“Top Cop,” Banks mutters as she comes out of her drug haze.
The paramedics had to give Banks a blood transfusion and stitch up the gash, which Sam did a wonderful job of corderising. He saved Banks’ life by heating up that knife with his steady hands, better than my attempt, shaking all over the damn place. I poke the dimple in Banks’ cheek and then sigh when I see Adams’ badge on the table near her hospital bed.
“Super Cop,” I say and hold her hands. “You almost died on me.”
“You’re the one Nikita pronounced dead,” Banks chuckles with a hoarse voice. “Don’t worry, we’re both not gonna die for a long while. My really cute Doctor said you’ve been hanging around for the past three hours wanting to tell me something, what is it?”
I internally groan, Banks’ Doc probably thinks I’m a serial killer. The truth is that since two days ago, I’ve spent most of my time at the hospital―I’m too scared to go back to the precinct because I know Sam will be there for updates regardless of Dad’s letter, I don’t know how to act around him. Hell, a few months ago we both completely detested each other and then we’re kissing?
Banks simply raises an eyebrow at me when my mouth opens but no sound comes out. I’ve already explained to her about the Nikita situation and she understands. The only thing that doesn’t make sense are Nikita’s demands, he wants protection from Q but hasn’t specified how he’s going to help us. If I can tell Banks about the man that could possibly have killed her father, then why can’t I tell her about Sam kissing me? Or me kissing Sam back?
“Sam and I…” my voice fails me.
“Oh my God,” she says, sitting up a little straighter in bed.
I frown at her, confused. Banks is my best friend, by now, she can read me like a book, and she has. Banks’ hands cover her mouth and I think she’s going to puke, but she bursts into a fit of girly squeals and starts writhing around in her spotted hospital gown. Banks clasps my hands and grins.
“I hope you used protection,” Banks squeaks.
What.
“Oh no, no, no, no you’ve got it all wrong,” I wave my hands about like I’m shooing away a fly. “No. Sam kissed me when you and Adams were scoping out the guests and I kinda, maybe, sort of…kissed him back.”
Banks’ enthusiasm doesn’t falter one single bit, in fact, she seems happier that I kissed Sam instead of jumping his bones. Please, I’m not as desperate as Amanda Jane. Banks grins again and lets out booming laughter. I’m not sure if it’s in triumph or if that Baine had actually nicked the femoral artery in her thigh.
“Scandalous partnership problems,” Banks winks at me. “I told you it was the blue hair, it’s a definite man magnet,” she pauses and then purses her lips, “if you couldn’t spit it out, that means you liked him kissing you, and if you liked that that means you like him. No?”
“Well,” is all I can manage.
I’ve spent the past three days thinking (and avoiding) my problems with Sam, I’m trying to get the situation straight in my head. I arrange to split said partnership because I don’t want him to be scared anymore, but then I find out that Sam’s actually afraid of what our partnership will come to, and then the stupid prat decided to kiss me and I really like said problem. The problem with that problem is that there are more problems than solutions such as Henry Nikita taking deep satisfaction that I’m currently crushing on the man that he taunted back in Washington. Great.
I believe that I’m in denial, that if I tell myself enough that Sam’s just a cocky FBI Agent that I am not attracted too, I’ll snap out of it―but I can’t. I’m starting to notice all the little things about Sam, like how he always holds his coffee with his left hand and phone in his right or the fact that when he’s on the phone he clenches his jaw, or whenever he reads he frowns. It’s driving me crazier than Nikita’s blood and I’m completely helpless when it comes to my own emotions.
Why? Because I’ve never crushed on anyone before, i.e. nobody has ever liked me. However this being said, more problems arise because I’m becoming paranoid thinking of the ‘what ifs’ like: what if Sam doesn’t actually like me? What if I’m just a distraction to make Amanda Jane jealous? What if this is some sort of office fling?
I think my nose is going to bleed.
“By your silence and the fact that you’re almost crying, I’ve drawn the conclusion that you’re in love with him,” Banks shrugs, “and that’s completely fine with me.”
My head snaps up, “I never said the ‘l’ word would come into this conversation.”
“Top Cop,” Banks rests back against the plush hospital pillows. “You can’t lie or hide your shit from me. I can tell from the way you look at each other that there’s something stronger than a passing fancy. Even though you guys glare at each other most of the time, you’re just so…I can’t explain it. You guys are so wrong but yet so right for each other.”
I deflate and rest my forehead against her blanketed legs. I’ve never been in a situation like this. I can find a killer or track down crime syndicates across Manhattan, but I can’t even tell my ‘crush’, who I might add is an FBI Agent, that I like him.
“You have to tell him,” Banks pats my head and then chuckles to herself, “but I’ve got a plan.”
“Fantastic,” I mutter.
“Re-dye your hair blue and see what his reaction will be because if he flips out it’s a dead giveaway that he’s interested,” Banks pokes at my short ponytail. “I know you’ve been putting it off for months, and girl, you could be the poster child for King Bleach,” I might go ahead and poor myself a King Bleach shot. “Besides, it’s your birthday at the end of the week and who knows what’ll happen within the next seventy-two hours.”
“Aye-aye Cap’n Cop,” I salute and try to ignore my insides liquefying at the thought of Sam’s possible reactions.
• • •
DC Grayson is like the vulture of my precinct, and I don’t handle change well. Grayson stands on the stairs in front of his office most of the time, simply watching the Desk Squad do their work while he obviously neglects his. On several occasions I’ve tried to see what he’s trying to hide, since he protects Dad’s old office like a crypt, but have come up with nothing except ‘get on with your work Detective’.
Prat.
I take the Nikita case file from my desk and storm towards the side of the aisle that I slightly detest less now since Jax is dead. I push through the shutter-clad green door and slam it behind me. I’m so many emotions at once, angry because of Nikita ruining Adams’ life, nervous because I have to tell Sam how I like him, and annoyed because I’m practically jeopardising the NYPD by sitting in the same room with this megalomaniac.
Nikita’s wrists are shackled to the table and his nostrils flare when I toss his file on the table. I pull the metal chair back, causing the legs to scrape against the concrete of the interrogation room and sit down. His black eyes twitch slightly and I smirk, he’s on edge.
“How’s your friend doing, Detective? Has she taken her due leap into the great beyond?” Nikita taunts.
“Makita Banks is fine, I’ll tell her that you’re actually concerned,” I give a sweet smile even though sarcasm is evident in my tone. “Let’s get down to business Nikita.”
“Where’s Pingelly? I kind of miss that face of his, especially seeing that he’s chased me from Louisiana to Washington and now here of all places,” Nikita pulls on his shackles with a pout on his thin lips.
“Sam’s busy with other cases,” I clear my throat, “focus Nikita; we have lots of things to discuss.”
“Oh,” Nikita annunciates, “he’s not working on Angel Blue anymore is he? How interesting, you know he was never a fan of this project being launched in the process―ever since his father was killed by Diablos, I can understand the reasons why he doesn’t want any involvement in this.”
I pause shuffling through his file and look up. Nikita’s caught my attention; I lean forward in my chair and attempt to raise an eyebrow. Obviously like all the other times, it becomes an agitated twitch. Sam told me his father was shot down in action during a drug bust in Quantico. However then I think, Quantico is where the FBI Academy is―would a drug lord be stupid enough to pull runners beneath their noses?
“Don’t start second guessing your ex-comrade, he doesn’t know but I do,” Nikita grins, “I’ve encountered Pingelly many times but he hasn’t known, I’ve watched him ever since he walked through the glass doors in Washington. To him, the rationality of exterminating creatures that have done nothing wrong apart from surviving was insane―when he tried telling his superior, the one that I sent the condolence letter to, Pingelly was given the ultimatum that he either goes to Manhattan or he will be back from the gutter where he came from.”
“Right,” I say.
“Now that I’ve peeked your interest, give Pingelly a call because what I have to tell you should be heard by those like me,” Nikita rocks back in his chair, pulling on his restraints. “Come on Detective, if you really want to know the disreputable truth of the mission you’ve been given, dial his number and tell him Henry says hello.”
• • •
It’s like a parent teacher interview but worse because (a) there are no parents and (b) there are no teachers telling Dad how disruptive I am. Nikita is grinding his cuffs together as if he’s trying to create fire with flint, and that’s disturbing seeing Nikita’s track record of unpredictability. Sam, on the other hand, is leaning against the door of the interrogation room sipping casually on his latte. I try not to shoot myself.
“Well this is the pinnacle of awkward,” Nikita announces, “I thought it would be fun to see the gears grinding between you to―it’s like talking to strangers. C’mon, you both contain the Diablo gene, you’re smarter than this.”
“If you keep trying to distract me I will literally take your hand and shove it down your throat until you choke,” I open Nikita’s file and push it forward. “Now answer my questions.”
Nikita yawns, “I can tell why you don’t want to work with her, Pingelly. She’s a bore. I’d prefer it if you took over the interrogation, seeing that your own partner bumped you from Angel Blue. Low blow Detective.”
I unlock my jaw and slowly get out of the metal chair, Nikita knows exactly how to get under my skin and I’m really starting to hate it. It isn’t enough for him to use me as a Voodoo doll with those syringes but now he has to make it obstinate between me and Sam? I’m going to kill him, that’s if Sam doesn’t do it first.
Sam takes a long gulp of his latte and places it on the table before sitting down. I hate it that I see Sam wearing his plain watch again with the worn brown leather strip and silver face. He flicks back the tail of his black suit jacket and adjusts his black tie. Sam’s ditched the white button-up for a lemon yellow button-up. Yellow doesn’t look too bad on him, but it’s certainly a change from his usual black/blue/white combo.
“Let’s start off with the obvious first,” Sam remains indifferent that Nikita’s still stuffing around with the cuffs. “What do you gain exactly, from killing the NYPD? Surely since Dianne has died you have no motivation.”
“Collection of slaves in my promised afterlife, of course,” Nikita holds his bitten nails up to the light of the room as if he has nothing better to do.
I cock my head to the left, the Nikita I’d encountered would have acknowledged Dianne’s name or at least defended her memory or maybe tell Sam to shut up. Though, Nikita remains transfixed with everything but the interrogation, keeping a level head as he ignores Sam’s flared nostrils.
“Okay,” Sam clasps his hands on the steel table, “why do you deserve immunity so much?”
“Because I’m going to help you in more ways than you can imagine,” Nikita’s grin becomes unsettling. “I think it’s time for you to take a seat Detective.”
It’s a frantic blur, just like when he shot Marcs. One moment Nikita’s restrained in a chair and within a blink of an eye, the shackles drop to the floor and he’s got Sam in a headlock with a blood-filled syringe in his left hand. I don’t even have a change to pull my gun when Nikita stabs the needle into Sam’s neck and releases the contents.
“Sit down,” Nikita’s forearms clench around Sam’s throat, causing him to claw at the psychopath. I do as told and sit in Nikita’s chair and the man immediately releases Sam. “Sorry about that Pingelly, you’re a great chap and everything but I needed to even the playing field here since your partner has surpassed you. This shot of my blood shall enhance your gene to, say, her same level.”
I click my jaw back to place and bare my teeth at Nikita who’s now pacing the interrogation room. Sam palms his jaw and seems unaffected by the needle; he isn’t sweating or going into a fit of enlightenment. Sam catches my eyes and gives me a small nod to indicate that he’s okay; I can feel my cheeks heat up in a blush. Why can’t I act cool in situations with said crush?
“As I was saying,” Nikita pulls his file from the table and flicks through the reports and witness statements. “Thanks to me, you both have just become my two most favourite people. Y’see, the reason I deserve immunity is because I can tame this gene of yours and turn you both into prodigies―unlike your coroner who is trying to keep his many skeletons in the closet, I will be truthful to you.”
“This is probably a little overwhelming to you both, but continue asking me questions because they will surely lead up to the ‘bigger picture’,” Nikita tosses the file back onto the table and grabs Sam’s latte, taking a sip and then grimacing, “tasteless shit, what is this?”
Sam rolls his eyes, “Where’s Amanda Jane? Stevens found her car at Belvedere along with the distortion device. Is she Q?”
I want to slam my head against the table. Every time her name’s mentioned by anyone, I want to claw at my skin with a potato peeler. Am I the only one who doesn’t care if Amanda Jane shows up in a backstreet with her spleen and small intestine tied around her like a bow? I’d high-five the arsehole that would put her there and then buy him a drink. Amanda Jane is bad news and I seem to be the only one that sees that.
“I knew you’d ask that, all strung-out and lovesick,” Nikita folds his arms. “Amanda Jane is where she’s supposed to be, dead. Thanks to me that is, you’re welcome Detective, I can almost smell the hatred leaking from your pores,” Nikita gives me a wink, “I’ll text you the coordinates tomorrow, I’m going to play cupid between you both and fix what Detective Stevens has so stubbornly broken.”
I want to high-five Nikita, he’s killed Amanda Jane―but then why does it feel so wrong to not feel regret or nostalgia? What did Amanda Jane ever do to me? Nothing really, I was just being a pretentious cow. I rub my temples and bite down on my tongue.
“Is Helena Quinn involved in Angel Blue at all?” I ask.
“Ah your evil not-really-step-mother,” Nikita taps a finger against his stubbly chin. “You must be referring to the high-heel indent found on Chief Banks’ back along with the Shellac trace that has most likely come back positive from the samples I anonymously sent to the lab…you could say she’s simply a stepping stone in the pond of premature death.”
My stomach knots. I knew Helena was guilty but Nikita’s words were simply confusing me rather than relieving me with answers. Sam seems just as confused as me because his brow is creased and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He’s probably struggling to digest the fact that his ex-fling or whatever they were, is dead at the hands of the man we’re not-really obligated to protect.
“And I had such faith in you both,” Nikita pinches his brows. “I’ll just start from the beginning to fill in the blanks of your questions. Yes?”
Sam and I don’t have any objections.
“Angel Blue was originally proposed by the FBI when they realised that humans aren’t the only creatures walking amongst the populous of the planet or committing murder. There was an outbreak of ‘ripper’ killings performed by Baines in the sixties and it became the FBI’s problem so they thought if Baines weren’t the only things out there then why not kill them all before they snatch your children or whatever. Angel Blue has been put forward and revoked for almost fifty-five years, but now they’re no longer risking their own Agents. They want to use expendable targets such as the NYPD.”
“This links to why I killed Hayden. He sold me out to the FBI for protection, claiming not to be a wolf but I knew better and so I started my killings of NYPD officers to get under the FBI’s skin and so they sent salvation in the form of Samuel Pingelly,” Nikita cracks his knuckles, “too bad the Bureau is too stupid to recognise a Diablo within their own ranks. Besides, Pingelly’s working for the ‘good’ side so I had to find someone in the FBI to work for me so I can get information.”
“I found Amanda Jane when she came to Manhattan as a kind of stalker project against your partner here,” Nikita smirks, “the AVO’s don’t work on the single white female, Pingelly. Anyway, I reached out to her and said I would fish Pingelly’s feelings from the depths of hell for her if she tapped into your phones and precinct, hence why I know all of this stuff. Oops, my bad guys.”
“Through learning the ins and outs of your investigation I was able to stage her death perfectly to lead you on an endless journey down the metaphorical rabbit hole. She was ratting me out to the FBI, just like Hayden when she found out what I was, so I tried to make her look like Q and then killed her when she was escorted from Belvedere.”
“The Massacre however, was a distraction to buy me time and entertainment. Y’see the reason why the FBI don’t want to cooperate with you both is because they’re wanting to cover up a big bad secret that I have no fucking idea about and it’s starting to piss me off,” Nikita starts to pace the room again. “That being said, Q is extremely cautious of the FBI, Q is afraid of them which makes me wonder what the Bureau has on Q…”
“So I’ve put my excavation helmet on and did some digging and guess what I’ve found? Your pall Edward Snaginsky is a dirty little liar. Did you know he was given a position at the Bureau but some ‘psychotic breakdown’ prevented him from joining? I thought it was weird too until I dug a little deeper and saw that dear Edward Snaginsky was a test subject and all files concerning him were blacklisted―completely unreadable no matter how much I tried to seek out sources.”
“It makes sense actually; anyone that wears a sombrero on the job is no doubt a subject of serious torture. Those cuts he has on his arms were not self-inflicted. Chief Stevens most likely obliviously saved Snaginsky from certain death at whatever was going on―anyway, I know that the FBI had something to do with it because Angel Blue happened once again and Snaginsky has gone loopy slightly...more than normal.”
“And deeper we fall down the metaphorical rabbit hole,” Nikita rotates on his heel. “Snaginsky is running from his past, hence why he doesn’t want to help you both with the Diablo gene―ding, that’s why I’m here, you’re welcome. But yes, Angel Blue happens, blah, blah deaths everywhere and then someone makes a mistake.”
“I’m talking about that brainless woman Helena Quinn; she’s an Agent of the FBI and a dirty cop. Detective Stevens has been right all along to think that there was something wrong about her, I was going to step in and commit another murder or two to make her stop sticking her nose in the wrong Diablo gene but her lust with Chief Stevens paid off and she was kicked out,” Nikita huffs. “That being said the threat is still prominent and she screwed up Q’s plans by kicking Derek’s body when those two Shifters left Chief Banks and his daughter strung up in the warehouse. She didn’t kill Chief Banks, but you can arrest her for defiling a corpse.”
“Now, Helena Quinn’s mistake has pissed Q off so I was tasked with the duty of killing something. You could say I went on a little spree at Belvedere but then it occurred to me as to why the FBI spent a whole year chasing after me from Louisiana to Washington, they want my gene,” Nikita leans against the corner of the table. “I’m the most established Diablo that’s ever existed, and I now understand why I have to be hidden from everyone if you both want to survive.”
“The reason I made you overdose on your tablets was because I don’t want any more testing on my blood, that’s what the FBI wants. Y’know when I told you, Detective, that the gene gets so advanced that I can adapt to other creatures,” as he says this, Nikita’s hand becomes clawed like a Vrykokolas. “Well there’s more to the story and it has to do with Snaginsky.”
I sit still for a moment and then frantically piece things together in my mind. Snag doesn’t want me trusting the FBI because they’ve done something to him, and whatever it was, they want to replicate it with Nikita―knowing full well that he’s a Diablo. I then think on Nikita’s erratic behaviour, how he doesn’t acknowledge Dianne’s name. It’s like talking to a different person, two sides of the same coin. My jaw threatens to drop off.
“Stevens?” Sam grabs hold of my trembling hand.
Nikita looks between us and sneers, “I knew those injections would pay off. You see, I’m Henry Nikita, I share his thoughts and his body but in essence I’m a different person―I’m the emotionless version of the drug-addict Diablo. I believe you know it as the Jeckle and Hyde Complex.”
“Snaginsky suffers from the JH complex from his years of torture in the gap of story that I still don’t know about. Why do you think he throws tantrums sometimes and his lab assistant has to do his work? It’s because he struggles to maintain the persona of Doctor Jeckle. I don’t know what his trigger is but Q found mine,” Nikita clenches his fists.
“Dianne Hemming,” Sam gulps.
“My switch automatically flicked when I watched her die. It was a test of allegiance to Q because he wants to stop whatever the FBI want with the Diablos, he has no idea about the JH Complex and I want to keep it that way. I’m an emotionless corpse, but I’m willing to help you both before your Mr Hyde surfaces,” Nikita says. “I’m not technically Mr Hyde but I’m in the neutral zone, I’m in control but have turned my back on caring.”
“So you’re saying that Snaginsky’s been fighting with his own mind for most of his life since he’s awakened the gene and he doesn’t want us knowing about it because that will make us vulnerable?” Sam frowns.
“Not vulnerable, you’d become prizes to the FBI―they’d do anything within their lawful powers to drag you back to Washington or Quantico, kicking and screaming. You all should’ve listened to Detective Stevens when she tried to explain the third-eye process when the Diablo gene manifests to such an extent that you can copy other creatures abilities. However, some earth-shattering event may occur to said Diablo, whether it be a broken heart or watching a loved one die, their dark side will surface and the brain will literally split itself in two to cope.”
“Blocking the Diablo gene itself through alcohol, smoking or other means will simply aggravate the process of deterioration because when you come off the numb high, you’ll start to fall and your emotions will be heightened―anything that will go wrong in your life could trigger the JH Complex, which is why I don’t want either of you numbing it,” Nikita explains.
“What I’m trying to get through to you both is that you have to look at this case analytically. Depending on what you believe justice is, corresponds to your verdict on who is your real villain. Q is the masked instigator that wants to help Diablos and the rest of the creatures throughout the world by eradicating Angel Blue whereas the FBI wants to exterminate creatures because they’re supposed threats,” Nikita says.
“That being said, death is still present on both sides. Q will kill whoever and whatever stands in his way of freedom and the FBI will do the same to those that protect creatures from complete annihilation,” Nikita’s voice darkens. “So really, you’re both stuck in the middle of a tug of war that leads to hell either way.”
“The FBI want all creatures killed except the Diablos, but since Hayden stupidly gave information that Diablos are a threat to the human populous, they have to be killed too,” Nikita clears his throat. “Therefore, while you solve this case and work your way to the bigger picture―I’ll lend hints and tips where I am able to without being snuffed out by the FBI and Q; I can’t hide from them forever so why start now? Just know that you can’t trust anyone unless they bleed for you, prove that they’re worthy.”
“So you’re basically saying our gene is going to get to a point where we’re going to snap and end up like a homicidal mad scientist and there’s nothing we can do about it?” Sam squeezes my hand.
“Pretty much, sucks to be us,” Nikita scratches his hair. “But don’t worry Pingelly, when Mr Hyde says hello, you’re going to be strong enough to knock him back into your subconscious.”