Another story
Title: Danger and Love
Author: Jailynn
Fandom: Guiding Light/Young and the Restless
Couples: Chance/Ashlee
Rating: PG-13ish now (R later)
Author's Notes: Based on the movie: Bounty Hunter, however it isn't the exact same plot
Word Count: 3244
Feedback: Please and Thank you
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Chapter 1: Hello Again sweetheart
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The news room swarmed around her desk. Fingers clicked against the keyboards in all directions. Her mean looking boss, a man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair and a gut from more than a few hotdogs on the street corner, Mitchell Thomas yelled through his open office door, calling for copies and adding a few choice words in the mix. His lackey, Darnell Homes, a young reporter with the hopes of getting his name on the front page rushed from his desk to the side of Mitchell's door to do their boss's bidding. Darnell paused at the door and smoothed his hand over his pale purple dress shirt then over his dirty blonde hair. His gray eyes cut back toward the news room, carefully taking in his surroundings, before entering the office. Ashlee Wolfe watched the interaction between the young and eager reporter and the older and gruff editor. She blew her blonde bangs out of her eyes and turned to stare at her screen. The story, that no one believes is a story, about a police officer's suicide mocked her from the screen. In her gut she knew that something about this wasn't right. Of course everyone else thought she saw something there because she wanted to. To which she responded, pfft! Her contact, Tommy the Shark, a “reformed” drug dealer that worked in a local dive, told her she was onto something. In fact the slimy snitch that she considered a huge assist told her that he would call her this morning with an earth-shattering break.
She tapped her fingers against the desk and looked at the phone from the corner of her eye. “Ring, damn it, ring,” she muttered under her breath. Sighing in frustration she reached over and grabbed the phone from the cradle, checking for the dial tone. It hummed quite sweetly in her ear. Ashlee grimaced and slammed it back down. She saved the half-finished story and pushed back from her desk, grabbing her polka-dotted mug and walking quickly over to the coffee maker for a much needed caffeine jolt.
“Wolfe,” Mitchell called from his door. She turned in time to see him point at her and motion her into the lion's den. Darnell smirked a tiny bit behind their boss. She had the slight urge to throw her mug at his head. “Get in here now.” Mitchell barely turned toward the the suck up to finish his demand. “Homes get back to your desk. I want the copy on my desk in an hour. Completely ready for print.” She walked over to the editor's office, with one mournful backward glance at the coffee maker. Some caffeine would definitely make this conversation much easier. Ashlee passed Darnell on her way in and his way out. His pronounced smirk made her see red. Her fist curled at her side and she opened her mouth to let the weasel have it. “Leave it, Wolfe,” Mitchell said from his desk. Swallowing her words and straightened her spine and walked into the room completely, turning around to shut the door in Darnell's face. Facing Mitchell, he curled his hands under his chin and eyed her with cunning dark brown eyes. “I didn't ask you to close the door,” she reached behind her to turn the knob and open the door back up, but Mitchell shook his head. “Nevermind, sit.”
Walking to the chair in front of his desk, she spoke, “I don't really understand why...”
“How's your story going?” He cut her off. Ashlee's mouth opened and shut quickly. He didn't notice her lack of answer and didn't give her a chance to form one either. With his head bent over some other story, he continued, “If you don't have something solid by this afternoon, I'm taking you off it and handing the story to Darnell.”
“Darnell? What the-” she stopped her heated response when his head snapped up. She swallowed, rolling her lips together and breathed deeply through her nose. Her blood simmered, quickly increasing to a boil. She looked down her black pencil skirt, trying to regain some of her composure. Once her impulse to curse was under control she met her editor's eye. “I'm working on it. My source is supposed to call me today with a tip.” She closed her lips tightly together in thought. “I may need more than this afternoon, but it will be worth it. I can feel it in my bones.”
Mitchell sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes tightly. “Ashlee,” he rose from his chair and walked around to stand in front of her, leaning his behind against the edge of his desk. She braced herself for his next words. Mitchell never used her first name unless he was about to break some uncomfortable news to her or if he was about to give him some unwanted, but well meaning advice. She wasn't sure she really wanted to deal with either of those options right now. He tilted his head to the side and examined her. She shifted under the scrutiny. Mitchell was like a father to her and since she had no idea who her real father was, his present in her life meant the world to her. “You know I think very highly of your reporters instinct...”
“I-”
He held up his hand and give her 'the eye'. 'The eye' was a move that always shut her up, something he knew quite well. Ashlee sat back and crossed her arms in front of her in a protective and defensive maneuver. “As I was saying, you know I think very highly of your reporters instinct, but I think this might be a situation where you are looking too hard a of wisp of nothing.”
“Wisp of nothing,” she asked in disbelief. “Mitchell,” she sighed. “Listen you taught me to trust myself and everything, everything, inside of me tells me that Officer Goodall's suicide wasn't what it seemed. I just,” Ashlee sighed again. “I just know that something isn't right. In all my research nothing points to him being depressed or having any suicidal thoughts prior to his death. Please trust me. Let me run with it and if it turns out that I'm completely wrong, put me back on obit duty.”
Mitchell's mouth quirked in a small smile, “You hated writing the obituaries.”
“Yes,” she grinned in reply, “I did.”
He stood from his perch and looked at her intently, before giving a barely seen nod of his head. “Okay, run with it, but Wolfe you only have seventy-two hours to bring me something solid. If you don't make it by then,” he shrugged. “The story goes to Darnell to finish and you're back to writing boring obits.”
Ashlee nodded, “Deal,” she stood from her chair and walked to the door. Waiving in and out of the other reporters desks, she cursed Tommy for taking so long to return her call. The clock was ticking, damn it. She stopped short of her seat when she noticed an envelope sitting on the desk of her paper covered work space. The envelope was plain white with a stamp of Elvis upside down. Her name was written in clear even script in blue ink. Without seeing anymore she knew all hell was about to break down on top of her. She looked around her, her blonde hair swinging back and forth, then carefully pulled the letter closer to her as she sat down. Her insides clinched, her stomach knotted and her mouth went dry. Ashlee's eyes glazed over and she was transported to the past. Two years in the past to be exact.
She dropped the letter back onto the desk and tried to slow her thundering heartbeat. Her right arm encircled her waist to rest on her left side. Right over the reminder of that night. Oh God, please, she silently prayed. Not him. Please God. Her phone ringing on her desk brought her attention to the present. She reached a shaking hand out and took the phone, pressing the cold plastic against her ear. “Wolfe,” her voice shook slightly.
“Ashlee,” Tommy's voice crackled over the line. “The cop's death. Not. Happened. Shit. Got into.”
“Tommy,” she scrambled to find some scrap of paper and a pencil. “I can't understand you. You're breaking up. Tell me where I can meet you.”
“Hell's Cave,” he said, “Six. Got.”
The line went dead in her hand. She hung up quickly and opened the bottom drawer of her desk to get her purse. She slammed the drawer shut and rushed from her work station, completely forgetting about the letter on a pile of notes.
=-0-=
Phillip “Chance” Chancellor drank the last drop of cold cop-shop coffee with a grimace. The worse part of a stake-out had to be the coffee. He leaned back against the worn leather of his dark four-door Sedan, running a hand over his days growth of hair that prickled on his chin. Curling his hand back on the steering wheel, he clenched his eyes shut then opened them back up quickly. His legs cramped from the constant sitting and his jeans had some stains from the pizza they had eaten earlier. The black t-shirt he was wearing was sticking to his back from the sweat that was coating his body. Chance checked the clock and bit back a sigh. He changed his mind, the coffee wasn't the worse part, the waiting was.
His partner, Franklin Wallace, Wall for short, twisted his head from side to side to work out the kinks. His chocolate colored hands stretched out in front of him to crack his knuckles. The sound made Chance cringe a little. Wall reached down between his legs where the blue and white cooler was and grabbed a soda from the lukewarm water. Holding out the semi-cold can, he raised his eyebrow, Chance shook his head in the negative and Wall shrugged. Popping open the soda he took a long sip, sighing with satisfaction. Wall's phone rang in his blue jeans pocket and he stretched his long legs out as far as he could to get it. From the smile on his partner's face, Chance didn't have to see the name on the display screen to know who it was on the other end. Wall was a newly married man and his wife, a second grade teacher, was everything his friend wanted and needed. Chance tuned Wall's conversation out and continued to stare at the large brick building that housed their suspect.
He willed the door to open so that this long day would finally end. His date was waiting for him. His beautiful, tall, amazing girl and all her goodies... of course he was thinking of his refrigerator. A cold beer and the Packers game was calling to him. Thank goodness for the invention of the DVR. Chance's body went stiff as the door to the run down building opened. A young man, about twenty-eight, walked out, carefully locking the door before walking away and pulling his baggy jeans up his waist. The disheveled man with ratty blonde hair was stick thin from years of drugs and lack of nutrition. Chance reached for the folder between his body and Wall's. The mug shot of Reid McKay stared up at him and matched the man that left a few minutes before. He got his gun and opened the car door, checking his surroundings. Wall quickly got off the phone and followed suit. The worked out their approach with hand signals.
Keeping their weapons pointed toward the ground, until needed, Chance and Wall stalked toward Reid. Once they were close enough, Chance called out, “Reid McKay, this is the Genoa City police. We have some questions to ask you about Molly Henderson's rape and murder.” The younger man froze looking between himself and Wall. The reality of the situation donned on him, Reid took off at a full run. “Shit,” Chance grumbled under his breath and took off after the potential murderer. The chase through the dirty, run down streets and buildings that made up Genoa City's skid row annoyed him more than anything else. His old sneakers hit the pavement in a steady speed, giving him a soundtrack to the moment. Chance gained on Reid and leaped forward, slamming into the man, who landed on the concrete with a satisfying thump and groan. Chance holstered his weapon and pulled a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket. The cold metal clicked on Reid's wrist while Chance said, “Reid McKay, you are under arrest for the rape and murder of Molly Henderson, not to mention the fact that you ran which just really pisses me off. You have the right to remain silent, if you choose to ignore this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Chance lifted both of them off the ground and continued with the reading of Reid's rights. “Do you understand these rights?”
“I have nothing to say to you,” Reid spat out.
Chance shrugged, leading the suspect back to the car. “That's your choice and I like the quiet. It's relaxing.” At the car, Wall grinned. “Thanks for the help, partner.”
Wall opened the back door to the car and helped him get Reid in. “Doesn't look like you needed me. Besides a little running will do you some good.” Chance's best friend laughed, “You've gone a little soft.”
“Bull shit,” Chance exclaimed getting into the car. “I can out run your ass any day of the week.”
“Keep dreaming, Chancellor, keep dreaming.”
=-0-=
Ashlee pulled her car to a stop in the parking lot of the dive bar that Tommy told her to meet him in. The place was closed so the parking lot was pretty deserted. The only cars in the lot were her white Honda Accord, Tommy's run down red Ford pick-up truck, a silver 76 Mustang and a black SUV with tinted windows about thirty feet from where Tommy's truck was. She reached into her purse and searched for her pepper spray. Even though it was daylight, she didn't relish meeting in this place. Breaking glass caught her attention. Her head snapped up and she watched through the space between her steering wheel and the dashboard as three men pulled Tommy from his car. The red-head snitch held his hands up in surrender as the three men clothed in all black, moved him forcibly toward the SUV.
She reached quickly for her notepad and jotted down the SUV's plate number and any description she could. Her handwriting was even messier than usual in her rush to make as many notes about the situation happening in front of her as she could. Throwing down the notepad and opened her front door before her nerve left her, gripping the pepper spray in her left hand. As she made her way across the parking lot the vehicle with her informant and the kidnappers, pealed out of the lot, leaving tire tracks in their wake. The right back window rolled down just enough for a gun to be seen, Ashlee muffled a scream and drove for cover behind the mustang just as the first shot was fired. Five more shots rang out hitting the car close to her head and with one taking out the glass, showering her in shards. Her heart pounded, as fear gripped her. She really didn't want to die in the middle of Hell's Cave's parking lot.
The revving engine and squealing tires disappeared into the distance, taking the gun fire with them. Ashlee eased up just enough to look through the shot-out window then ran to her car. Once inside she dialed the number for the Genoa City Journal editor's office and waited for Mitchell to answer. “Mitchell Thomas,” he said in his normal gruff way.
“Mitch, I think I just hit the mother-load story wise...”
=-0-=
He walked into the police station after a long interrogation feeling like he went a couple rounds with a drugged out Ali. The addict, Reid, didn't take too long to crack under the glare of their interrogation lights. The fact that the young man made it three hours, shocked the hell out of Chance. It was quite clear that Reid needed a score and coming down from whatever was lingering in his body wasn't a something he could handle while being questioned by Chance and Wall.
Chance sighed and dropped the file on his desk. He would deal with the paper work in the morning. Now, now he was on his way home where hours of gridiron madness was waiting for him. Was there anything better than Sunday football, a cold beer and pizza? His mouth watered just imagining the night of freedom ahead of him. Reaching into the top desk drawer of his desk for his keys. He threw them in the air, catching them cleanly as he started walking toward the exit.
“Chancellor,” Chief Leroy Mullins called from his door. Chance turned and sighed as he was motioned into the boss's office. He could feel his relaxing night slipping through his fingers. Chance walked into the bright office of his superior. His blue eyes fell immediately on the other person in the office and his insides clenched. “Chancellor, I have a job I need you to take of.”
“A job,” Ashlee muttered. “I'm not a job. And I can take care of myself Lee. I've been doing it for a while now.”
Chance heard the jab and the pride in that statement. His muscles tightened. “Well I guess you don't need me then.” He turned to leave but didn't get very far.
“Chance, she needs your help.” Leroy said. “She was shot at today.” Chance turned to look at the woman in the office as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I need you to watch her.”
Ashlee straightened up and he rushed toward the desk as both protested the request at the same time. “But I'm fine.” She said. “You've got to be kidding me.” He exclaimed.
Leroy held up his hand. “Ashlee, you witnessed a kidnapping and were shot at. You need someone to guard you.” He turned toward Chance, “And Chance you know her better than anyone. You know all her tricks and I don't want to deal with a nosy reporter butting into our investigation.”
Chance's eyes slid back to Ashlee, “And how do you expect me to keep her under control her?”
“I'm sure you'll think of something,” Leroy shrugged. “Use your extra handcuffs.” Ashlee's mouth fell open and she let out an exclamation of annoyance. “Now both of you leave my office so I can get my work done.”
She stood quickly and grabbed her purse from underneath the chair she was sitting on, walking quickly past him. Chance grabbed her right wrist before she could get away from him and grinned when she shot him a glare. “Hello again, Sweetheart. It's been a while.”
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TBC