Dark Reasons Ch. 05-06

Chapter Five

Jenna sighed and rubbed the sensitive skin just under the bump on her head trying to soothe away some of the throbbing pain. Two and a half hours she had just spent in a tiny square of a room with a 260 pound psychopath. Not the ideal text book treatment for a concussion.

But maybe it would help her forget the past couple hours. God, the thought of what she'd had to listen to, of how he spoke would be with her for life. She had watched his face as he described his many victims, the torture methods of killing he had used, the blood and gore he had shed. He was emotionless, passive with about as much passion in his words as she had when she talked getting the tires rotated on her car.

He had calmly taken her through a twenty-some years career in killing, carefully detailing events psychotic and horrible enough to give her nightmares for weeks. There was none of the glee, the sense of pride that she had acquainted with killers before. He was just reciting facts and figures like an accountant would. In fact, he sounded bored with the whole process.

And she had sat there, just sat there, listening to his accounts with her own implacable expression rigid upon her features, taking notes and asking questions. Just another case to file, another bad guy put away, another deal made. That thought, those words were swimming in her head like a plague.

She felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of the deal she had negotiated with Elliott at the PA's urging, wishing, instead, that she could pull her weapon and put an end to his miserable excuse of a life. It would be like ridding the world of a stray rabid dog. He would never be rehabilitated, he would never feel shame or sorrow for what he had done. And after wading ankle deep in the blood of his murders, she couldn't help but think he'd be better off dead.

But, that wasn't for her to decide, courts, judges and juries decided guilt and innocence, she just got the criminals off the streets. So she'd sat in that room and she'd managed through sheer will to stay professional. She had hid her intense feelings of disgust for the deadly killer by holding onto what she held dear by the skin of her teeth. She had done the job for the badge and what it stood for. But it cost her, and that cost was dear and almost more than she could take.

She opened the door to go into the small room that housed the homicide bullpen, a room cluttered with papers on the walls, ancient grey metal desks, filing cabinets, and a table that held a huge coffee maker. She went there first and was just about to pour herself a cup of the thick bitter liquid that cops laughingly described as coffee when a hand gently touched her shoulder.

"You should have water. The caffeine isn't good for that headache."

She closed her eyes and sighed, praying for just a little more strength, before turning toward the good doctor. He meant well, she told herself, even if he was being annoying.

"I thought you left."

He took the cup out of her hand, looking into it first with a sneer of disgust at the dank ring that had been etched into it's smooth rim. Then he handed her a bottle of water that was so cold condensation was running down the side and another of the big white pills. "Take that. You look like hell."

She swallowed the pill with her own grimace of disgust. She'd never admit to anyone, not in a million years but they did help her feel better. "Is that your professional or personal opinion, Doc?"

"Let's say both." He grinned that sexy smile at her, the one she was sure melted butter from a mile away. "No charge."

"Thanks," she said. But she couldn't help but smile back at him, despite how lousy she felt. She started over to her desk and felt him behind her. "Please don't take this the wrong way, Doc. I mean I am very grateful for your help in getting me back on the job and dropping off the prescription. But," she smiled again to take the sting out of the words. "Don't you have a home?"

"Yeah, I do. And I should probably be there, in bed unconscious right now. But sometimes other things are a little more important." He sat next to her cluttered desk in the chair that was bolted not only to the ground but to the desk itself to keep anyone who wasn't happy being there and throwing a tizzy from picking it up and throwing it too.

She plopped down into her chair, grunted at the mess and flipped over a file of old paperwork to make room for her bottle of water. The desk facing hers was empty and she scowled darkly at it.

"He said he'd be back later, had something he had to do. Your partner," he said at her look, nodding at the empty chair. "He was leaving when I came in here to wait for you to get done."

"How long ago?" She glanced at her watch. There was a smear of dark blood on it. She used her thumb nail to scrub at it absently.

"About twenty minutes or so." He studied her drawn features, the bruises standing out colorfully against her pale skin. She looked ready to fall over. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said, throwing her words back at her. "But don't you have a home you should go to before you fall down?"

She managed, barely, to contain her anger. If she didn't feel like death warmed over, she would have laughed at him and then told him where to stick his concern. "Oh I just have a few things to do, like all that nasty paperwork a bust like this is going to generate." She sighed and searched through the mess on her desk for the file she needed, pushing asides stacks of papers, unearthing a half eaten sandwich. She stared at that, wondering when she had gotten it before dumping it plate and all into the trash. "I'm going to be here for a while yet," she continued. "You might as well go home doc. I really do appreciate everything that you've done for me."

He stared at her for a second, his trained doctor's eyes taking notes. She looked terrible, washed out, with black smudges under her eyes almost as dark as the bruises on the side of her face. She had shadows dimming the lustrous green of her eyes caused by pain. Her shoulders were held tight, the muscles in her body rigid against the pain. It made him angry. No, furious, for some reason that he wasn't sure he wanted to explore, that she was willing to jeopardize her health this way. Even though the job she did was important, and she was good at it, she was going to put herself into the hospital with exhaustion. She needed about a week's worth of rest and a vacation and then maybe she'd be fit to come back on the job.

"Dammit, Jenna."

She looked up and met his gaze, stunned by the sudden outburst of someone who had been so calm all this time.

"I'm this close to pulling you out of here. You need to rest. Your going to make yourself seriously ill." He reached out to push her hair from her face again, a gesture that was beginning to feel natural to him.

Jenna glanced around the room cautiously, noting the few detectives that were still in there staring at them, some with smiles, some just curious. "Keep your voice down," she hissed at him, pushing his fingers away from her face. "I don't need the whole department knowing my business."

"Then don't be so damn obstinate. Can't your partner do this paperwork? You need bed and food, not to sit in this place." He could be just as stubborn. All those years of medical school, residency and sick and trying patients had taught him how.

"I took the damn pill. I'll be fine." She cringed at the whine in her own voice and turned back to her desk.

Ethan's temper flared further. He rose abruptly with enough force to jar Jenna's desk and knock over the bottle of water, which started to drain all over the mess of paperwork. She grabbed for the bottle, righting it quickly, and swiping spilled water off her papers and on to the ugly linoleum floor.

"Fine, Jenna. Just fine. You want to end up back in the hospital, that's just fine with me. But I don't need to sit around here and watch you do that to yourself." He stomped away, resisting the urge to slam a few doors while muttering about stubborn females.

"Sheesh," Jenna mumbled under her breath. "What climbed up his butt and died?" She wouldn't admit to anyone how badly her head hurt, how her ribs ached and exhaustion seemed to pull at her like quicksand, not even to the doctor. And she sure wouldn't admit that she felt guilty for the way he left. He'd been the one doing her a favor. She hadn't meant to piss him off. She was just good at it.

She shook out the few papers that still had a little water on them, making the floor even wetter, then laid them out to dry on top of other stacks. Coffee, she needed coffee. None of this just water business for her. A good shock of caffeine for her system and she would be just fine. If she had coffee, she might be able to put in another hour or so.

She got up, grabbed her cup and filled it with the tar that cops drank before going back to her desk and once more looking for the file.

She was so caught up in what she was doing, she jumped when a large plastic bag was dropped abruptly on top of the paperwork she was looking at.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She looked up at Justin as he towered over her, doing his best to be intimidating. "Working, what the hell are you doing?"

"I went out to the lab and picked up your stuff." He indicated the plastic bag. "I thought you might like to have your badge back."

She picked up the plastic bag and opened it, pulling out a pair of handcuffs, her wallet which included her badge and her nine millimeter plus clips. Running her hands lovingly over her weapon, she could have kissed Justin right then.

"Thanks, partner. They finished with this so soon?" She slid the gun and clips into her briefcase that was still sitting next to her desk from last night, with a mental note to clean it when she got home. The rest went into the pockets on her jacket.

"Yeah. I got some of the reports too." He lifted her chin with his finger and looked into her eyes, wincing at the pain he could see there sitting hand in hand with exhaustion. "Listen, Jenna. If I agree to sign an affidavit that swears you are one mean bitch cop, the best cop I've worked with bar none, will you go home?"

She jerked away from his finger, knocking his hand aside. "Why does everybody feel the need to tell me I look like shit? I'm fine." She glared up at him, a look that usually had cops shaking in their boots. "Okay?"

Justin walked slowly away to his own desk that faced hers. He sat down, scooted his chair in and crossed his arms on the scarred gray metal, staring at her in a way designed to make her nervous. She stared right back, refusing to back down.

"Wonder what the chief would say?"

"You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?"

She glared at him hotly, not amused by his threats.

He smiled at her, a slow smile that stirred her temper even more. She had a happy visual image of going over to his side of the desk and planting a fist into that smug smile on his rugged face. Maybe a broken jaw would make him feel a little less superior.

"Justin, I got to write up the reports, all the information Elliott had, it's got to turned in. All his murders, the details." She swallowed heavily and shook her head. "He's some piece of work. You wouldn't believe it. He figures he's killed easily close to forty women in five different states." Her hands went to her temples unconsciously and started rubbing. "I sent the tapes down to be transcribed but I've got to do the reports."

"He's not going anywhere, Jenna. He's wrapped up tight for tonight. You can do them tomorrow after you get a good night sleep." He leaned forward and reached across both desks to grab her jaw, turning it to look at the fierce bruises that had turned black with just hints of blue. "You look like hell, partner. You had a really rough night last night. You were in the hospital, for God's sake. Why don't you just give yourself a break for the rest of today? I promise I won't tell anyone that you're merely human and need to rest like the rest of us."

He stood up, letting go of her face, and moved around the desk to sit in the chair that Ethan had just vacated. "So, what'll it be? Going home with it being your idea, partner? Or going home with it being the Chief's idea?" He had her and he knew it. He also knew that she would find a way to get payback sometime later.

Jenna gathered up some files, straightening papers automatically before slipping them into her briefcase. Then she glared at him. "Okay, fine. You win. I'll go home so my face isn't around to bother you anymore. I'll just work on this there and type it up in the morning."

Justin shook his head, disgusted. "Couldn't you just leave work here Jenna, just once. Go home and get some rest. Take one of those pills I saw the doc shoving at you and get some sleep."

Jenna remembered her nap in the tub, the dream that had seemed so hideously real. The huge black barrel of the gun pointed at her with no way for her to run. She almost shuddered but managed to control it. Sleep might not be as easy as he thought.

"Hey, I'm going home. Don't push your luck." She managed to keep the nerves out of her voice, but barely.

"Come on." He started to take her arm but she pulled away.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, suspiciously.

"I'm taking you home."

"I can get myself there. I don't need a damned babysitter, Justin."

Justin ignored her sputters and reached down for her briefcase, determination in his movements. "And how are you going to do that?" "My car is in the parking garage."

Justin saw the stubborn tilt to her chin and knew she was going to dig in her heels. He sighed again, tiredly. His night hadn't been much easier than hers. He'd gone home, slept in his recliner for about an hour, took a shower and came back in to start the ball rolling. His eyes felt like they had sand in them, gritty and rough and his temper was just as short if not shorter than hers.

He'd been fine when he walked into his apartment from the hospital, fine until he saw his hands covered with her blood, now dry and almost rusty colored. The sight of that blood had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. He could still hear the frantic sound of her screams, see the vivid image of that truck plowing into her side of the car every time he closed his eyes. His hour of sleep had been restless at best. If she thought he was going to take crap from her today, she was mistaken.

He took her briefcase from her and started toward the door of the bullpen.

"What are you doing?" She hurried to catch up.

"Walking you out."

She had learned when they first worked together that she took two steps to his one long stride. "Why?" She cringed at the pain in her ribs. "Slow down."

He turned his head and looked down at her. "Why should I slow down? You're fine, remember?"

"God, Justin. Do you have to be such a man right now?"

That stopped him. He turned and almost pinned her to the wall. "Such a man? I am a man, Jenna. Remember?" He glared down at her. "Maybe if you didn't try so hard to be a man yourself, you might notice that." He handed her the briefcase and stormed away without looking back.

Jenna stood there, her mouth open in shock. What the hell had that been about? And that crack, she didn't want to be a man, and she certainly didn't act like one. She shifted the briefcase automatically to her left hand, leaving her right hand free to reach her weapon if necessary.

She made the trip to her car, a dark blue Ford Mustang, and sighed in relief when she slid into its familiar leather seat. She let her head rest against the steering wheel for just a moment, catching her breath.

Justin. They had been partners for four years, friends since day one. You trusted your partner, you told him everything. They had hunted killers together, closed cases and had fantastic arrest records. She had stood by him when his divorce had come through. He had brought her chicken noodle soup when she'd come down with pneumonia. They had worked their tails off on this case and now, they had him. Justin should be doing cartwheels, not jumping down her throat.

Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, making her feel slightly nauseous. The pain pill the doctor had given her, didn't seem to be helping. She sat up with a sigh and put the key in the ignition, starting the high powered car with a single twist of the key. It roared once then settled into a throaty purr that never failed to tickle her.

She shifted it into reverse and backed out of her spot, determined to go home and work on the case and forgot whatever was wrong with Justin.

Chapter Six

Jenna stared grumpily at the doors of the emergency room and wondered for about the hundredth time why she was doing this. She shouldn't be here. She had a whole desk load of backlog to go through and a final statement to prepare for the press on Kevin Elliott's arrest. The press release had to get sent to the department's media consultant before she could deliver it and that could take hours.

She had way too much on her plate. She shouldn't be standing outside the doors of the hospital at four am. And she sure as hell shouldn't be going inside to see Doctor Miller again.

She shifted the small white bag she carried to her other hand and resolutely pushed through the doors quickly before she could change her mind. He had done her a favor and she repaid her debts. She only wanted to thank him for what he had done for her. Nothing more, nothing less.

The harsh cleanser smell of disinfectant invaded her nostrils, making her cringe. She hated the cloying smells of hospitals almost as much as she hated staying in them. There was something about that smell that reminded her too much of sickness and death. Natural death, old age death, the kind that took forever to kill you, left you dependant on others, and shamed you by leaving you weak and helpless.

Another bad thought, old age. She hoped she took a bullet before she was old enough to sit in some geriatric home, boring the socks off of everyone with stories about "the good old days" when she was a cop. She didn't want to be ninety, wearing a diaper and gumming her food, waiting for the end because that was all there was left to look forward to.

She stopped at the admittance desk and waited for the nurse standing there to notice her.

It didn't take long before the overworked woman looked up from the notes she was scribbling.

"Can I help you?"

Jenna pulled her badge, flipping it open so the nurse could see her identification as well. "I'd like to see Doctor Miller if he has a minute."

"Ah, certainly. Detective? Is it?"

Jenna nodded and the nurse picked up the phone and paged the doctor. Within minutes he was pushing through the gray doors that separated Emergency from the other areas of the hospital his white doctor's coat flapping around his blue surgical scrubs.

His eyes widened when he recognized her, then narrowed suspiciously.

"Hello Detective." He held out his hand warily.

Jenna took it, amazed that she hadn't remembered just how good looking he was. Or maybe she had and that was why she had been so nervous about coming here.

"Doctor."

Her hand seemed small and almost childlike in his. And even dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, a light jacket concealing the gun he knew she wore, she still looked too young for the responsibility he knew she carried on her slim shoulders. And beautiful, too. He found himself staring into her eyes, thickly lashed and almost impossibly green.

She was the last person he would have pictured to voluntarily come here looking for him. Especially after the way he had walked out on her those days ago when she had so sorely pissed him off. He had thought about her though. He had wondered about her, had been concerned, wishing he knew if she had seen her own doctor, taken the pain killers he had prescribed. And had wondered why he cared at all. She was just one of a million patients that walked or rolled into his life through the emergency room doors.