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Title: Fallen
Author: Sam Singing Wolf
E-mail: SngngWolf@aol.com
Rating: PG - 13
Posted: 30 April 1999
Summary: Detective Steve Sloan searches for the person who set
him up.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or places in these
stories. Mark, Steve, Jesse and Amanda; BBQ Bobs, and Community
General are owned by Viacom, CBS and probably many other varied
entities under the watchful eyes of Chris Abbott and Dick Van
Dyke. None of which are me. No money is being made from this. So
please don't sue me, I'm just borrowing them for a short time. I
promise to return them in more or less the same condition as I
found them.
Note: This story is a sequel to "Dark Skies." If you
haven't read that one, I suggest you do, or this one won't make a
whole lot of sense.
Thanks to my sister for the title and all the support! (Thanks
Rey!) And a big thanks to all the DMAS members who encouraged me
to write this story. I would have never gotten it done before the
end of the millennium without the (subtle and not-so-subtle)
prodding!
________________________________
The two men sat at a table in a dark corner, secure in their
anonymity in the rundown corner bar. The tall man nodded his
thanks to the disinterested waitress who brought them their
beers. After a long minute spent staring at the bottle, he spoke.
"Sloan's not going to quit looking for me."
The shorter man took a long drink. "Relax. He doesn't
suspect you."
He shook his head. "That's easy for you. It's not your butt
on the line if he makes the connection. He's been asking too many
questions."
A thoughtful pause. "Is he getting close?"
"I think so."
"Then kill him."
He lowered his eyes to the table, his gaze tracing the initials
carved into the grime-coated surface. "I'm not comfortable
with that," he muttered.
The other man snorted. "You sure as hell didn't have any
problems having him tortured for information."
"That was different. It was business." He sounded
defensive now.
"So's this."
"I know this guy… We've worked together…"
The other man shrugged as he stood. "Like you said, it's
your ass. If it were me, I'd kill him."
He disappeared into the crowd, leaving the tall man alone at his
table, contemplating his past sins, and the murder of a police
lieutenant.
***
"So, what can you tell me?"
"Somebody killed him."
Steve grinned at Amanda, for a change appreciating her grim sense
of humor. "Cute." He took in her appearance, and raised
an eyebrow. "You look terrible," he said.
She threw him a dirty look and the file in her hand. To her
disgust, he caught it neatly. "So nice of you to
notice." She turned back to the autopsy table, and the
corpse lying on it. "See how you look after a sixteen hour
shift in the morgue."
"No thanks." He set down the report without even
glancing at its contents. "Come on, you can tell me all
about it over a cup of coffee."
"Steve, I can't." She waved an arm around. "I've
got work to do--"
"They're not going anywhere."
She gave him an exasperated look and shook her head. Then the
words came out without her quite realizing it: "All right.
But just a few minutes."
He grinned. "Good enough." He waited a moment while she
removed her gown, gloves and cap, then held the door for her as
they left the pathology lab.
***
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"Amanda, you said it yourself. You had been working sixteen
hours straight. It was time to go home."
She looked at him over a cup of tea. She was curled up on her
couch, in her pajamas, looking quite comfortable there. "So
you just took it upon yourself to see that I did?"
He smiled at her. She looked so cute sitting there, her eyes half
closed, her little fuzzy slippers encasing tiny feet… Her
words finally penetrated. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Well, what are
friends for?" He looked away for a few minutes. "So,
what's on TV tonight?" he finally asked as he reached for
the remote.
When she didn't answer, he turned back. She was sound asleep, her
knees tucked up under her chin, leaning against the back of the
couch. He smiled again. "Amanda?" He whispered softly.
"Amanda, that can't be comfortable."
She didn't move a muscle. He sighed and gently brushed a stray
lock of hair back from her face. He watched as a soft smile
curved her lips. He carefully picked her up as if she weighed no
more than a feather, and carried her into her bedroom. He laid
her in her bed and tucked the covers around her. She never so
much as opened her eyes.
"Goodnight, Amanda," he whispered. He was walking
towards the door when he tripped over a cardboard box. He winced
as he looked quickly back at Amanda. She was still sleeping
peacefully. He sighed in relief, and glanced down at the
offending box. It looked like one of Ron's, overflowing with FBI
files. A couple of LAPD files caught his eye, but he shook his
head, restraining his natural curiosity. Whatever Ron was working
on was certainly none of his business, was it?
He continued out to the living room and began picking up a little
bit. He put her teacup away in the kitchen, then let himself out
the front door, locking it behind him.
He sat in his truck for a little while, looking back at her
house. The yard was neatly trimmed as always, flowers
artistically arranged by a professional landscape artist, no
doubt. It looked like Amanda: elegant, tasteful, understated and
classic. All the things he was not. With an irritated shake of
his head, he drove away.
***
"Hey Ron," Steve called by way of greeting as he
poked his head in Ron's office.
"What do you want, Sloan?" Ron growled.
Steve straightened. "What's eating you?"
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Nothing. I'm sorry,
come on in. Sit down." He motioned to the chair across from
his desk. "What can I do for you, Steve?"
"For starters, you can tell me what's wrong."
Ron stared at him for a moment. "Amanda broke off our
relationship." He said abruptly.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't know."
"She said I've become moody. 'Impossible to live with,' she
said." He shrugged and looked back down at his paperwork.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them. Finally, Ron looked
back up. "You didn't come here to listen to me complain
about my love life. What do you need?"
Before he could respond, another agent entered the office,
placing a report on the desk. Ron nodded his thanks. "Gary,
this is Lieutenant Steve Sloan of the LAPD. Steve, I don't know
if you remember Agent Gary Shelton. He's one of our best."
Steve smiled and rose to shake the agent's hand. "Gary.
Sorry, name doesn't ring a bell."
Shelton returned the greeting amiably. "No problem. I don't
think we were ever formally introduced."
Steve nodded and looked back at Ron. "It's about the Russell
Dale case."
Agent Shelton stopped at the doorway and turned back to listen to
the conversation. Steve glanced at him, then gave Ron a
questioning look.
Ron waved a hand. "It's okay. Gary was on that case from the
beginning. Besides, the case is closed. We successfully
prosecuted him on money laundering charges. The wife is safely in
the Witness Relocation Program."
"But we never caught the guy who set me up."
"That's easy. It was somebody the cartel hired to help their
guy out. No big mystery."
"But they couldn't have known where we were keeping Mrs.
Dane the first time. It had to have been a cop."
"Sloan, we've been through this before--"
"I've found him."
Shelton interrupted. "You what?"
Steve looked back at him. "I did a check on spectators who
attended the trial every day. One of them, a man named Eduardo
Ramirez has known connections to the cartel. He was probably
their liaison for Dane. I've traced back several telephone calls
from him to someone at the FBI."
Ron shook his head. "One of ours? That's not
possible…"
Steve tossed a large envelope on the desk. "See for
yourself. The phone records are clear. The problem is, the calls
came through the main switchboard, not to a direct line. What I
need to know is, can we find out who those calls were transferred
to?"
Ron picked up the envelope. "Maybe," he said
doubtfully. "I'll see what I can do."
"That's all I ask." He stopped at the door. Agent
Shelton was still standing there, his expression unreadable.
Steve looked back at his friend. "Listen Ron, I'm sorry
about you and Amanda."
"Yeah, me too."
***
BBQ Bob's was empty. There had been a decent crowd tonight,
Steve mused as he waved a goodnight to Shelly. He didn't know
what he'd do without her. She was by far the best waitress in
town. He finished removing the money from the till, filling a
bank deposit bag. He'd drop it off on his way home. With a last
look around the place, he walked around the bar, pulling his keys
out of his pocket.
Without warning, the door flew open, and a young man ran in, a
sawed-off shotgun in hand. Steve threw himself behind the bar
just as the kid opened fire. He felt pain lance his side, even as
he drew his weapon. But the pain became a secondary concern as
another sound drew his attention.
"Steve?" Amanda's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"There'd better be some coffee on, mister! I've had a really
bad day."
"Amanda, get down!" He shouted.
He heard her scream as the man fired again. Steve ducked, then
stood to return fire.
His first shot hit his target. The man fell, the shotgun
clattering next to him. Steve stood slowly, his gun still ready.
Reaching him, he kicked the weapon aside, then knelt to check for
a pulse. He found none.
"Steve?" Amanda peeked out around the corner. "Are
you all right?"
He nodded, still gazing down at the gunman. He couldn't be more
than 16 or 17, he thought despondently. Amanda hurried to his
side.
"No, you're not. Steve, sit down. I'm going to call a
ambulance."
He gave her a puzzled look, then followed her gaze to his side.
His tan shirt was covered with blood. As he looked, a dull ache
began to spread throughout his abdomen. He took a ragged breath.
Amanda guided him to a chair and he sat heavily. She looked
around. "Where's the phone? I've got to call--" she
broke off as the saw the phone sitting on the bar. After a quick
call to 911, she returned.
"Steve? How are you doing?" She pressed a couple of
clean napkins to his side. He gasped in pain.
"Okay," he muttered. He turned his head to look her in
the eye. "What are you doing here?"
"I came for coffee."
He nodded and closed his eyes. The room was starting to spin at a
rather alarming rate, and it was easier if he couldn't see it.
"Steve?"
"What?"
"You still awake?"
"Mmm-hmm."
"You had me worried. For a minute there, you were starting
to look like one of my regular patients."
He couldn't help it, he laughed. More of a chuckle really, but it
still hurt like hell. He didn't say so, but his expression must
have said it for him. He felt her hand on his forehead, blessedly
cool.
"Sorry," her whispered apology sounded contrite and
more than a little scared.
He managed a small reassuring smile just before he passed out.
***
"No, Mark, Steve wouldn't want you to fly back here, not
in the weather you're having. Dr. Torell says he'll be fine.
They're going to release him tomorrow afternoon, probably. They
removed eight pieces of shot from his side and a couple from his
forearm." Amanda paused to listen to a worried father.
"It could've been much worse, Mark. I'll keep an eye on him,
I promise." She smiled. "Yes, Mark. I'll tell him. And
I'll have him call you as soon as he's up to it. At least try to
enjoy the rest of the conference, okay? Say hi to Jesse for
me." Good-byes were exchanged, and finally she hung up the
phone. She wasn't certain that Mark Sloan wouldn't still try to
fly back from Florida, but she thought she most likely had him
talked out of it.
She wandered back to Steve's room. He was still sleeping,
although no longer under the effects of the anesthetic. He looked
young, almost boyish in his sleep, and Amanda couldn't resist
smoothing his hair back from his forehead. When she laid her hand
against his cheek, he turned his head slightly to nestle his face
into her palm. She smiled.
She settled into a chair positioned near his bed. As she watched
him sleep, her mind wandered and she remembered all the times he
had been there for her; protecting her and holding her when she
was afraid. She would be there for him when he woke up.
***
"Hey, Amanda," Steve called as he entered Dr.
Bentley's office. A few days had passed, and he was back at work,
albeit driving a desk. The trashcan next to the doorway caught
his eye; a bouquet of flowers was wilting there, upside down.
"Anything on the Kay autopsy?" He asked distractedly as
he eyed the wilted roses. But he soon found his gaze drawn back
to the lovely doctor.
She glanced up at him ever her glasses. "Kay? Oh, George
Kay…" She put down the file she was looking at and
rummaged around her desk until she picked up another. "Let's
see… George Kay, Caucasian male, age 42, cause of death, two
gunshot wounds to the head..." She looked up suddenly.
"What's that look for?"
His eyes opened wide as he raised his eyebrows. The picture of
innocence. "What look?"
Her eyes narrowed. "You had a strange look on your
face."
He just raised his shoulders slightly as if to say, "I don't
know what you're talking about."
She looked at him suspiciously a moment longer, then looked back
down to continue reading. Steve grinned widely at the top of her
head.
"Point of entry indicates shooter was in two different
places when he fired each shot," she said.
"Confirming the reports that it was a drive by."
She nodded. "Looks like." She looked back at the
report. "9mm hollow point rounds, not at close range, and
not much else for you."
He shrugged. "I expected as much. Thanks anyway." He
cleared his throat as he nodded towards the dying roses.
"From Ron?"
"It's over. He can't buy me back with flowers."
"Amanda…"
"Ever since he came back from London, he's been different. I
thought he came back early to be with me, but he's been distant
and moody." She gave a sharp shake of her head. "Look,
I appreciate your concern, Steve, but I don't want to talk about
it, okay?" She said rather harshly.
He didn't miss a beat as he continued, "…you want to
have dinner with me?"
She looked up at him, caught totally off guard. "What?"
"Come on. With dad and Jesse out of town, everything's too
quiet. We could go by Bob's…"
"I'm not really dressed to go out," she protested
lamely.
"Then I'll pick up dinner and a video, and we'll go to my
place. It'll be fun. I think we could both use the company."
She stood there a moment, just staring at him. Then she shook
herself mentally. He was right; the company of a good friend was
just what she needed right now. And that's Steve, she told
herself. He's just playing big brother. "Okay,"
she said aloud. "I'll meet you there in an hour." She
went back to her reports as he headed for the door. "And
Steve…"
He turned back. "Yes?"
She smiled warmly. "Thanks for caring."
He returned the smile. "Anytime."
***
"Wow. That was great."
"I figured I couldn't go wrong with Chinese food with
you."
She laughed. "No, that's usually a safe bet."
Steve refilled her wineglass, then his own.
"So," she ventured. "How's work going?"
He took a sip of the burgundy. "Not bad. I think I'm finally
getting somewhere finding the leak in the department."
Her face darkened at the memory of that terrible time, when they
all thought Steve had been dead. She stared into her glass.
"Amanda?"
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Steve, we were so
scared. When Mark brought you in to the ER--"
He set their glasses on the table and gently took her hand.
"What?" He asked quietly.
Her voice was barely a whisper. "We didn't think we were
going to be able to save you. The paramedics and Mark had been
keeping you alive with CPR on the way in, and Jesse had
to--" She took a deep breath. "You coded twice on us,
Steve. The injuries we saw, and the deliberate drug
overdose--"
Steve closed his eyes and sighed. It made sense now. The haunted
look in his father's eyes when he looked at him, the way he
hovered over him during his recovery. Jesse, badgering him to
take just a few more days before returning to work. He had no
idea it had been so close, but he understood why Mark hadn't told
him. It wasn't something that just came up in casual dinner
conversation.
He looked back at Amanda. He reached out, and with tender
fingers, wiped a tear from her cheek. "Amanda…"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry…"
He placed a finger to her lips. "No, there's nothing to be
sorry for." He looked into her eyes, trying to read the
emotions he saw there. She returned the gaze, her own eyes wide
and searching.
Slowly, he lowered his head and his lips found the place his
fingertip had been only a moment before. He kissed her gently,
his movements tentative and questioning.
Her own response was sudden and unexpected. She returned his kiss
with an intensity that surprised him. The flood of emotions he
felt was nearly overwhelming.
For a brief moment, reason took over and Steve pulled back from
the passionate kiss. "Amanda, I'm sorry," he whispered.
She stared at him, her breathing uneven, and tried to keep up
with this sudden change of heart. "For what? You have
nothing to be sorry for," she said, unconsciously echoing
his earlier words.
"But Ron--"
She placed her hand against his cheek, understanding. "--Is
your friend, I know. But this has nothing to do with him. You
didn't cause the problems in our relationship, he did. What we
had, is over. This is between you and me, no one else."
"It's just…"
"I know." She leaned towards him. "We're all
adults, Steve. Free to make our own choices. I've made
mine…" She pressed her lips to his. He didn't stop her.
His left hand moved up to cradle her head, his fingers twining in
her hair. His other arm wrapped possessively around her
shoulders, pulling her closer. She wrapped both arms around his
waist, her fingers exploring the skin stretched tautly across
hard muscle.
"What the hell is going on here?"
They looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway. Emotion
flitted across his face: hurt, anger, and embarrassment.
"Ron…" Amanda whispered. Steve lowered his eyes
briefly.
He stood there, just staring at the two. His icy glare focused on
Steve. "I came by to drop off the information you
wanted." He did so literally, letting the folder fall from
his outstretched fingers to the floor. Then he turned and slammed
out the door.
For almost a full minute, the two sat there in silence, staring
at the closed door. Then Amanda got up, picking up her coat and
purse. "I should go…"
Steve stood as well. "Amanda…"
She shook her head, not looking him in the eyes. "No, I
think I need to go. This can't work, not tonight, not like
this." She looked at the floor. "I'll see you tomorrow,
okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she hurried out the
door.
Steve sat heavily on the couch. His mind was reeling, not only
from Ron's sudden appearance and outburst, but from his own
turbulent emotions. The intensity of his feelings for Amanda had
surprised even him. He grabbed his jacket and headed out to the
beach. He too, needed some time alone to think.
Go to
part two