had the basics: a compound microscope, PCR analyzer, vapor hoods, and her deeply loved portable mass spectrometer.
With so little physical evidence, it wouldn't take long to analyze what Jack had brought her.
Speaking of Jack, he hadn't fought her much on the paperwork; and while she wanted to credit her persuasion skills, they had never worked on the grumpy Commander before.
Still contemplating his suspicious willingness to work together, V.C. turned on a microscope and adjusted the eyepiece.
Readying her lab, V.C. taunted Jack through the open door. "You know, this means we're working together now. Colleagues. Teammates. Partners in crime." Jack's shoulder's hunch at the mention of crime causing V.C. to let out a laugh.
She was just snapping on a pair of latex gloves when he violently swiveled in his chair, indignantly snapping, "Hey! My full name isn't Jacka—"
"As I was saying—" V.C. interrupted with a smile, "we're a team now. That means we share info, leads, hunches, the works. And most importantly, credentials. So once you finish with that, I need you to do something else for me."
~**~~**~
A/N
NEXT CHAPTER IS LIAR, LIAR SKIRT ON FIRE
Blurb:
"Silvia, can I call you Silvia? I get it- you're just minding your own business and BAM, out of nowhere," V.C. reached over the table to pat the woman on the shoulder. "someone tries to kill you. Trust me, I've been there. It's a day ruiner."
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