Fic: She's Not Heavy, She's My Daughter (Shawn/Juliet) R (2/?)
Title: She’s Not Heavy, She’s My Daughter (2/?)
Author: em2mb
Pairing/Character: Shawn/Juliet, ensemble.
Word Count: 4,776
Rating: R
Summary: “I’m getting something! I’m seeing a child, a young girl. She’s eight … no, nine. But small for her age. We need to find her - ” Shawn took a raggedy breath “ - she’s … she’s sick.” When a woman from Shawn’s past shows up on Woody’s autopsy table, the reason he came back to Santa Barbara threatens to unravel everything he’s worked for in the last six years.
Spoilers: Through 6x09, “Neil Simon’s Lover’s Retreat.”
Disclaimers: Not mine, mostly because I can’t be trusted with them, as evidenced below.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to lazaefair for the beta.
Chapter One
Santa Barbara, 2011
There was no mistaking the woman on the table.
After all, Shawn had woken up beside her every day for almost three years. For an instant, he was back in their third floor walk-up in Chicago, trying to avoid the floor board that creaked as he slipped out of bed to comfort their crying daughter.
It was Gus’s voice that jarred him back to reality. He pushed Shawn away in disgust. “No way you’re throwing up on my new Pumas! I just got them last week, Shawn!”
“Shawn, are you OK?” Juliet put a tentative hand on his shoulder as he steadied himself on the counter. He took a long look at the motel key in the evidence bag she was clutching.
“Fine, fine,” said Shawn quickly. He straightened, then feigned a stomach pain. “You mean you haven’t been feeling it all morning? I think we got a bad batch of donuts.”
Juliet shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Shawn. I feel - ”
“What did I tell you about comments that remind me you two have already seen each other today?” Lassiter barked. “Spencer, since when do you get sick at the sight of dead bodies?”
Shawn didn’t reply. “You found her on the beach?” He asked, trying desperately to look anywhere but the stab wounds slicing up Sara’s torso. Where was Addy if not with her mother? “She was alone? You didn’t find anyone with her?”
“No,” said Lassiter, looking at Shawn skeptically. He passed the file to him. Sara Ramirez. “We got a hit off her prints. Went missing as a teenager from Thousand Oaks about a decade ago. Cold case.”
“What about her daughter?” Shawn pressed, trying to keep the panic from rising in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Woody was still slurping noodles over Sara’s body. “Would you show a little respect for the dead?” he snapped. The coroner dropped his chopsticks guiltily.
Now Juliet took a step back. “Shawn, how did you know the victim had a child?”
His finger went to his temple. “I’m getting something! I’m seeing a child, a young girl. She’s
eight … no, nine. But small for her age. We need to find her - ” he took a raggedy breath “ - she’s … she’s sick.”
“Very good, Mr. Spencer!” said Woody, hastily setting the takeout cartoon behind him.
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. He just made all that up. He must have heard us through the door before he walked in.”
“Carlton, you know we have to check it out,” said Juliet, exasperated. “If he’s right, if there’s a kid involved in all this - ” She broke off, seizing the evidence bag with the baggage claim stubs from his hand. “Look, we know the victim wasn’t traveling alone. If in fact her travel companion was a child, we need to issue an Amber Alert.”
“Right,” said Lassiter. He glared at Woody. “Call us as soon as you have something. And Spencer, go … home. I will not have you throwing up anywhere in the vicinity of my desk.” He ripped the file back out of Shawn’s hand.
“Check in with me later,” said Juliet anxiously as the detectives filed out. “OK?”
“Will do,” said Shawn. “Woody.” He nodded at the coroner, who still looked startled by the fact that the department’s psychic had yelled at him but managed a nervous wave. Shawn grabbed Gus’s arm and dragged him out of the room.
“What the hell is going on, Shawn? Why the hell were you spouting off about the victim having a child? There was barely any evidence in there!”
“You didn’t recognize her?” Shawn demanded. Granted, Gus had only seen Sara once - in a courtroom in 2005. She’d had a broken nose at the time.
“No, I never look at the bodies if I can help it, you know that.”
“Oh, God, Gus, it’s - it’s Sara.”
Gus’ eyes widened. “Your ex-girlfriend Sara? Crazy Sara from Chicago? Your baby mama Sara?”
“We have to find Addy.”
“Are you out of your damned mind? You want to go chasing after a mistake you made ten years ago? Like hell, Shawn. I’m calling Juliet. You’re telling her everything.”
Shawn’s eyes flashed. “You know what, Gus? Just forget it. I’m so sick of your holier-than-thou attitude when it comes to Addy. Cut the sanctimonious bullshit, OK? I don’t care that you don’t approve of my kid.”
“Shawn, wait - ”
“My daughter is not a mistake, Gus!” Shawn rounded on him, his voice rising steadily. “Can you not see that I am freaking out here? Sara is dead. Woody is cutting into her right now. I have to find Addy. You don’t have to help me, but I swear, if you call Juliet or Lassiter before I get a chance to figure this out - I will never forgive you.” He set off down the hall, but Gus caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.
“I assume you saw the key card? It’s from the Suncrest Motel.”
Shawn stared at him. “You think so, too?”
Gus nodded. “I’ll drive.”
“Thanks, man,” said Shawn quietly.
*
There was still crime scene tape on the second floor mezzanine of the Suncrest Motel from the explosion weeks earlier. It was faded now, ragged from flapping in the wind. There was a hand-written sign in the window: No pool access. No second floor rooms available.
The desk clerk narrowed his eyes when Shawn barged in, Gus at his heels. “I know you,” he said, jabbing a stubby finger over his shoulder. Pinned to a bulletin board was a newspaper clipping about Psych and the SBPD. Whoever had written the sign on the door had scrawled the words “NO ACCESS” across the top. “I’m not allowed to rent you a room.”
“We don’t need a room,” said Shawn quickly. “I just need to know if a woman checked in yesterday, maybe the day before. Late 20s, Hispanic, curly hair? She would have had a kid with her, a girl.”
The clerk shrugged. “Been home sick most of the week.”
“Is there anyone who would know?” Shawn asked, swallowing the lump that kept rising in his throat. “Please, it’s important.”
Sighing, the clerk turned his head over his shoulder. “Marge! You seen a woman with a kid around?”
The woman who stepped out of the back office weighed as much as Shawn and had shoulders twice as broad. She was wearing an ugly floral dress and glared at the two men in the lobby. “What’s it to them?”
Gus started to open his mouth, but Shawn elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Please, ma’am, I’m looking for my daughter. Her name is Addy. She’s nine. You probably would remember her if you saw her - she’s disabled, she’d have been on crutches.”
“Your daughter, eh? How do I know you’re not trying to kidnap her from her mother or something? Because my ex-husband tried that with my two - ”
“Look, you know who I am because you have my picture on your wall,” Shawn interrupted.
Marge turned and stared at the newspaper article. Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you’re the reason I’ve lost out on twenty-two rooms of profit for the last six weeks.”
Gus snorted. “You expect us to believe that you’re actually at capacity? This dump? Ow, Shawn, stop elbowing me!”
“Can you just tell us if you’ve seen anyone like that or not?”
“Yeah, they’re in 221,” said Marge, heading toward the back office once more. “Gary, take ‘em up there. The woman only paid for two days, and check out time was an hour ago.”
“I thought you said you were losing profit on the second floor,” Gus called.
Shawn glared at him. “What are you doing?” he hissed as Gary unlocked a metal box on the wall.
“Trying to figure out if something’s going on here,” said Gus under his breath. “You know, like a detective. Like we usually do.”
“I don’t - I don’t care what’s going on here, I just care about finding Addy - Gary, will you hurry up and grab the key already?”
The desk clerk glared at him. “They’re not in order,” he sneered, shuffling through the cards at a painstakingly slow pace. He held a key up to the light, squinting at the arrangement of tiny holes. “Come on, I think I found the right one.”
“So that’s your plan?” Gus stage-whispered as they huffed it up the stairs behind Gary. “Just find her? What then, Shawn? How close do you think Lassiter is to finding out she’s your kid? Your name’s on the birth certificate. What I said yesterday about coming clean to Juliet doesn’t sound so bad does it, now?”
They were outside of room 221. Gary knocked loudly. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” He sighed as pounded a fist on the door. “Can anyone hear me? I’m going to open the door now.” He jabbed the key card in the lock and tried the handle. The door didn’t budge. Gary pulled out the key card and tried again. “Stupid old locks. I don’t know why we haven’t replaced them. We lose money every time someone skips out without returning - oh shit.”
Blood was everywhere. It had soaked into the carpet, splattered the wall and streaked the curtains. Sara’s blood, Shawn thought, his stomach turning. Gary kept muttering under his breath as he backed slowly away from the door frame. But Sara’s blood was better than the alternative.
“ADDY!” Shawn bellowed, pushing past the arm Gus threw out and entering the crime scene. In the corner, there was a small suitcase, and a child-size backpack was half-hidden under the bed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Addy, are you in here?”
There was no response. Think, Shawn. He didn’t hesitate, the carpet squelching underfoot as he strode over to the closet and hauled the door open.
A small, shivering figure sat balled in the corner.
*
“I don’t know, he had a vision,” Gus said desperately as he tried to keep up with the Santa Barbara Police detectives. Both Lassiter and Juliet took the stairs of the Suncrest Motel two at a time. Behind him, he could hear Marge yelling at Gary to keep his mouth shut as another squad car pulled up. “We were on our way to the Psych office. He insisted we come here instead.”
“And the girl was here? Adelyn Ramirez? I’d just gotten off the phone with the airline when the call came in,” said Juliet. “We were about to put out an Amber Alert.” She glanced at her partner. “I guess Shawn saved us the trouble.”
“Please.” Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Are you hearing yourself, O’Hara? Spencer probably saw the motel key card in the morgue and put two and two together. Dammit, I knew that thing looked familiar.” He gave the Suncrest Motel sign a disdainful look as they entered the room.
Gus glanced nervously past the crime scene investigators who were already milling about. Shawn was leaning with his back against the closet door frame, talking softly to the frightened little girl in the corner. Gus felt Juliet tap his shoulder.
“He hasn’t left her side?”
Gus shook his head. Marge had lawyered up the second a black and white had arrived on scene, which meant Shawn’s secret was still safe for the moment. “No, he’s right where I left him. I - ”
“Couldn’t stand all the blood, right,” said Juliet, grimacing as she surveyed the crime scene. She called over to her partner, “Carlton, what are you thinking?”
Lassiter, who had been talking to the medical examiner, broke away. “I think our victim was killed here and transported off site. All of the towels and some of the bed linens are missing. Our murderer probably used them to wrap the body and drag it out. See the tracks there in the blood?”
Juliet wrinkled her nose, glancing back at Shawn and the little girl. “God, do you think she was in the closet the whole time?”
Lassiter squirmed uncomfortably. “O’Hara, why don’t you go give Spencer a hand with the kid?”
Juliet arched an eyebrow. “Why don’t you go give Shawn a hand with her?”
“Because she’s - she’s a kid.”
“And I’m somehow more qualified to deal with her how? Because I have ovaries? Breasts?”
“Of course not,” said Lassiter quickly, his ears faintly pink at her use of the word breasts. “I just thought … maybe … dammit, O’Hara, your boyfriend gives me a headache, isn’t that reason enough?”
Juliet rolled her eyes as she trod carefully across the sheets of plastic the crime scene unit had laid down on the carpet. Shawn managed a small smile as she knelt beside him. “Well? she whispered. “Has she said anything?”
He shook his head, turning back to the girl. “Hey, Addy, this the friend I was telling you about, Detective O’Hara. She and her partner - he’s that funny-looking tall guy over there, I don’t think you can see him from down here - are going to figure out what happened here, OK?”
Juliet gave him a strange look. “How did you know her name?”
“Jules, I’m a psychic.”
But Juliet was less worried about how Shawn had divined the girl’s name than she was about the girl herself. According to the date of birth the airline had provided, Adelyn was nine, almost ten. Maybe it was the way the girl sitting, her knees clutched tightly to her chest, but Juliet thought she looked younger. She thought back to their meeting at the morgue earlier. Hadn’t Shawn said the victim’s daughter would be small for her age? It looked like he was right on all accounts today. Juliet scooted closer to the little girl, who had shoulder-length dark brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was wearing a backwards baseball cap and biting her lip as she studied Juliet with dark, uncertain eyes.
“Hey, Adelyn,” she said softly. “I’m Detective O’Hara. I see you’ve met my friend, Shawn. We were thinking you might like to get out of that closet and come with us down to the station.”
The girl just continued to stare at them.
“I don’t think she likes Adelyn,” said Shawn matter-of-factly. He poked his head into the closet a little farther. “Hey, Addy, I was thinking when we got to the station, I’d send my friend Gus over there - remember, he’ll be the one in the ridiculous pink shirt, we talked about this - out for smoothies. I think the pineapple ones are nice, but I bet he’d get you any flavor you liked.”
Addy sniffed. Much to Juliet’s amazement, the little girl nodded.
“And how are we doing over here?” Juliet recognized Lassiter’s tone at once from the disastrous Christmas he’d spent with her family years ago. He’d used the same high-pitched falsetto to explain everything that was wrong with her nephews’ Nativity scene. She was just glad he hadn’t spilled the beans on Santa Claus. She straightened.
“We are making progress,” said Juliet brightly, trying to keep her voice bubbly and cheerful in hopes her partner would get the hint. “Shawn and I were just talking about heading back to the station and getting Addy something to eat.”
“Addy? Oh, right, Adelyn. Do you prefer we call you that?” Lassiter arched an eyebrow at the girl. “Well, come on, let’s get you out of here.”
She didn’t budge.
Lassiter nudged his partner. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “Why isn’t she moving?”
Juliet sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “Carlton, she’s scared, OK? She - ”
But when she opened her eyes again, she noticed something she hadn’t before: a pair of child-sized crutches kicked beneath the nearest bed. Again, her mind flashed back to the morgue, Shawn’s finger on his temple. She’s sick, he’d declared.
Amazing.
Lassiter had scrunched up his face. “What, O’Hara? What is it?”
“She’s disabled,” Juliet said, crossing over to the bed and bending down. She fished out one crutch, then the other. “She’s not saying anything because she’s in shock, but she’s not getting up because she can’t. At least not on her own. Is that right?”
Another tentative nod. Juliet started to hand Addy the crutches, but Shawn stopped her. “Juliet, wait. She’s been in there what, six, seven hours?” He turned to the girl. “You’re probably feeling a little stiff and sore cooped up in there this whole time,” he said soothingly. “Tell you what, can I give you a hand?”
Again, Addy nodded, and much to Juliet’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around Shawn’s neck as he very gently bent over and lifted her up. One of her pant legs was bunched up and Juliet could see she was wearing some kind of orthopedic brace.
“Good call, Shawn,” she murmured as he passed her. He gave her a small smile.
“Lassie, I’m going to take Addy here down to your car,” he said, heading for the door. “Hey, can you close your eyes for me? There’s a good girl … ”
Juliet waited until they were out of the room. “Unbelievable. How did I not see what he was doing?”
“Breaking every single protocol in the book?”
Juliet rolled her eyes as she grabbed Lassiter’s arm and yanked him into a squatting position. “Carlton, what can’t you see from down here?”
The head detective squinted. “All of the blood?” He sighed. “Jesus, he must have realized as long as she was in the closet she wouldn’t see what a bloodbath it was. Good work, O’Hara.”
Juliet folded her arms across her chest. “I think you mean, ‘Good work, Shawn.’”
Lassiter just stared incredulously after the psychic. “Every time.”
*
“Shawn!” Gus hissed when he found his friend again back at the station. He was sitting on a bench in the hallway, still holding Addy, who appeared to be dozing on his chest. “What the hell happened back there?”
Shawn glared at him. “Seriously, Gus? She’s nine. Watch your language.”
Gus slid onto the bench next to him. “We just found your kid hiding in the closet. Half the police department watched you carry her out of a bloody motel room. Yet none of them suspect anything? Anything at all?”
“No, which is why I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it down,” said Shawn.
But it was too late. Addy was already stirring. Gus glanced down to the other side of the bench, where Shawn had placed the baseball cap she was wearing earlier. “This is Gus,” he said. “He’s just now going to get us smoothies.”
“No I’m not.”
“Gus, don’t be the Michael Jackson CD I accidentally microwaved last week, it’s been hours since Addy’s had anything to eat. Get me one, too, will you? Pineapple?”
Gus glared at him. “I knew that was you, Shawn. And yes, you’re getting me another copy.”
“You have every one of his songs on your iPod!”
“Do you want those smoothies or not, Shawn?”
“Fine, fine, I’ll replace it,” Shawn grumbled.
“Good,” said Gus, smoothing his pant legs as he stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shawn gently stroking Addy’s hair, whispering reassurances only she could hear.
*
“Look at that,” said Juliet, leaning against her partner’s desk.
“Look at what?” Lassiter asked, groaning as his computer locked up for the seventh time. He slammed the mouse repeatedly against his desk. “Stupid … thing … won’t … work.”
“Shawn.”
Lassiter glanced across the room. Spencer was still holding the kid, who appeared to have drifted off since they had arrived back at the station. “So?”
“I didn’t think he’d be good with kids.”
Lassiter shrugged. “So he is, so what? He’s - oh, God, O’Hara, don’t you even think about it. It’s Spencer. You can’t procreate with Spencer. He’s still a child himself.”
“Carlton, that’s so not even where I was going with - you know what? Never mind,” Juliet threw her hands up. “How’s the search coming?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been able to pull anything up yet. My computer crashes every time I try to open the stupid database. Did you call the Chicago PD?”
“Our vic has had a few arrests, most recently for DUI in 2010. They’re faxing over what they have. I told the detective I spoke to I’d call him back once we had a chance to go over it on our end.” Juliet shook her head, unable to take her eyes off Shawn and Addy. “I can’t stop thinking about how scared she must have been. Thank God Shawn found her when he did.”
“He got lucky.”
“He knew her name, Carlton.”
“Then it was somewhere in the room.”
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t even on the luggage tags, how could he have known?” When Juliet had told him back at the motel that Shawn had guessed the child’s name, Lassiter had immediately gone to the backpack and suitcase in the corner and pawed through both - clothing, toiletries, a few books, two empty pill bottles - and come up with nothing.
“I have no idea how Spencer does anything he does, least of all how he hoodwinks you,” said Lassie, throwing the mouse again. “Dammit, can I get someone from IT over here already?”
She decided it would be a good moment to slip away.
“Juliet, a word?”
Henry was leaning against her desk, his arms folded across his chest. She followed his gaze to the bench where Shawn was sitting with Addy.
“Henry,” she said, sliding into her chair. Addy’s crutches were propped up against her desk drawer. “He’s good with her, isn’t he?”
“Too good. Did I just hear you tell Lassiter called her by name at the scene? Even though there wasn’t a shred of evidence to back it up?”
“Yes,” said Juliet, exasperated. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
Henry shook his head. “No reason.”
Across the room, Shawn had picked up Addy again and was headed straight toward them. “Guess what?” he said.
“What?” Henry barked.
Shawn ignored him. “She speaks,” he told Juliet.
“Really? What did she say?”
“That she needs to use the bathroom,” he said. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I don’t think I’m qualified for this one. Can you take her?”
Juliet hid her smile behind her hand as Shawn gently steadied Addy and handed her the crutches. “Of course. What do you say, Addy? Is that OK?” The little girl nodded and limped after Juliet in the direction of the women’s bathroom.
Henry waited until they were out of earshot. “Who’s the kid, Shawn?” he demanded.
Shawn stared at his old man. There’s no way he could know, he reassured himself. He chose his words carefully. “She’s a possible witness to a murder, Dad. Did you forget to take your senile pills this morning?”
“No, Shawn, who is she to you?” Henry dropped his voice. “Juliet said you called her by name at the crime scene, but there wasn’t any way you could have known it yet. So who is she, Shawn? How do you know her?”
“I don’t,” Shawn insisted. “She’s a scared kid who probably witnessed her mom get murdered last night. If it helps her to cling to me for awhile, so be it. I don’t mind babysitting.”
“You’ve never babysat before in your life, Shawn.”
“So there’s a first time for everything!” Shawn volleyed back, trying to keep the anger from rising in his voice. He forced a smile. “I’m sure if I screw it up someone here can set me straight.”
Henry continued to survey his son. He opened his mouth but was cut off when Lassiter pushed past him on his way to the chief’s office.
“Come on, Spencers,” he called over his shoulder. “I think I’ve got something good.”
Chief Vick was on the phone as Shawn and Henry filed into her office behind Lassiter. “I get that those case files are sealed - ” she was saying into the receiver, an irritated expression on her face. “What?” she mouthed as her head detective dropped a stack of papers on her desk. “Of course I know what happens when a juvenile turns 18!”
“Chief, I think you’ll want to take a look at those.”
The look she shot Lassiter said now clearly wasn’t the time, but he didn’t budge. Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn watched Gus walk into the station with a drink carrier and do a double take when he reached the now-empty bench. Juliet was on her way back from the bathroom with Addy and must have seen them through the glass, because Shawn watched her quickly intercept Buzz and pass the little girl off to him. He felt a pang in his chest.
“What did I miss?” Juliet asked, stepping into Vick’s office, grimacing when she saw the chief was on the phone. “Sorry,” she whispered. Gus, who must have seen her and realized where they all were, was right on her heels. He was still carrying the smoothies.
“No, I don’t care that Mr. Ramirez - sure, I’ll hold.” Vick sighed and slammed the received down. “If that conversation was any indication, we will not be receiving much, if any, help from the Thousand Oaks Police Department.” She snatched the papers from the edge of her desk and was now squinting at them suspiciously. “Detective Lassiter, what am I looking at?”
“That is a birth certificate for Adelyn Ramirez, daughter of our stabbing victim, Sara Ramirez. I’ve also compiled a record of child support payments made by the girl’s father, starting in 2005 and continuing until last week, when the latest payment was posted. Turns out, her father lives here in Santa Barbara.” Lassiter looked right at Shawn.
Busted. Shawn began tracing the floor tiles with the toe of a sneaker.
“And these are?” Chief Vick held up a stack of badly smudged photocopies.
“Oh, those are court records detailing the battery case the Chicago Police Department built against the father after responding to a domestic violence call at Miss Ramirez’s residence in August 2005. It appears she agreed to drop charges as long as he relinquished custody.”
“I see.” Vick finally looked up. She stared right at Shawn. “Mr. Spencer, is there anything you’d like to add?”
Shawn tried his best to feign confusion. “Why would I want to add something, Chief?”
“Perhaps because your name is on the birth certificate, Mr. Spencer.”
“What? That’s insane!” said Shawn automatically. “Surely I’m not the only Shawn Spencer in Santa Barbara.”
“Chief, Shawn’s right,” said Juliet helpfully. “It’s not an uncommon name.”
Vick’s glare told her junior detective she wasn’t helping. She turned to Henry. “Henry, what’s your son’s middle name?”
“It’s Henry, Karen,” said Henry. He added under his breath, “A choice I feel I’m about to regret.”
“So there’s another Shawn Henry Spencer in town? So what? There’s like four on Facebook!” Shawn said desperately. He searched the room, desperate from a friendly face. But Juliet had taken a step back. Gus was frowning. Henry was shaking his head. Lassiter, who had been grinning like the Cheshire cat, would no longer meet his eye. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down.
“Mr. Spencer?” the chief prompted.
“Yeah, OK. It’s true. Addy is my daughter,” said Shawn.
The chief nodded at Lassiter. “Detective.”
“What, Chief?”
“Book him.”
Juliet didn’t need to hear anything else. She turned on her heels and left the room. Suddenly, Lassiter seemed uncertain.
“Well? He’s our lead suspect, Detective. What are you waiting for?”
“Right,” Lassiter said, fishing his handcuffs from his pocket. But he avoided Shawn’s eye as he slapped them around his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes,” Shawn mumbled. Through the blinds, he could see his daughter, still clutching Buzz’s hand. “Come on, Lassie, do you really think I’m going to run? Just … not in front of Addy, please?”
Lassiter swallowed hard. “It’s protocol, Spencer,” he said, leading him out of the chief’s office.
“Don’t worry, man,” he heard Gus call. “I’ll get you out.”
Every eye in the police station was on him - including, Shawn realized as she took a tentative step back behind Buzz, his daughter’s.
Author: em2mb
Pairing/Character: Shawn/Juliet, ensemble.
Word Count: 4,776
Rating: R
Summary: “I’m getting something! I’m seeing a child, a young girl. She’s eight … no, nine. But small for her age. We need to find her - ” Shawn took a raggedy breath “ - she’s … she’s sick.” When a woman from Shawn’s past shows up on Woody’s autopsy table, the reason he came back to Santa Barbara threatens to unravel everything he’s worked for in the last six years.
Spoilers: Through 6x09, “Neil Simon’s Lover’s Retreat.”
Disclaimers: Not mine, mostly because I can’t be trusted with them, as evidenced below.
Author's Notes: Thanks, as always, to lazaefair for the beta.
Chapter One
Santa Barbara, 2011
There was no mistaking the woman on the table.
After all, Shawn had woken up beside her every day for almost three years. For an instant, he was back in their third floor walk-up in Chicago, trying to avoid the floor board that creaked as he slipped out of bed to comfort their crying daughter.
It was Gus’s voice that jarred him back to reality. He pushed Shawn away in disgust. “No way you’re throwing up on my new Pumas! I just got them last week, Shawn!”
“Shawn, are you OK?” Juliet put a tentative hand on his shoulder as he steadied himself on the counter. He took a long look at the motel key in the evidence bag she was clutching.
“Fine, fine,” said Shawn quickly. He straightened, then feigned a stomach pain. “You mean you haven’t been feeling it all morning? I think we got a bad batch of donuts.”
Juliet shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Shawn. I feel - ”
“What did I tell you about comments that remind me you two have already seen each other today?” Lassiter barked. “Spencer, since when do you get sick at the sight of dead bodies?”
Shawn didn’t reply. “You found her on the beach?” He asked, trying desperately to look anywhere but the stab wounds slicing up Sara’s torso. Where was Addy if not with her mother? “She was alone? You didn’t find anyone with her?”
“No,” said Lassiter, looking at Shawn skeptically. He passed the file to him. Sara Ramirez. “We got a hit off her prints. Went missing as a teenager from Thousand Oaks about a decade ago. Cold case.”
“What about her daughter?” Shawn pressed, trying to keep the panic from rising in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Woody was still slurping noodles over Sara’s body. “Would you show a little respect for the dead?” he snapped. The coroner dropped his chopsticks guiltily.
Now Juliet took a step back. “Shawn, how did you know the victim had a child?”
His finger went to his temple. “I’m getting something! I’m seeing a child, a young girl. She’s
eight … no, nine. But small for her age. We need to find her - ” he took a raggedy breath “ - she’s … she’s sick.”
“Very good, Mr. Spencer!” said Woody, hastily setting the takeout cartoon behind him.
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. He just made all that up. He must have heard us through the door before he walked in.”
“Carlton, you know we have to check it out,” said Juliet, exasperated. “If he’s right, if there’s a kid involved in all this - ” She broke off, seizing the evidence bag with the baggage claim stubs from his hand. “Look, we know the victim wasn’t traveling alone. If in fact her travel companion was a child, we need to issue an Amber Alert.”
“Right,” said Lassiter. He glared at Woody. “Call us as soon as you have something. And Spencer, go … home. I will not have you throwing up anywhere in the vicinity of my desk.” He ripped the file back out of Shawn’s hand.
“Check in with me later,” said Juliet anxiously as the detectives filed out. “OK?”
“Will do,” said Shawn. “Woody.” He nodded at the coroner, who still looked startled by the fact that the department’s psychic had yelled at him but managed a nervous wave. Shawn grabbed Gus’s arm and dragged him out of the room.
“What the hell is going on, Shawn? Why the hell were you spouting off about the victim having a child? There was barely any evidence in there!”
“You didn’t recognize her?” Shawn demanded. Granted, Gus had only seen Sara once - in a courtroom in 2005. She’d had a broken nose at the time.
“No, I never look at the bodies if I can help it, you know that.”
“Oh, God, Gus, it’s - it’s Sara.”
Gus’ eyes widened. “Your ex-girlfriend Sara? Crazy Sara from Chicago? Your baby mama Sara?”
“We have to find Addy.”
“Are you out of your damned mind? You want to go chasing after a mistake you made ten years ago? Like hell, Shawn. I’m calling Juliet. You’re telling her everything.”
Shawn’s eyes flashed. “You know what, Gus? Just forget it. I’m so sick of your holier-than-thou attitude when it comes to Addy. Cut the sanctimonious bullshit, OK? I don’t care that you don’t approve of my kid.”
“Shawn, wait - ”
“My daughter is not a mistake, Gus!” Shawn rounded on him, his voice rising steadily. “Can you not see that I am freaking out here? Sara is dead. Woody is cutting into her right now. I have to find Addy. You don’t have to help me, but I swear, if you call Juliet or Lassiter before I get a chance to figure this out - I will never forgive you.” He set off down the hall, but Gus caught him by the sleeve of his jacket.
“I assume you saw the key card? It’s from the Suncrest Motel.”
Shawn stared at him. “You think so, too?”
Gus nodded. “I’ll drive.”
“Thanks, man,” said Shawn quietly.
*
There was still crime scene tape on the second floor mezzanine of the Suncrest Motel from the explosion weeks earlier. It was faded now, ragged from flapping in the wind. There was a hand-written sign in the window: No pool access. No second floor rooms available.
The desk clerk narrowed his eyes when Shawn barged in, Gus at his heels. “I know you,” he said, jabbing a stubby finger over his shoulder. Pinned to a bulletin board was a newspaper clipping about Psych and the SBPD. Whoever had written the sign on the door had scrawled the words “NO ACCESS” across the top. “I’m not allowed to rent you a room.”
“We don’t need a room,” said Shawn quickly. “I just need to know if a woman checked in yesterday, maybe the day before. Late 20s, Hispanic, curly hair? She would have had a kid with her, a girl.”
The clerk shrugged. “Been home sick most of the week.”
“Is there anyone who would know?” Shawn asked, swallowing the lump that kept rising in his throat. “Please, it’s important.”
Sighing, the clerk turned his head over his shoulder. “Marge! You seen a woman with a kid around?”
The woman who stepped out of the back office weighed as much as Shawn and had shoulders twice as broad. She was wearing an ugly floral dress and glared at the two men in the lobby. “What’s it to them?”
Gus started to open his mouth, but Shawn elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Please, ma’am, I’m looking for my daughter. Her name is Addy. She’s nine. You probably would remember her if you saw her - she’s disabled, she’d have been on crutches.”
“Your daughter, eh? How do I know you’re not trying to kidnap her from her mother or something? Because my ex-husband tried that with my two - ”
“Look, you know who I am because you have my picture on your wall,” Shawn interrupted.
Marge turned and stared at the newspaper article. Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah, you’re the reason I’ve lost out on twenty-two rooms of profit for the last six weeks.”
Gus snorted. “You expect us to believe that you’re actually at capacity? This dump? Ow, Shawn, stop elbowing me!”
“Can you just tell us if you’ve seen anyone like that or not?”
“Yeah, they’re in 221,” said Marge, heading toward the back office once more. “Gary, take ‘em up there. The woman only paid for two days, and check out time was an hour ago.”
“I thought you said you were losing profit on the second floor,” Gus called.
Shawn glared at him. “What are you doing?” he hissed as Gary unlocked a metal box on the wall.
“Trying to figure out if something’s going on here,” said Gus under his breath. “You know, like a detective. Like we usually do.”
“I don’t - I don’t care what’s going on here, I just care about finding Addy - Gary, will you hurry up and grab the key already?”
The desk clerk glared at him. “They’re not in order,” he sneered, shuffling through the cards at a painstakingly slow pace. He held a key up to the light, squinting at the arrangement of tiny holes. “Come on, I think I found the right one.”
“So that’s your plan?” Gus stage-whispered as they huffed it up the stairs behind Gary. “Just find her? What then, Shawn? How close do you think Lassiter is to finding out she’s your kid? Your name’s on the birth certificate. What I said yesterday about coming clean to Juliet doesn’t sound so bad does it, now?”
They were outside of room 221. Gary knocked loudly. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” He sighed as pounded a fist on the door. “Can anyone hear me? I’m going to open the door now.” He jabbed the key card in the lock and tried the handle. The door didn’t budge. Gary pulled out the key card and tried again. “Stupid old locks. I don’t know why we haven’t replaced them. We lose money every time someone skips out without returning - oh shit.”
Blood was everywhere. It had soaked into the carpet, splattered the wall and streaked the curtains. Sara’s blood, Shawn thought, his stomach turning. Gary kept muttering under his breath as he backed slowly away from the door frame. But Sara’s blood was better than the alternative.
“ADDY!” Shawn bellowed, pushing past the arm Gus threw out and entering the crime scene. In the corner, there was a small suitcase, and a child-size backpack was half-hidden under the bed. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “Addy, are you in here?”
There was no response. Think, Shawn. He didn’t hesitate, the carpet squelching underfoot as he strode over to the closet and hauled the door open.
A small, shivering figure sat balled in the corner.
*
“I don’t know, he had a vision,” Gus said desperately as he tried to keep up with the Santa Barbara Police detectives. Both Lassiter and Juliet took the stairs of the Suncrest Motel two at a time. Behind him, he could hear Marge yelling at Gary to keep his mouth shut as another squad car pulled up. “We were on our way to the Psych office. He insisted we come here instead.”
“And the girl was here? Adelyn Ramirez? I’d just gotten off the phone with the airline when the call came in,” said Juliet. “We were about to put out an Amber Alert.” She glanced at her partner. “I guess Shawn saved us the trouble.”
“Please.” Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Are you hearing yourself, O’Hara? Spencer probably saw the motel key card in the morgue and put two and two together. Dammit, I knew that thing looked familiar.” He gave the Suncrest Motel sign a disdainful look as they entered the room.
Gus glanced nervously past the crime scene investigators who were already milling about. Shawn was leaning with his back against the closet door frame, talking softly to the frightened little girl in the corner. Gus felt Juliet tap his shoulder.
“He hasn’t left her side?”
Gus shook his head. Marge had lawyered up the second a black and white had arrived on scene, which meant Shawn’s secret was still safe for the moment. “No, he’s right where I left him. I - ”
“Couldn’t stand all the blood, right,” said Juliet, grimacing as she surveyed the crime scene. She called over to her partner, “Carlton, what are you thinking?”
Lassiter, who had been talking to the medical examiner, broke away. “I think our victim was killed here and transported off site. All of the towels and some of the bed linens are missing. Our murderer probably used them to wrap the body and drag it out. See the tracks there in the blood?”
Juliet wrinkled her nose, glancing back at Shawn and the little girl. “God, do you think she was in the closet the whole time?”
Lassiter squirmed uncomfortably. “O’Hara, why don’t you go give Spencer a hand with the kid?”
Juliet arched an eyebrow. “Why don’t you go give Shawn a hand with her?”
“Because she’s - she’s a kid.”
“And I’m somehow more qualified to deal with her how? Because I have ovaries? Breasts?”
“Of course not,” said Lassiter quickly, his ears faintly pink at her use of the word breasts. “I just thought … maybe … dammit, O’Hara, your boyfriend gives me a headache, isn’t that reason enough?”
Juliet rolled her eyes as she trod carefully across the sheets of plastic the crime scene unit had laid down on the carpet. Shawn managed a small smile as she knelt beside him. “Well? she whispered. “Has she said anything?”
He shook his head, turning back to the girl. “Hey, Addy, this the friend I was telling you about, Detective O’Hara. She and her partner - he’s that funny-looking tall guy over there, I don’t think you can see him from down here - are going to figure out what happened here, OK?”
Juliet gave him a strange look. “How did you know her name?”
“Jules, I’m a psychic.”
But Juliet was less worried about how Shawn had divined the girl’s name than she was about the girl herself. According to the date of birth the airline had provided, Adelyn was nine, almost ten. Maybe it was the way the girl sitting, her knees clutched tightly to her chest, but Juliet thought she looked younger. She thought back to their meeting at the morgue earlier. Hadn’t Shawn said the victim’s daughter would be small for her age? It looked like he was right on all accounts today. Juliet scooted closer to the little girl, who had shoulder-length dark brown hair and a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She was wearing a backwards baseball cap and biting her lip as she studied Juliet with dark, uncertain eyes.
“Hey, Adelyn,” she said softly. “I’m Detective O’Hara. I see you’ve met my friend, Shawn. We were thinking you might like to get out of that closet and come with us down to the station.”
The girl just continued to stare at them.
“I don’t think she likes Adelyn,” said Shawn matter-of-factly. He poked his head into the closet a little farther. “Hey, Addy, I was thinking when we got to the station, I’d send my friend Gus over there - remember, he’ll be the one in the ridiculous pink shirt, we talked about this - out for smoothies. I think the pineapple ones are nice, but I bet he’d get you any flavor you liked.”
Addy sniffed. Much to Juliet’s amazement, the little girl nodded.
“And how are we doing over here?” Juliet recognized Lassiter’s tone at once from the disastrous Christmas he’d spent with her family years ago. He’d used the same high-pitched falsetto to explain everything that was wrong with her nephews’ Nativity scene. She was just glad he hadn’t spilled the beans on Santa Claus. She straightened.
“We are making progress,” said Juliet brightly, trying to keep her voice bubbly and cheerful in hopes her partner would get the hint. “Shawn and I were just talking about heading back to the station and getting Addy something to eat.”
“Addy? Oh, right, Adelyn. Do you prefer we call you that?” Lassiter arched an eyebrow at the girl. “Well, come on, let’s get you out of here.”
She didn’t budge.
Lassiter nudged his partner. Out of the corner of his mouth, he muttered, “Why isn’t she moving?”
Juliet sighed, closing her eyes briefly. “Carlton, she’s scared, OK? She - ”
But when she opened her eyes again, she noticed something she hadn’t before: a pair of child-sized crutches kicked beneath the nearest bed. Again, her mind flashed back to the morgue, Shawn’s finger on his temple. She’s sick, he’d declared.
Amazing.
Lassiter had scrunched up his face. “What, O’Hara? What is it?”
“She’s disabled,” Juliet said, crossing over to the bed and bending down. She fished out one crutch, then the other. “She’s not saying anything because she’s in shock, but she’s not getting up because she can’t. At least not on her own. Is that right?”
Another tentative nod. Juliet started to hand Addy the crutches, but Shawn stopped her. “Juliet, wait. She’s been in there what, six, seven hours?” He turned to the girl. “You’re probably feeling a little stiff and sore cooped up in there this whole time,” he said soothingly. “Tell you what, can I give you a hand?”
Again, Addy nodded, and much to Juliet’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around Shawn’s neck as he very gently bent over and lifted her up. One of her pant legs was bunched up and Juliet could see she was wearing some kind of orthopedic brace.
“Good call, Shawn,” she murmured as he passed her. He gave her a small smile.
“Lassie, I’m going to take Addy here down to your car,” he said, heading for the door. “Hey, can you close your eyes for me? There’s a good girl … ”
Juliet waited until they were out of the room. “Unbelievable. How did I not see what he was doing?”
“Breaking every single protocol in the book?”
Juliet rolled her eyes as she grabbed Lassiter’s arm and yanked him into a squatting position. “Carlton, what can’t you see from down here?”
The head detective squinted. “All of the blood?” He sighed. “Jesus, he must have realized as long as she was in the closet she wouldn’t see what a bloodbath it was. Good work, O’Hara.”
Juliet folded her arms across her chest. “I think you mean, ‘Good work, Shawn.’”
Lassiter just stared incredulously after the psychic. “Every time.”
*
“Shawn!” Gus hissed when he found his friend again back at the station. He was sitting on a bench in the hallway, still holding Addy, who appeared to be dozing on his chest. “What the hell happened back there?”
Shawn glared at him. “Seriously, Gus? She’s nine. Watch your language.”
Gus slid onto the bench next to him. “We just found your kid hiding in the closet. Half the police department watched you carry her out of a bloody motel room. Yet none of them suspect anything? Anything at all?”
“No, which is why I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it down,” said Shawn.
But it was too late. Addy was already stirring. Gus glanced down to the other side of the bench, where Shawn had placed the baseball cap she was wearing earlier. “This is Gus,” he said. “He’s just now going to get us smoothies.”
“No I’m not.”
“Gus, don’t be the Michael Jackson CD I accidentally microwaved last week, it’s been hours since Addy’s had anything to eat. Get me one, too, will you? Pineapple?”
Gus glared at him. “I knew that was you, Shawn. And yes, you’re getting me another copy.”
“You have every one of his songs on your iPod!”
“Do you want those smoothies or not, Shawn?”
“Fine, fine, I’ll replace it,” Shawn grumbled.
“Good,” said Gus, smoothing his pant legs as he stood up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Shawn gently stroking Addy’s hair, whispering reassurances only she could hear.
*
“Look at that,” said Juliet, leaning against her partner’s desk.
“Look at what?” Lassiter asked, groaning as his computer locked up for the seventh time. He slammed the mouse repeatedly against his desk. “Stupid … thing … won’t … work.”
“Shawn.”
Lassiter glanced across the room. Spencer was still holding the kid, who appeared to have drifted off since they had arrived back at the station. “So?”
“I didn’t think he’d be good with kids.”
Lassiter shrugged. “So he is, so what? He’s - oh, God, O’Hara, don’t you even think about it. It’s Spencer. You can’t procreate with Spencer. He’s still a child himself.”
“Carlton, that’s so not even where I was going with - you know what? Never mind,” Juliet threw her hands up. “How’s the search coming?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been able to pull anything up yet. My computer crashes every time I try to open the stupid database. Did you call the Chicago PD?”
“Our vic has had a few arrests, most recently for DUI in 2010. They’re faxing over what they have. I told the detective I spoke to I’d call him back once we had a chance to go over it on our end.” Juliet shook her head, unable to take her eyes off Shawn and Addy. “I can’t stop thinking about how scared she must have been. Thank God Shawn found her when he did.”
“He got lucky.”
“He knew her name, Carlton.”
“Then it was somewhere in the room.”
“Oh, come on. It wasn’t even on the luggage tags, how could he have known?” When Juliet had told him back at the motel that Shawn had guessed the child’s name, Lassiter had immediately gone to the backpack and suitcase in the corner and pawed through both - clothing, toiletries, a few books, two empty pill bottles - and come up with nothing.
“I have no idea how Spencer does anything he does, least of all how he hoodwinks you,” said Lassie, throwing the mouse again. “Dammit, can I get someone from IT over here already?”
She decided it would be a good moment to slip away.
“Juliet, a word?”
Henry was leaning against her desk, his arms folded across his chest. She followed his gaze to the bench where Shawn was sitting with Addy.
“Henry,” she said, sliding into her chair. Addy’s crutches were propped up against her desk drawer. “He’s good with her, isn’t he?”
“Too good. Did I just hear you tell Lassiter called her by name at the scene? Even though there wasn’t a shred of evidence to back it up?”
“Yes,” said Juliet, exasperated. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
Henry shook his head. “No reason.”
Across the room, Shawn had picked up Addy again and was headed straight toward them. “Guess what?” he said.
“What?” Henry barked.
Shawn ignored him. “She speaks,” he told Juliet.
“Really? What did she say?”
“That she needs to use the bathroom,” he said. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I don’t think I’m qualified for this one. Can you take her?”
Juliet hid her smile behind her hand as Shawn gently steadied Addy and handed her the crutches. “Of course. What do you say, Addy? Is that OK?” The little girl nodded and limped after Juliet in the direction of the women’s bathroom.
Henry waited until they were out of earshot. “Who’s the kid, Shawn?” he demanded.
Shawn stared at his old man. There’s no way he could know, he reassured himself. He chose his words carefully. “She’s a possible witness to a murder, Dad. Did you forget to take your senile pills this morning?”
“No, Shawn, who is she to you?” Henry dropped his voice. “Juliet said you called her by name at the crime scene, but there wasn’t any way you could have known it yet. So who is she, Shawn? How do you know her?”
“I don’t,” Shawn insisted. “She’s a scared kid who probably witnessed her mom get murdered last night. If it helps her to cling to me for awhile, so be it. I don’t mind babysitting.”
“You’ve never babysat before in your life, Shawn.”
“So there’s a first time for everything!” Shawn volleyed back, trying to keep the anger from rising in his voice. He forced a smile. “I’m sure if I screw it up someone here can set me straight.”
Henry continued to survey his son. He opened his mouth but was cut off when Lassiter pushed past him on his way to the chief’s office.
“Come on, Spencers,” he called over his shoulder. “I think I’ve got something good.”
Chief Vick was on the phone as Shawn and Henry filed into her office behind Lassiter. “I get that those case files are sealed - ” she was saying into the receiver, an irritated expression on her face. “What?” she mouthed as her head detective dropped a stack of papers on her desk. “Of course I know what happens when a juvenile turns 18!”
“Chief, I think you’ll want to take a look at those.”
The look she shot Lassiter said now clearly wasn’t the time, but he didn’t budge. Out of the corner of his eye, Shawn watched Gus walk into the station with a drink carrier and do a double take when he reached the now-empty bench. Juliet was on her way back from the bathroom with Addy and must have seen them through the glass, because Shawn watched her quickly intercept Buzz and pass the little girl off to him. He felt a pang in his chest.
“What did I miss?” Juliet asked, stepping into Vick’s office, grimacing when she saw the chief was on the phone. “Sorry,” she whispered. Gus, who must have seen her and realized where they all were, was right on her heels. He was still carrying the smoothies.
“No, I don’t care that Mr. Ramirez - sure, I’ll hold.” Vick sighed and slammed the received down. “If that conversation was any indication, we will not be receiving much, if any, help from the Thousand Oaks Police Department.” She snatched the papers from the edge of her desk and was now squinting at them suspiciously. “Detective Lassiter, what am I looking at?”
“That is a birth certificate for Adelyn Ramirez, daughter of our stabbing victim, Sara Ramirez. I’ve also compiled a record of child support payments made by the girl’s father, starting in 2005 and continuing until last week, when the latest payment was posted. Turns out, her father lives here in Santa Barbara.” Lassiter looked right at Shawn.
Busted. Shawn began tracing the floor tiles with the toe of a sneaker.
“And these are?” Chief Vick held up a stack of badly smudged photocopies.
“Oh, those are court records detailing the battery case the Chicago Police Department built against the father after responding to a domestic violence call at Miss Ramirez’s residence in August 2005. It appears she agreed to drop charges as long as he relinquished custody.”
“I see.” Vick finally looked up. She stared right at Shawn. “Mr. Spencer, is there anything you’d like to add?”
Shawn tried his best to feign confusion. “Why would I want to add something, Chief?”
“Perhaps because your name is on the birth certificate, Mr. Spencer.”
“What? That’s insane!” said Shawn automatically. “Surely I’m not the only Shawn Spencer in Santa Barbara.”
“Chief, Shawn’s right,” said Juliet helpfully. “It’s not an uncommon name.”
Vick’s glare told her junior detective she wasn’t helping. She turned to Henry. “Henry, what’s your son’s middle name?”
“It’s Henry, Karen,” said Henry. He added under his breath, “A choice I feel I’m about to regret.”
“So there’s another Shawn Henry Spencer in town? So what? There’s like four on Facebook!” Shawn said desperately. He searched the room, desperate from a friendly face. But Juliet had taken a step back. Gus was frowning. Henry was shaking his head. Lassiter, who had been grinning like the Cheshire cat, would no longer meet his eye. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down.
“Mr. Spencer?” the chief prompted.
“Yeah, OK. It’s true. Addy is my daughter,” said Shawn.
The chief nodded at Lassiter. “Detective.”
“What, Chief?”
“Book him.”
Juliet didn’t need to hear anything else. She turned on her heels and left the room. Suddenly, Lassiter seemed uncertain.
“Well? He’s our lead suspect, Detective. What are you waiting for?”
“Right,” Lassiter said, fishing his handcuffs from his pocket. But he avoided Shawn’s eye as he slapped them around his wrists. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes,” Shawn mumbled. Through the blinds, he could see his daughter, still clutching Buzz’s hand. “Come on, Lassie, do you really think I’m going to run? Just … not in front of Addy, please?”
Lassiter swallowed hard. “It’s protocol, Spencer,” he said, leading him out of the chief’s office.
“Don’t worry, man,” he heard Gus call. “I’ll get you out.”
Every eye in the police station was on him - including, Shawn realized as she took a tentative step back behind Buzz, his daughter’s.