Part 7: Now, we're getting somewhere
She pulled into the garage where Olivia informed her that the car was parked. ‘Car’ was something of a misnomer, for it was a gorgeous BMW convertible, in a pale powder blue with a black leather ragtop. The machine was built for speed, and seeing the butt of a certain detective wiggling over the opened hood was worth the long bike ride from the precinct to her apartment to pack and then the garage.
The wolf whistle made Olivia jerk her head up, looking for the source, and finding Novak coasting in on her bike, helmet under one arm, and backpack firmly fastened across chest and waist, she grinned, even helmet hair looked cute on the redhead.
“I changed the oil, gave her a wash, and checked up on everything else,” Olivia un-tucked a rag from her back pocket and leaned heavily against the front bumper; she was in her tank top undershirt, to keep her ‘good’ clothing from getting too greasy and from the clear attention she grabbed from the attorney it was a wise choice. “We’re pretty much good to go, well… except gas.”
“Cool,” Casey exclaimed with almost adolescent appreciation as she slid off her bike, “That’s one hell of a car.”
“Alex had expensive taste,” Liv smiled fondly.
For the first time, when the detective mentioned her former ADA with something approaching a happy memory and Casey didn’t feel vaguely inadequate by comparison.
“Think we can get it past third gear?”
“Depends on the traffic,” Olivia replied with a wicked grin, “but it could be a lot of fun.”
“Count me in,” Casey unfastened her backpack’s straps, “You cut your hair.”
“Yeah,” Liv absently ran her clean hand through the newly snipped locks, “It’s been a while, but I like it shorter.”
“Darker too,” Casey observed, the red and blonde highlights had been mostly shorn, exposing the undertones. The back and sides were cut close, and it was artfully mussed and spiky on top, “Cute, I like it.”
Actually Casey thought that Olivia was almost too hot to exist. In about thirty seconds the attorney felt as though she was going to aggressively attack the sheer butch-ness of Olivia with a ravenously sex-driven appetite. Casey decided despite her nervousness about the whole idea of ‘gay-now’, that without exception, Olivia in ‘butch’ mode really, really did it for her; the black grease smudges on the taut belly of the tank top, the form-fitting jeans, boots, and short hair were magnets.
When Olivia wiped her oily hand on that scrap of dirty rag, Casey’s blood pressure made a dangerous spike. It must have been transparently evident on her face, because the blatant once over she received in reply made her toes tingle.
“You wanna throw your bag into the trunk,” Olivia motioned back to the very small amount of storage, “I’ll clean up here and we can get on the way.”
“No,” Casey replied, locking eyes with her intended prey, “There’s something I want first.”
“Casey…” Olivia began to protest weakly.
“Nope,” The ADA smiled sharkily, “Olivia, actually, but good guess.”
She stepped forward, sliding out of her backpack and letting it drop unhindered to the concrete floor. Olivia tucked the rag back into her pocket, freeing her hands, which moved to Casey’s upper arms the second the attorney grabbed her belt and hauled their hips to meet.
She attached her lips to Olivia’s aggressively, noting that she was actually slightly taller than the detective, even in her tennis shoes. She leaned them back, so Olivia could rest her weight again on the front bumper of the convertible, taking stress off her knee, and for a few, long, moments, she let the frustrations of her working day melt away in a hot, sexy, kiss.
It ended with her hands gripping the tight ass of the detective in question and the hands so recently in the engine of the BMW were around her neck, tugging at the tail of her curly red hair. They were both breathing heavily.
Casey looked deeply into the eyes of her detective, they were dark, heady with desire; her own knees were turning to jelly, and she broke eye contact to let her head hang a little, enjoying the tug on her ponytail, and she sighed meaningfully, feeling tension just drain out of her shoulders.
“That’s better,” she murmured, feeling Liv’s hands gently start to knead at the back of her neck, “Oooo, yeah, that’s… oh that’s good.”
They stood there for a minute or two, just enjoying being close. Feeling as though they should either get a room or break it up soon, Casey shifted putting a little bit of space between her and the detective’s belt.
“Is that your sidearm or are you just happy to see me?” the attorney joked, tugging gently on the paddle holster in the small of Olivia’s back, layered between the Henley and the tank-top, the Colt Detective Model revolver was completely concealed and easily accessible.
“I could say the same thing about you,” Olivia let her hands slide down to Casey’s waist, playing with the zip of the fanny pack buckled at the waistband of the attorney’s jeans where the detective’s old service revolver was cleverly concealed. “I’m glad to know you’re ok with it, though.”
“Of course,” Casey said, wondering why in the world she wouldn’t be ok with a police officer wearing a sidearm. From the expression on Olivia’s face it was evident that her state of armament had been an ‘issue’ with someone, somewhere, so she clarified, “It would be kinda silly not to, especially since I’m carrying as well.”
“Did you review the CCW statutes in Massachusetts?” Olivia asked. She knew that it was the responsibility of the shooter to know the laws when crossing state lines and she wanted to make sure the newbie knew her obligations.
“Looked ‘em up this morning, you want the hardcopy?”
“Smartass,”
With a few more slight ‘distractions’ they managed to get on the road. Predictably, Casey was out like a light before they left Manhattan, she’d warned Olivia: her Daddy used to take her out in the car as a baby, to encourage her to fall asleep, and ever since, ten minutes in a moving vehicle that she wasn’t driving and she was snoring to wake the dead.
Olivia had good driving instructions, however, and she never needed to wake the sleeping passenger. It felt nice, even, especially as it got dark out and the headlights flashed like a pattern of strobes over the face of her girlfriend. There was a scrap of phrase running around her head, repeating ‘baby, you can sleep while I drive’.
There was something eminently trusting in the gesture of feeling safe enough to drop off while someone else was driving. It seemed appropriate. She didn’t drive enough for it to be tedious and enjoyed the trip, especially since Alex’s BMW was a stick shift, which she eminently preferred to automatics.
Finally the BMW pulled into a non-descript driveway in a rural suburb to the west of Boston, Olivia letting the engine sit in neutral for a bit. This was the nervous part, Olivia had complete confidence in Novak’s plan for the board meeting, that was business; the difficult bit would be handling the family connection.
The light on the porch lit, startling the detective, and she finally twisted the key and shut off the engine. Within a few seconds Casey stirred to wakefulness. Blinking owlishly and making Olivia smile despite her nervousness, the attorney’s face was so open and earnest especially when freshly woken that it was a balm on the detective’s prickly defenses.
“Mmm, we’re here,”
“Good,” Liv unbuckled, but didn’t yet crack the door, “Otherwise someone’s about to take a shotgun and warn us off their property.”
“Funny,”
Casey swiftly unbuckled, checked her black wool jacket, the seams done inside-out style in a bright, contrasting white, to make sure it was still buttoned, jammed the matching beret on her head, and opened the door to the swirling, chilly winds. Liv zipped her own leather jacket slowly, letting Casey outpace her to the door; the happy exclamations reached Olivia’s ears as she climbed out of the door. She balanced carefully, searching the hollow behind the seat for her crutches. Still facing the vehicle, she sighed deeply: moment of truth time.
Someone put a hand on her shoulder and almost scared her out of her skin, as it was she jumped like a rookie and turned sharply, slipping, and catching herself solely with her left crutch. The woman lifted her hand from the leather then tilted her head in apparent contrition.
“Pardon,” she apologized, her voice musically lyrical with a definite French accent, “I had no intention of sneaking up. You must be Casey’s girlfriend, Olivia.”
Casey’s step-mother had been watching from the front window since the moment the BMW had pulled into the driveway, unbeknownst to all. Fortuitously she’d been coming in from the kitchen, her tea pot in hand, when the vehicle had pulled into the drive. With both the dome light of the convertible and the porch lights off she had no trouble seeing past the windshield to the unguarded face of the driver.
Having read the nervousness, apprehension, and outright fear on the face of a grown woman who by all account was fearless in the face of opposition, even armed opposition, told the mother everything she needed to know. Quietly she had told her husband that his daughter was home.
While Casey jubilantly greeted her Daddy, she had slipped past them to the tense figure by the car, determined to make this new and untried element in their lives feel welcome. From the nigh fight or flight reaction, she correctly assumed that the detective hadn’t anticipated being at ease with the introduction. She therefore smiled welcomingly and offered the hand that had just scared the wits out of the younger woman.
“Detective Olivia Benson, Manhattan SVU,” Olivia responded automatically, dropping back on rote to cover her surprise. She tried to calm her racing heartbeat by adjusting the crutches slowly and deliberately.
“Frederica Gillian Riva Novak, High School French”
Olivia gave her a detective’s once over, fifties, early sixties maybe, with lines around her mouth and eyes that suggested a lifetime of merriment. She was wearing a long patchwork skirt, and a thin white blouse, over which was thrown a lap blanket, shawl style, and bright red plastic clogs. The older woman had chin length dark hair and eyes, but in the dim light it was impossible to narrow it down further.
In return, Jill, as was her affectionate nickname, took stock of her guest. The detective seemed stereotypically lesbian, short hair, leather, with a man’s watch loose on her left wrist, with typically masculine body language, in a typically masculine job. If she was older than thirty, which Jill almost certain she was, then she took good care of her skin, for the few lines were well camouflaged. Those lines were telling though, for they came from worry and stress. It seemed like there was very little laughter in her past.
Olivia took the hand Jill proffered gently, shifting her weight carefully, with almost exaggerated gentleness, and a move that surprised the older woman, lifted it and ducked her head swiftly, placing a soft kiss on the back. It charmed Jill to her toes.
“Gallant,” she complimented, giving the word a French twist and making it sound more impressive, “No wonder my daughter likes you. She was always silly for knights in shining armour.”
Olivia flushed, but the compliment had broken the ice positively; Jill could see the detective’s shoulders square, her formal, polite smile turn into a pleased grin, and Olivia tucked the hand under her elbow in an improvised escort as she walked Jill to the foot of the porch stairs.
“Daddy, this is my girlfriend, Liv,” Casey had extricated herself from her father’s bear hug, “Liv this is my dad, Brian Novak.”
“Olivia Benson,” the detective greeted the mountain of a man who was clearly a contributor to Casey’s genetics.
White-blonde hair was cut close in an almost military style, contrasting with skin that indicated he’d worked outdoors most of his life; he was the size of a professional football linebacker, still trim even though she knew he was old enough to be Casey’s father. His pleasure at being introduced to his daughter’s girlfriend was lukewarm at best.
“That’s my wife on your arm,” Brian’s expression turned to stone, as Jill made an admonishing face at him, knowing the detective wouldn’t realise the attitude was pure show.
Beside her Olivia tensed, but she kept her composure and she replied, “Yes, sir, it is.”
Again with exaggerated gentleness, she freed Jill’s hand from her arm, handing her back to her husband. Brian possessively pulled her to his side and she subtly put a sharp elbow into his ribs to remind him not to carry the game too far.
Casey wasn’t subtle at all, she punched her father in the shoulder, saying, “Daddy, be nice.”
“I am being nice, I just don’t want your girlfriend to woo all the Novak women into her muscle car,” Brian protested.
“Actually, sir,” Olivia interjected, “No offence to your wife, but I think one is all I can handle.”
Brian chuckled, setting everyone back at ease, except Olivia who realised there was more to winning over Casey’s dad than a few, small, jokes. “She knows you well, Case,” He ruffled his daughter’s hair, setting the wool beret askew, “C’mon in people, damned windy out here.”
Olivia stepped back, for a second Jill worried that they’d gone over the top, but the detective said, “Actually I should get our stuff out of the trunk.”
“Nonsense,” Brian boomed, “You get inside and put your leg up.”
In his sweatpants, orange-stained socks, and ancient Patriots t-shirt he marched down the driveway and up to the trunk of the car, which inexplicably opened as soon as he passed by; he jumped back nearly a foot, unable to understand how the vehicle knew he was there, until he looked up and saw Olivia swinging the remote from one finger.
Inside the house, Jill pressed a warm cup of herbal tea into Olivia’s hands, the detective looked uncomfortable, but all it took was for Olivia to glance at Jill’s daughter to realise why the detective was sticking it out. Yawns were all around, and in under an hour she’d tucked the two younger women into bed, laughing inside for the moment the detective woke and realised the room was painted bright lime green.
Morning saw both women dress pressed to kill, Casey was in ‘the’ power suit; the one she put on when she was out to swing for the fences: lime green, with a bright purple silk shell, and the white go-go boots.
“Casey, even a gay, blind man is going ‘oh, dear Christ’ you do know that, right?” Jill pointed out as she handed her daughter a teacup full to the brim and warm with goodness. She was perched by the stove, frying up something that smelled like heaven.
“I like it,” Casey protested.
“It makes a statement.” Olivia pointed out, slowly crutching herself into the giant kitchen. She was decked out as only a New York native could be, black from head to toe, stark and unrelieved, but for the silver wristwatch and gold badge at her waist. Even the gun and its holster were black.
That startled Jill, even when Brian was in the Army she was unaccustomed to seeing a person armed. When he and the kids went hunting they were very careful to keep the guns locked away, she rarely, if ever saw one, except for the nickel plated Colt that was in Brian’s shadowbox, from his service in Vietnam.
“Liv…” Casey protested, “Some of us like a less than mono-chromatic wardrobe. Speaking of which, I know you packed that blue button-up.”
“Fine,” Olivia sighed, settling into a chair with a thump, leaning her crutches against the side of the table, “But you’re getting it, I’m sick of doing stairs with these things.”
Casey stuck her tongue out, but gamely marched up the stairs. It was on the tip of Jill’s tongue to apologise for making the detective climb stairs to get to her bedroom, but Brian walked in the side door of the kitchen, ready for the day.
He liked to chop the firewood for the day early in the mornings, after twenty years of service, and nearly thirty of marriage, he was an incurable early riser. He’d opened up and modernized the fireplaces in the old saltbox home through hours of painstaking labour, and Jill was old-world enough to appreciate the crackling fire in the autumn and winter months.
His eyes instantly tracked to the pistol, tucked unobtrusively on Olivia’s right hip, a few inches from the gold of her badge. He frowned, but didn’t say anything, scraping his work boots off and stacking the new wood in the box by the stove.
“Ach, Case, you’d think you were born colour blind,” he chuckled as his daughter re-appeared carting a gorgeous, raw silk shirt, in a jewel toned sapphire. It shimmered slightly, making Jill wonder why the detective hadn’t picked that outfit first, instead of the black linen.
“Enough,” Jill chided gently, hearing a frustrated sigh, “Our girl’s loved the bright colours since she was knee high, you’re not going to cure it now.”
“Here, Liv,” Casey handed the shirt over, “You need a hand?”
“Probably,” the detective replied, and with perfect aplomb started to strip her current shirt right off. For modesty’s sake she did have a black tank top on underneath, but Jill wasn’t sure that she’d care if there was nothing but bra.
She felt more than heard a sigh of disapproval from her husband, Brian locked his jaw and didn’t say anything, but she knew through the secret telepathy of twenty years of marriage, that something about the detective was rubbing him the wrong way.
It was a curious ritual, as Olivia leaned up against the table and Casey slid the old shirt off and the new one on like a well-bred gentleman helping a lady with a jacket, and it was evident they’d done it that way enough times to not need verbal instructions. The detective tucked the front, Casey the back, and cuff links slid across the table, black enamel with little blue stones to fasten the wide, French cuffs.
Even Brian was impressed by the transformation; Liv was a great deal less broody and intimidating and much more approachable in the blue, with a hint of black peeking up from the few buttons open at her neck. The detective fiddled with the cuff links for a minute, tugging on the sleeves, and trying to get the shirt to settle comfortably across her shoulders.
“All right everyone, what do people want?” Jill asked, wielding spatula with aplomb.
“Fried,” Casey replied quickly.
“Over-easy” Brian said absently, rolling up the cuffs on his flannel shirt.
“Uh…” Olivia paused, “Whatever works, really.”
The smell of warm, home cooked breakfast was driving hunger pangs deep, Jill could have served her deep fried shoe leather and it would have gone down without complaint.
“Alright, chef’s special, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”
The gallon jug of OJ went around, as did the tea pot, toast appeared out of nowhere, and Liv remembered something.
“Damn it, I forgot…” Casey held up two prescription bottles, Olivia popped the tops and shook out the pills, “Thanks”
“Just humour me and try not to wash the blood pressure medication down with caffeine, salt, and grease, ok?”
Olivia rolled her eyes, but obligingly used orange juice instead of coffee. Within a few minutes sausages popped out of the oven and steaming hot eggs slid out of the frying pan and onto nearby plates.
Digging heartily in, Casey’s father asked, “So when’s this big meeting start?”
“Nine,” Olivia was deep into her ‘chef’s special’ omelette, even her favourite breakfast diner, frequented by six generations of New York cops, was fast fading compared to this feast.
“How’d you manage to get on the board of directors for Cabot anyway, Detective, that’s old family money?”
“Well…” Jill could see Casey’s expression turn pensive as she nervously started tapping at her teacup. She knew that expression, her daughter was keeping something back. “Our previous ADA was Alexandra Cabot.”
“The heiress?”
“Mmhm,” Liv twisted a ring on her right hand slowly, “She was shot by a Colombian drug cartel outside of McMullan’s about eight months ago. I … we tried but she didn’t make it. They read her will and it was me for Cabot Enterprises, my partner got the trust fund.”
“What in God’s name was Special Victims prosecutor doing involved in a Colombian drug ring?” Brian set his teacup down, brows furrowed close in an expression identical to the one Casey wore when she was pestering Doc Warner for more details about an autopsy. For Olivia it was borderline creepy to see Casey’s expression on her Dad’s face.
“Valez’s top lieutenant raped and killed an undercover cop. Alex refused to let the charges drop and have prosecution pass to the FBI on the drugs. The NYPD takes care of its own.” Olivia shrugged uncomfortably, Brian’s bright blue eyes bored holes into her skull. She much preferred being the questioner than the questioned. “They drove by just as we were exiting the bar, even with Elliot and I there as backup, she had no chance. It was a pro.”
“You mean to tell me,” Jill piped in, realising what Casey had skilfully avoided describing, “That the reason Casey was promoted was that your previous prosecutor was shot and killed in the line of duty?”
“So to speak,” Casey answered, trying to take some of the heat off of Olivia.
“And you felt the need to mention this… when?” Brian demanded of his child.
“It had no bearing on the…”
“No way, young lady, don’t you start that lawyer speak. You knew darned well why you got that assignment, why didn’t you mention it was that dangerous?”
“Its violent crimes Daddy and that I made eminently clear,” Casey got that cocky, bright glint, as if her father was opposing counsel. “As an officer of the court I have an ethical and legal obligation to prosecute violent sexual predators. It’s not an unreasonable supposition that such a duty might be dangerous.”
“And what do you propose to do about some sicko coming after you for doing your duty?” Jill protested, thinking that it was enough her husband risked his life in the name of duty, why did her daughter have to follow in his stubborn footsteps.
“Never leave home without it,” Casey unbuttoned her jacket, revealing holster and revolver, “I have mace in my briefcase and on my keychain, a bat in my office, and three at home. Not to mention the court officers during trial and my own detectives whenever I need to be out serving a warrant.”
Liv wasn’t really sure what to expect as a response, but Casey’s parents just gave her a resigned sigh, her father especially taking the news of his daughter’s carrying concealed hard.
“I assume you know how to use that thing and not just wave it around.” He said tiredly.
“Of course, I belong to a shooting club, Liv and I go every afternoon.” Casey settled her jacket again, “Besides waving it around is brandishment and that’s illegal.”
“So which violent predator are you out to get during this meeting?” He asked, more than slightly hurt.
“Judge Harriman,” Casey replied non-plussed, “But he’s just unethical, ego driven, and trying to defraud Liv out of her stocks, he’s not really the violent type.”
Olivia didn’t inquire about Casey being out to get Judge Harriman until they were well on their way to the corporate headquarters. The attorney just smiled craftily, saying that if all went well, she’d have enough ammunition to get him thrown off the bench and disbarred.
The company headquarters was enormous; Cabot Enterprises owned an entire building in the business district. Olivia carefully manoeuvred around the block towards the garage entrance, slowing the BMW to a crawl as she came up to the gate. A guard stepped up, as she pulled to a halt, fishing in her jacket pocket for her corporate ID they’d sent along with the packet of legal materials.
"Hold on...." The man held a hand up warningly; when she fished out the ID he must have spotted the gun.
"Here." She handed him corporate ID and her badge. "I'm not a terrorist."
The guard took the card, giving her a suspicious look before he glanced down at it and her badge. Then his attitude changed so quickly she thought he’d get whiplash. He stiffened up and ducked his head at her.
"Ma'am," He practically came to attention. "Are they expecting you?"
"I don’t think they know what to expect." She took her badge and ID back and waited while the gate opened, then gunned the engine cheerfully, thinking that she could seriously enjoy this meeting.
She pulled into the space still airbrushed to read ‘Ms. Alexandra Cabot, Esq.’ and shut the engine down. Glancing at Casey she asked, “You ready for this?”
Casey nodded, her eyes gleaming wickedly, there was something seriously dangerous glinting in her expression. Olivia returned the smile; this could really, really, be an interesting day.
The elevator ride to the ground floor was swift, leading into the main atrium of the building. Casey tipped her head back as they entered the lobby, looking up through the atrium which went up the entire length of the building.
“Whoa.” She loosened the top fastenings of her jacket, and pulled off her hat and gloves. “This is.. um…” She tried to find a politically correct term. “Um…it’s.. “
"Hasn't changed a bit." Olivia shook her head in mild disgust, and crutched for the elevators, perched behind an imposing guard desk. "Pretentious piece of... lesser mortals are supposed to stand in awe in the lobby.”
“You’ve been here before?” Casey asked, surprised.
“Alex and I rode up to the city once to take custody of a serial rapist we got extradited, she stopped by here to pick up some papers.” Liv unzipped her leather jacket, revealing the flash of blue underneath, “Hasn’t changed a bit.”
"Can I help you, ma'am." The guard's voice stopped them. "Are you looking for someone?"
Olivia leaned on the counter. "Yeah, the board of directors.”
Cool eyes studied her, as the guard scanned a list behind the desk. "Are they expecting you, ma'am?"
"Hope so." Olivia flipped her badge onto the counter. He leaned closer, and then looked up at her in surprise, she smiled. "Not what you expected?"
He slowly handed her the badge back. "No, ma'am, Detective, not exactly." Now the voice was respectful. "You can go on up."
The cop smiled then moved past the desk to the X-ray checkpoint. She opened her jacket to reveal the holster as she flashed the badge. The guards waved her through with grave professional courtesy. Casey was scrutinized much more closely when she handed over her ADA identification and her licence to carry. They put her briefcase through the machine, and she halfway expected them to take exception to the small spray can of Mace, but apparently they either ignored it or thought it was hairspray.
The next stop was a bank of glass and marble lined elevators, one of which was on ground level in all its brassy splendour. Olivia crutched in and punched in the twenty third floor, held the door for her companion, and let it close. The doors slid shut, and Casey eyed her reflection, flicking her hair into a semblance of order as the elevator reached its destination, and the doors opened. It was, if anything, even quieter up here than in the lobby. There was soundproofing on all the walls, and the floors had flawless creamy carpeting.
They went silently through the halls and turned down the largest corridor, which had framed pictures of prominent Cabot’s all down its length. Finally they came to a set of doors, and Casey reached out, grabbing the brass handle and pulling them open.
Inside was an oversize, ostentatious antechamber with three doors leading away from the main room. In the centre was a small fountain, and to one side, a huge, laminated wood circular desk presided, with a young blonde at the flat-screen computer. A tall, austere woman was standing near the desk, her attention focused on a paper.
"Good Morning, Mrs. Cabot" Olivia’s voice broke the quiet, “I hope we’re on time.”
The older woman set her folder down and walked towards them slowly and deliberately, greeting Olivia, “Officer”
“Detective, actually, how have you been?”
Without warning she wound back and slapped Olivia across the face. The detective made no effort to defend herself, so when the second slap came around, Casey stepped forward to catch it, which provoked the question, “And just whom, may I ask, are you?”
“Olivia’s attorney,” she replied coldly, taking satisfaction in the surprise on the elder Cabot’s face. “And I’ll thank you to not physically assault my client again.”
“Well, the nerve,” the older woman glared at Casey, “Unhand me.”
“You’re the one with nerve, Mrs. Cabot. It takes a real class act to hit a woman on crutches.” Casey let go of her wrist, “You’re lucky I don’t have you arrested for deliberately assaulting a police officer.”
“If that’s all the piddling trifles you have to offer, this will be a very quick meeting, indeed.” She stalked off.
“Actually,” Casey got off a parting shot, “Seeing you marched off in handcuffs would be the lesser of two evils.”
That barb sank in, for as Alexandra’s mother was walking away her step hesitated. That more than anything told Olivia that Casey was either bluffing very well or she really had dug up some unfortunate dirt on the board members of Cabot Enterprises.
The secretary came forward, after Mrs. Cabot had firmly shut the door, and gave the two a very small smile, “Good morning Detective, Ms….”
“Casey Novak,”
“…Ms. Novak,” her eyes twinkled, “May I take care of your jackets? There’s a place you can freshen up in Ms. Alexandra’s old office.”
“Thanks,”
As Casey shed her black wool coat, revealing the bright lime green power suit the secretary’s mouth twitched to hold back a chuckle. “Well Ms. Novak, I hope you’re here to shake things up. We could use more of that around here.”
“I’ll do my best,”
Alex’s old office was the height of stiff pretension: a huge cherry desk with a dark marble top, oversize, overstuffed, leather chairs, bookcases stuffed with a copy of the Massachusetts legal code, bound in leather with gold leaf emboss. Two crystal decanters were sitting both evenly full, one with eighteen year old single malt scotch, the other with Napoleonic brandy, and an Oriental rug worth more that Olivia’s annual pay check finished off the décor.
Casey stepped into the small alcove which revealed a sink and vanity, stainless coffee maker and cabinet which at one point was stuffed with Alex’s favourite goodies. She took a comb and small compact from her briefcase, intent on getting her war-paint exactly perfect before the meeting. Thus out of sight she was able to eavesdrop on a guest in Olivia’s new office.
“I must have forgotten to check the news before I left the city,” a male voice, clearly not pleased at what he saw echoed in the room, “I didn’t think an animal had escaped from the Central Park Zoo.”
“No, they let me out; it’s bad for business if they admit the cops keep escaping.”
“My mistake,” his voice shifted as he moved closer to the desk, “If it isn’t Detective Butch Benson. Well you certainly have balls showing your face in this office.”
“Well thank God someone here has them,”
That set his voice on edge, “You listen up, you bull dyke, I don’t know under what form of delusion you coerced my niece into handing over her legacy, but I assure you that unless you bend over and take it nicely you’re going to be in a world of trouble. The influence of Cabot Enterprises is very long range; you wouldn’t want bad things happening to the clearance rate of your precious SVU would you?”
“What’s that smell, Olivia?” Casey asked as she stepped out of the alcove, sniffing theatrically, “I think I smell extortion, what do you think?”
“Sure stinks of that to me,” Olivia agreed, watching the Judges blood pressure rise.
“Well, well, Ms. Novak. I wondered if you would be arrogant enough to be here, looks like I’m unpleasantly correct.” He fixed her with a glare that under ordinary circumstances, like approaching him at the bench, would have her quailing in her heels. “I just hope you realise that your privileged legal status on Manhattan in no way will influence how you’re treated here.”
“Oh I am well aware that neither of us, Mister Harriman, have the same leverage outside of our respective jurisdictions.” Casey smiled sweetly, “But you’ve failed to do your homework, of the three of us in this room, only one is a member of the Bar Association in the state of Massachusetts and I’ll give you a hint, it’s not Detective Benson.”
His face, already reddened, turned a mottled purple, “You’re not playing with parole violations and sexual harassment lawsuits here Ms. Novak. This is far, far, above your class of law. Don’t trifle with things you don’t understand. You might end up getting into trouble.”
“Definitely smells like extortion, Casey,” Olivia swung around in the desk chair, setting her feet on the flawless marble just to irritate him, “Refresh my memory, weren’t you in white collar crimes before the district attorney transferred you to the SVU?”
“As a matter of fact, I was the deputy to the EADA for… almost two years.” Casey said blandly as the slightest bit of panic set in on the face of Alex’s uncle, “I spent a lot of time serving warrants on self-important braggarts while they were in board meetings.”
The Judge paused for a moment, glaring at the two derisive women. He left in a huff, trailing expensive cologne and indignation. Olivia smirked at his retreating behind, feeling better with Casey at her back. The two biggest reasons to be wary at the meeting had already made their nasty jibes, and gone away somewhat diminished because of it.
“I didn’t know you passed the Bar in Massachusetts,” Olivia remarked, slouching and letting her feet back on the ground slowly, “When did that happen?”
“I graduated Harvard Law and on a lark, took the exam the week after finals, right before graduation,” Casey shrugged at the horrified expression on Olivia’s face, “It was a bet, I never really studied, I didn’t go in there expecting anything to come of it, but… I guess the whole no-pressure, laid-back, approach really worked for me; because when I came to Manhattan I was terrified, it took me two tries to pass the test.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,”
“We should be getting ready,” Casey walked up to Olivia and sat on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs.
The detective took her time letting her eyes follow Casey’s legs up from the tip of the white go-go boots to the hemline of the skirt. Checking to see that the door was shut, which it was, she reached out and traced one finger up the leather, hose, and just a bit under the hem of the skirt. She scooted the wheeled chair so that Casey’s knees were at her belly-button level and leaned forward, allowing her chest to rest on the top of Casey’s knees and ran both hands up from the ankles of the boots.
Casey’s mind went completely blank. The proximity of her detective, added to the teasing, flirty glint in Olivia’s eyes as she looked up, practically begging the attorney for a kiss, made desire rush through the red-head. She slipped hands into Olivia’s hair, enjoying its new style, and scratched along the detective’s scalp.
It could have been interesting, had the moment been allowed to progress, but a knock on the door interrupted, and they resumed two fairly normal positions. The secretary from the atrium stuck her head in and simply said, “It’s time.”
Three hours later Olivia was nursing the mother of all headaches, she sipped slowly at the last half of a tumbler of club soda, the endless bickering was getting tedious, and they’d only covered a third of the items on the agenda.
Casey was fidgeting in the seat next to her and, aside from a few comments made in undertone, she hadn’t had much to do. She was obviously primed to deliver some serious ass-kicking, but her intended victim wasn’t co-operating by being as belligerent as expected.