Rose - Forgiven (4/7) - Mac Taylor/Michelle Dessler (CSI:NY/24)
Title: Forgiven (4/7)
Author/Artist:
failegaidin
Claim: Mac Taylor/Michelle Dessler (CSI:NY/24)
Theme: Rose
Theme Set: Romance
Rating: FRT
Warnings: Spoilers for S5 of 24, but that's about it.
Disclaimer: Neither 24 nor CSI:NY belong to me. They belong to other people, whose names I don't know off the top of my head, but who generally upset me with their storylines.
A/N: This story is in seven parts. I used each prompt for a chapter.
"Morning."
Michelle looked up to see Mac standing next to her. Reaching out, he handed her a cup of coffee; she couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you," she said warmly, taking the cup. "You didn't have to do that."
He shrugged. "It was on my way." He nodded to the crime scene in front of them. "What have we got?"
"Claire Phillips. Thirty-two years old. She took a bullet to the center of the forehead. No defensive wounds."
Mac kneeled by the body, staring at it intently. The victim lay sprawled out on the floor right by the front door, one arm flung above her head. Her long brown hair was fanned out around her face, and the only thing to mar her beauty was the red bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.
But it was her eyes that drew his focus. A fresh red rose petal rested over each eye, making the whole scene look like some antiquated burial ritual. He looked up at Michelle in question.
"There are roses in the kitchen," she explained. "A dozen."
Danny walked into the room from deeper in the house. "If they came from a florist, there's nothin' to tell us who. No fingerprints, no car, nothin'."
Mac got to his feet again. "What am I smelling?"
Hawkes spoke up as Lindsay joined them. "Perfume. It's on the rose petals and the vic's wrists."
"Very high-end perfume," Lindsay added, holding up a bottle. "I found this in her room."
"Wait a second." Everyone stopped and looked at Hawkes, still kneeling next to the body. "There's a small needle mark in her side. Could explain why she didn't put up a fight."
Mac nodded, taking everything in. "Alright - Hawkes, I want you to find out what she was injected with. Danny, Lindsay, work on the roses - get everything you can from them. Michelle and I will do the interviews."
Nodding their agreement, the team separated to carry out their tasks.
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Michelle watched the couple sitting in front of her, feeling the pain rolling off of them in waves. This was the part of the job that she hated the most - informing parents, spouses, children and lovers that someone in their life was no longer with them. It still amazed her how many reactions there were; some people fell to the ground, others screamed, while others went quiet, their entire body going still. It always reminded her of her own reaction, when Bill had told her…
"Mr. Phillips," Mac said, interrupting her thoughts. "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt your daughter?"
The older man shook his head firmly, his arm tightening around the shoulders of his wife. "No. Claire was a good girl."
"Was she seeing anyone?" Michelle asked.
"No. And before you go thinking that she wouldn't tell us, let me tell you you're wrong. She's always been open with us, even when she was seeing a boy she knew we wouldn't like. She always said she'd rather be honest with us from the beginning than worry about breaking the news to us later."
"What did she do for a living?"
"She was a teacher," Mrs. Phillips answered, her voice wavering with emotion. "She loved children."
Mac stepped in again. "Did she say anything to you lately? Any weird phone calls? Did she feel like she was being followed."
"No, nothing like that."
He nodded and stood up, Michelle doing the same only a second later. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We'll call when we find something."
The couple murmured their agreement, and the two detectives quietly stepped out of the house. Once outside, Michelle breathed a sigh of relief.
"That never gets easier, does it?" she asked.
Mac shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. And it didn't give us any leads, either."
"You want to check out the school next?"
"Seems like our best bet."
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After interviewing everyone at the school, the detectives walked back out to the car in silence. Mac got behind the steering wheel while Michelle climbed into the passenger's seat, but no move was made to start the engine.
"Either Claire Phillips was the best secret-keeper in the world, or this girl really had no reason to be killed."
Mac nodded, glancing over at his partner. "And I'm going to go with the latter. I don't think she would have lied to all those people. If she thought she was being followed, or if she was having an argument…she would have told one of them."
"So what does that leave us with?" Michelle asked.
"At the moment, nothing. But that's why we have C.S.I.s as well as detectives." When she glanced over at him with a questioning glance, Mac smiled. "We follow the evidence."
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"There's a good reason Claire Phillips didn't have any defensive wounds," Hawkes stated as Michelle, Mac, Danny and Lindsay joined him in the lab. "She was physically unable."
"Why?" Danny asked.
"She was injected with Curare," he explained. "It's a paralysis-inducing toxin from South America. Which means she was on the floor in a matter of seconds, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. From there, all the guy had to do was shoot her."
"Pretty easy murder," Lindsay commented. "At least as far as murders go. Chances are, he didn't know the vic well."
Mac nodded. "Lindsay's right. There's no passion here. It wasn't a heated argument or born out of desperation. This was calculated. The perp went there with the drug already in the syringe."
"Premeditated," Michelle mumbled. "So how do we find the bastard?"
"We stay on him," Mac replied. He turned to Danny and Lindsay. "Did you get anything from the roses?"
Danny nodded. "Looks they were fed with a very high-end plant food. I guess rich people like to pamper their flowers."
The older man frowned. "Claire Phillips wasn't rich by any stretch of the imagination. That perfume we found was an indulgence, according to her parents. It was a treat to herself."
"Well we got the address to the three florists in Manhattan that use this particular brand of plant food," Danny continued. "I figure we can go check 'em out."
Mac's phone rang then, interrupting them. He answered it, having a terse conversation before hanging up.
"That's going to have to wait," he told them. "We've got another victim."
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Michelle felt as though she'd gone back in time. Standing in the middle of the foyer, it was the same scene they had come upon days earlier. The only difference was that it wasn't Claire Phillips who lay on the floor, but a younger woman, her brunette hair held back in a low ponytail.
"Who is she?" she asked.
Mac sighed. "Julia Nichols, age twenty-four. This is her parents' house - they're both at work."
"Same M.O.," Hawkes said.
"And the same flowers in the kitchen," Lindsay added. "And the same expensive perfume in the bedroom."
"Looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands," Danny commented.
"We need to talk to that florist," Michelle murmured.
Mac nodded. "Then let's go."
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The young man behind the counter looked up as Mac approached him. He immediately plastered a polite, but fake, smile on his face as though he wanted nothing in the world but to please the next customer.
"Welcome to Giordano's, sir. How can I help you?"
Mac pulled two photographs out of his jacket pocket and slid them across the glass counter. "Have you ever seen either of these two women in here before?"
He frowned, looking at both photos carefully. "I'm sorry, sir, but no. I've never seen them before."
"And you're here how often?"
"Every day, sir. Eight to five."
Mac sighed, letting his gaze wander around the store. There were two more florists on the list from Danny, and it looked like they were going to have to check them out. His gaze rested on Michelle for a moment, and he watched her run a gentle hand over a rose.
"Sir?"
The detective shook himself, focusing back on the problem at hand. "What about your sale of red roses? Has there been an increase lately?"
"Actually, yes."
That caught Mac's attention, and he looked at the man intently. "Has one person in particular been buying them?"
"Yes. A man. I couldn't really put an age to him, but he isn't old or young. Brown hair, medium height, medium build. There's really nothing special about him."
"How did he pay?"
"Cash. Every time."
"Alright. I'm going to have you come into the station and sit down with a sketch artist." The clerk opened his mouth to protest, but Mac cut him off. "You can find someone to cover your shift for a couple hours. This is a murder investigation."
He sighed. "Let me go tell my manager."
As the young man walked away, Mac turned his attention back to the store. Michelle was still standing by the roses, apparently lost in thought. Quietly, he moved up beside her, standing there in silence until she was ready to talk.
"I never liked roses," she said quietly.
"No?"
She looked up and smiled at him. "Lilacs have always been my favorite." Pausing, she bit her lower lip in thought before continuing. "Tony bought me roses on our first date. He had no idea I didn't like them. He was so embarrassed."
"Claire liked tulips," Mac said, unsure of why exactly he was telling her.
But the comment made her smile return. "You were right, you know."
"About what?"
"You learn to live with it."
He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the clerk returning. He settled for letting his hand brush against hers as they left the flower shop.
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"This sketch doesn't help much," Danny commented.
Mac had called the team to a meeting in his office. He passed out the drawing from the clerk's description as they plotted out their next move.
"The flower shop has sold more than five dozen roses to this guy," he told them. "That means he has at least three more intended victims."
"But where does he find them?" Lindsay asked. "Where is the one place that these women go?"
"The answer's in the perfume."
They all looked up to see Michelle standing in the doorway. There was a satisfied smile on her face, and a bounce in her stance that told them she was itching to go somewhere.
"What are you talking about?" Mac asked.
"I dug through their lives, looking for any place they might intersect," she explained, coming fully into the room. "And the only thing that they had in common is the perfume."
Danny sighed. "I don't suppose that only a few stores carry it?"
Michelle's smile broadened. "Only one. And I sent another detective over there with the sketch - a man who looks just like the guy from the flower shop is there every Thursday afternoon for the past two months."
"Today is Thursday," Lindsay interjected.
Danny caught on. "And Michelle is a brunette, just like our vics."
Mac shook his head firmly, seeing where the others were going. "No."
Michelle's face fell. "Why not?"
"It's too risky," he said, not meeting her eyes. "We can -"
"This is our best shot, Mac," she said, stepping closer to him. "We can control the situation."
He wanted to argue with her, but none of his reasons were appropriate. He just knew that he couldn't stand to put this women in danger - he couldn't risk losing her. But before he could say anything, Lindsay stepped in.
"She's right, Mac. If we don't get this guy now, we might have another victim on our hands."
He couldn't argue with that. Turning back toward his desk so that they couldn't see his eyes, he nodded. "Fine. Set it up."
His two C.S.I.s nodded and left the room. When Michelle turned to do the same, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him.
"You be careful," he said quietly, his face inches from hers. "I'm not willing to lose anyone today."
She gently took his hand off of her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then she turned and walked out, leaving him alone.
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Michelle new that she was surrounded. There were cops outside in cars, with listening devices that would let them know exactly what was going on inside the store. Two more cops were out on the sidewalk, posing as a couple window shopping on a sunny afternoon. They would take note of everyone that walked into the store.
Mac was even closer. He was hidden in the manager's room on the other side of the counter. The door was closed, but she could feel him in there, his tension invading her senses. He had wanted her in this position, and as she leaned over to look at a bottle of perfume at the counter, she wondered at the vehemence in his voice when he told her to be careful.
The little bell above the door jingled, telling her that someone had just entered the store. Keeping herself calm, she didn't look up, but continued her inspection of the products in front of her. Her earpiece crackled.
"Possible suspect moving towards the counter," Danny's voice murmured.
Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle saw the most average-looking man she had ever seen in her life come to stand beside her. He seemed to be just as absorbed as she in his shopping. Not sparing him a glance, she flagged one of the clerks.
"Can I help you ma'am?" the young girl asked.
"I was wondering if I could test the Calmonica," she said, indicating the perfume owned by both the victims.
"Of course."
Michelle wasn't sure what gave her away - if it was simply her asking for the perfume, or if they had somehow thrown his plan off. But either way, the suspect knew that he had walked into a trap, and he didn't seem to think that turning and walking out of the store was an option. She saw the flash of steel, but there wasn't enough time for her to pull her weapon.
A shot fired, and the suspect beside her suddenly crumbled to the ground. A large hunting blade fell out of his hand as he grabbed his leg, yelling in pain. Michelle looked up in confusion to see Mac standing behind the counter on the far end of the store, gun in hand.
The other cops moved in quickly, securing the suspect and getting him onto a gurney. They would have to get him medical attention before they could question him about the two murders. Michelle tried to maneuver through them toward Mac, but he strode out of the store without a glance in her direction. Finally getting outside of the store, she joined Danny and Lindsay outside, watching him walk away - but she was sure she was the only one who saw the shake in his hands.
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Sitting behind his desk, Mac tried to get a hold of his emotions. It bothered him how protective he had become over Michelle; there was no reason that she should be any different from the rest of the team.
But he knew that she was, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. It had been almost a year since she had come to New York, and in that time that had become friends. They went out for drinks after work, and occasionally they even opened up about the loved ones they had lost. He felt closer to her than he had to anyone in a long time…and he knew that it was time he admitted that his feelings went far deeper than friendship.
When he saw the suspect pull a knife, it was like something inside of him snapped. What he had told her was true - he wasn't willing to lose anyone else, especially not her. Without a second thought, he was out of the manager's office and into the store, his gun drawn. His only thought had been to keep the suspect from hurting Michelle.
A knock on his door interrupted him, and he looked up to see the woman in question standing just inside his office. A nervous smile graced her lips, and he was once again struck by her beauty.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hi."
"You saved my life today."
He heard the something else in her voice, the feelings that she wasn't quite ready to admit to either. Ducking his head, he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him.
"I told you I wasn't losing anybody."
She nodded. "Let me take you to dinner."
His head snapped up, eyes meeting hers. "What?"
Smiling, Michelle shrugged. "It's the least I can do. Consider it an attempt to start repaying the debt."
Mac shook his head. "You don't have to do that -"
"I know," she said. "I want to."
His first reaction was to say no, to brush her off so that she would go away and he could get control of the situation again. But his own words betrayed him.
"When?"
"Does now work for you?"
Mac realized that fighting this was futile, and he set down his pen. Maybe things would go easier for him if he just accepted his feelings, accepted the way he felt swept away every time she walked into the room. With a small smile on his face he stood up, grabbing his jacket.
"Now is perfect."
Author/Artist:
failegaidin
Claim: Mac Taylor/Michelle Dessler (CSI:NY/24)
Theme: Rose
Theme Set: Romance
Rating: FRT
Warnings: Spoilers for S5 of 24, but that's about it.
Disclaimer: Neither 24 nor CSI:NY belong to me. They belong to other people, whose names I don't know off the top of my head, but who generally upset me with their storylines.
A/N: This story is in seven parts. I used each prompt for a chapter.
"Morning."
Michelle looked up to see Mac standing next to her. Reaching out, he handed her a cup of coffee; she couldn't help but smile.
"Thank you," she said warmly, taking the cup. "You didn't have to do that."
He shrugged. "It was on my way." He nodded to the crime scene in front of them. "What have we got?"
"Claire Phillips. Thirty-two years old. She took a bullet to the center of the forehead. No defensive wounds."
Mac kneeled by the body, staring at it intently. The victim lay sprawled out on the floor right by the front door, one arm flung above her head. Her long brown hair was fanned out around her face, and the only thing to mar her beauty was the red bullet hole in the middle of her forehead.
But it was her eyes that drew his focus. A fresh red rose petal rested over each eye, making the whole scene look like some antiquated burial ritual. He looked up at Michelle in question.
"There are roses in the kitchen," she explained. "A dozen."
Danny walked into the room from deeper in the house. "If they came from a florist, there's nothin' to tell us who. No fingerprints, no car, nothin'."
Mac got to his feet again. "What am I smelling?"
Hawkes spoke up as Lindsay joined them. "Perfume. It's on the rose petals and the vic's wrists."
"Very high-end perfume," Lindsay added, holding up a bottle. "I found this in her room."
"Wait a second." Everyone stopped and looked at Hawkes, still kneeling next to the body. "There's a small needle mark in her side. Could explain why she didn't put up a fight."
Mac nodded, taking everything in. "Alright - Hawkes, I want you to find out what she was injected with. Danny, Lindsay, work on the roses - get everything you can from them. Michelle and I will do the interviews."
Nodding their agreement, the team separated to carry out their tasks.
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Michelle watched the couple sitting in front of her, feeling the pain rolling off of them in waves. This was the part of the job that she hated the most - informing parents, spouses, children and lovers that someone in their life was no longer with them. It still amazed her how many reactions there were; some people fell to the ground, others screamed, while others went quiet, their entire body going still. It always reminded her of her own reaction, when Bill had told her…
"Mr. Phillips," Mac said, interrupting her thoughts. "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt your daughter?"
The older man shook his head firmly, his arm tightening around the shoulders of his wife. "No. Claire was a good girl."
"Was she seeing anyone?" Michelle asked.
"No. And before you go thinking that she wouldn't tell us, let me tell you you're wrong. She's always been open with us, even when she was seeing a boy she knew we wouldn't like. She always said she'd rather be honest with us from the beginning than worry about breaking the news to us later."
"What did she do for a living?"
"She was a teacher," Mrs. Phillips answered, her voice wavering with emotion. "She loved children."
Mac stepped in again. "Did she say anything to you lately? Any weird phone calls? Did she feel like she was being followed."
"No, nothing like that."
He nodded and stood up, Michelle doing the same only a second later. "Thank you," he said quietly. "We'll call when we find something."
The couple murmured their agreement, and the two detectives quietly stepped out of the house. Once outside, Michelle breathed a sigh of relief.
"That never gets easier, does it?" she asked.
Mac shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. And it didn't give us any leads, either."
"You want to check out the school next?"
"Seems like our best bet."
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After interviewing everyone at the school, the detectives walked back out to the car in silence. Mac got behind the steering wheel while Michelle climbed into the passenger's seat, but no move was made to start the engine.
"Either Claire Phillips was the best secret-keeper in the world, or this girl really had no reason to be killed."
Mac nodded, glancing over at his partner. "And I'm going to go with the latter. I don't think she would have lied to all those people. If she thought she was being followed, or if she was having an argument…she would have told one of them."
"So what does that leave us with?" Michelle asked.
"At the moment, nothing. But that's why we have C.S.I.s as well as detectives." When she glanced over at him with a questioning glance, Mac smiled. "We follow the evidence."
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"There's a good reason Claire Phillips didn't have any defensive wounds," Hawkes stated as Michelle, Mac, Danny and Lindsay joined him in the lab. "She was physically unable."
"Why?" Danny asked.
"She was injected with Curare," he explained. "It's a paralysis-inducing toxin from South America. Which means she was on the floor in a matter of seconds, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. From there, all the guy had to do was shoot her."
"Pretty easy murder," Lindsay commented. "At least as far as murders go. Chances are, he didn't know the vic well."
Mac nodded. "Lindsay's right. There's no passion here. It wasn't a heated argument or born out of desperation. This was calculated. The perp went there with the drug already in the syringe."
"Premeditated," Michelle mumbled. "So how do we find the bastard?"
"We stay on him," Mac replied. He turned to Danny and Lindsay. "Did you get anything from the roses?"
Danny nodded. "Looks they were fed with a very high-end plant food. I guess rich people like to pamper their flowers."
The older man frowned. "Claire Phillips wasn't rich by any stretch of the imagination. That perfume we found was an indulgence, according to her parents. It was a treat to herself."
"Well we got the address to the three florists in Manhattan that use this particular brand of plant food," Danny continued. "I figure we can go check 'em out."
Mac's phone rang then, interrupting them. He answered it, having a terse conversation before hanging up.
"That's going to have to wait," he told them. "We've got another victim."
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Michelle felt as though she'd gone back in time. Standing in the middle of the foyer, it was the same scene they had come upon days earlier. The only difference was that it wasn't Claire Phillips who lay on the floor, but a younger woman, her brunette hair held back in a low ponytail.
"Who is she?" she asked.
Mac sighed. "Julia Nichols, age twenty-four. This is her parents' house - they're both at work."
"Same M.O.," Hawkes said.
"And the same flowers in the kitchen," Lindsay added. "And the same expensive perfume in the bedroom."
"Looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands," Danny commented.
"We need to talk to that florist," Michelle murmured.
Mac nodded. "Then let's go."
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The young man behind the counter looked up as Mac approached him. He immediately plastered a polite, but fake, smile on his face as though he wanted nothing in the world but to please the next customer.
"Welcome to Giordano's, sir. How can I help you?"
Mac pulled two photographs out of his jacket pocket and slid them across the glass counter. "Have you ever seen either of these two women in here before?"
He frowned, looking at both photos carefully. "I'm sorry, sir, but no. I've never seen them before."
"And you're here how often?"
"Every day, sir. Eight to five."
Mac sighed, letting his gaze wander around the store. There were two more florists on the list from Danny, and it looked like they were going to have to check them out. His gaze rested on Michelle for a moment, and he watched her run a gentle hand over a rose.
"Sir?"
The detective shook himself, focusing back on the problem at hand. "What about your sale of red roses? Has there been an increase lately?"
"Actually, yes."
That caught Mac's attention, and he looked at the man intently. "Has one person in particular been buying them?"
"Yes. A man. I couldn't really put an age to him, but he isn't old or young. Brown hair, medium height, medium build. There's really nothing special about him."
"How did he pay?"
"Cash. Every time."
"Alright. I'm going to have you come into the station and sit down with a sketch artist." The clerk opened his mouth to protest, but Mac cut him off. "You can find someone to cover your shift for a couple hours. This is a murder investigation."
He sighed. "Let me go tell my manager."
As the young man walked away, Mac turned his attention back to the store. Michelle was still standing by the roses, apparently lost in thought. Quietly, he moved up beside her, standing there in silence until she was ready to talk.
"I never liked roses," she said quietly.
"No?"
She looked up and smiled at him. "Lilacs have always been my favorite." Pausing, she bit her lower lip in thought before continuing. "Tony bought me roses on our first date. He had no idea I didn't like them. He was so embarrassed."
"Claire liked tulips," Mac said, unsure of why exactly he was telling her.
But the comment made her smile return. "You were right, you know."
"About what?"
"You learn to live with it."
He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the clerk returning. He settled for letting his hand brush against hers as they left the flower shop.
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"This sketch doesn't help much," Danny commented.
Mac had called the team to a meeting in his office. He passed out the drawing from the clerk's description as they plotted out their next move.
"The flower shop has sold more than five dozen roses to this guy," he told them. "That means he has at least three more intended victims."
"But where does he find them?" Lindsay asked. "Where is the one place that these women go?"
"The answer's in the perfume."
They all looked up to see Michelle standing in the doorway. There was a satisfied smile on her face, and a bounce in her stance that told them she was itching to go somewhere.
"What are you talking about?" Mac asked.
"I dug through their lives, looking for any place they might intersect," she explained, coming fully into the room. "And the only thing that they had in common is the perfume."
Danny sighed. "I don't suppose that only a few stores carry it?"
Michelle's smile broadened. "Only one. And I sent another detective over there with the sketch - a man who looks just like the guy from the flower shop is there every Thursday afternoon for the past two months."
"Today is Thursday," Lindsay interjected.
Danny caught on. "And Michelle is a brunette, just like our vics."
Mac shook his head firmly, seeing where the others were going. "No."
Michelle's face fell. "Why not?"
"It's too risky," he said, not meeting her eyes. "We can -"
"This is our best shot, Mac," she said, stepping closer to him. "We can control the situation."
He wanted to argue with her, but none of his reasons were appropriate. He just knew that he couldn't stand to put this women in danger - he couldn't risk losing her. But before he could say anything, Lindsay stepped in.
"She's right, Mac. If we don't get this guy now, we might have another victim on our hands."
He couldn't argue with that. Turning back toward his desk so that they couldn't see his eyes, he nodded. "Fine. Set it up."
His two C.S.I.s nodded and left the room. When Michelle turned to do the same, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm and turning her to face him.
"You be careful," he said quietly, his face inches from hers. "I'm not willing to lose anyone today."
She gently took his hand off of her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then she turned and walked out, leaving him alone.
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Michelle new that she was surrounded. There were cops outside in cars, with listening devices that would let them know exactly what was going on inside the store. Two more cops were out on the sidewalk, posing as a couple window shopping on a sunny afternoon. They would take note of everyone that walked into the store.
Mac was even closer. He was hidden in the manager's room on the other side of the counter. The door was closed, but she could feel him in there, his tension invading her senses. He had wanted her in this position, and as she leaned over to look at a bottle of perfume at the counter, she wondered at the vehemence in his voice when he told her to be careful.
The little bell above the door jingled, telling her that someone had just entered the store. Keeping herself calm, she didn't look up, but continued her inspection of the products in front of her. Her earpiece crackled.
"Possible suspect moving towards the counter," Danny's voice murmured.
Out of the corner of her eye, Michelle saw the most average-looking man she had ever seen in her life come to stand beside her. He seemed to be just as absorbed as she in his shopping. Not sparing him a glance, she flagged one of the clerks.
"Can I help you ma'am?" the young girl asked.
"I was wondering if I could test the Calmonica," she said, indicating the perfume owned by both the victims.
"Of course."
Michelle wasn't sure what gave her away - if it was simply her asking for the perfume, or if they had somehow thrown his plan off. But either way, the suspect knew that he had walked into a trap, and he didn't seem to think that turning and walking out of the store was an option. She saw the flash of steel, but there wasn't enough time for her to pull her weapon.
A shot fired, and the suspect beside her suddenly crumbled to the ground. A large hunting blade fell out of his hand as he grabbed his leg, yelling in pain. Michelle looked up in confusion to see Mac standing behind the counter on the far end of the store, gun in hand.
The other cops moved in quickly, securing the suspect and getting him onto a gurney. They would have to get him medical attention before they could question him about the two murders. Michelle tried to maneuver through them toward Mac, but he strode out of the store without a glance in her direction. Finally getting outside of the store, she joined Danny and Lindsay outside, watching him walk away - but she was sure she was the only one who saw the shake in his hands.
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Sitting behind his desk, Mac tried to get a hold of his emotions. It bothered him how protective he had become over Michelle; there was no reason that she should be any different from the rest of the team.
But he knew that she was, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. It had been almost a year since she had come to New York, and in that time that had become friends. They went out for drinks after work, and occasionally they even opened up about the loved ones they had lost. He felt closer to her than he had to anyone in a long time…and he knew that it was time he admitted that his feelings went far deeper than friendship.
When he saw the suspect pull a knife, it was like something inside of him snapped. What he had told her was true - he wasn't willing to lose anyone else, especially not her. Without a second thought, he was out of the manager's office and into the store, his gun drawn. His only thought had been to keep the suspect from hurting Michelle.
A knock on his door interrupted him, and he looked up to see the woman in question standing just inside his office. A nervous smile graced her lips, and he was once again struck by her beauty.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hi."
"You saved my life today."
He heard the something else in her voice, the feelings that she wasn't quite ready to admit to either. Ducking his head, he tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him.
"I told you I wasn't losing anybody."
She nodded. "Let me take you to dinner."
His head snapped up, eyes meeting hers. "What?"
Smiling, Michelle shrugged. "It's the least I can do. Consider it an attempt to start repaying the debt."
Mac shook his head. "You don't have to do that -"
"I know," she said. "I want to."
His first reaction was to say no, to brush her off so that she would go away and he could get control of the situation again. But his own words betrayed him.
"When?"
"Does now work for you?"
Mac realized that fighting this was futile, and he set down his pen. Maybe things would go easier for him if he just accepted his feelings, accepted the way he felt swept away every time she walked into the room. With a small smile on his face he stood up, grabbing his jacket.
"Now is perfect."