Title: Ezekiel 25:17
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie, David, brief Megan, brief OMCs
Rating: NC-17 (the NC-17 part is short and kind of a rip-off)
Warnings: Incest, murder, mid-narrative switch in POV (my bad -- 'twas the only way for me to write what I wanted to), other stuff
Spoilers: "Sniper Zero," "Backscatter" (and there may be others from the beginning of season two that I should have spoiled, but, alas, I haven't seen those episodes)
Word Count: 2419 (subject to change)
Feedback: Flog away
Disclaimer: Property of Heuton, Falacci, Scott Free, CBS, et al; no infringement intended
A/N: Title is in reference to the bastardized version that appears in Pulp Fiction and not the genuine scripture, which varies greatly from Tarantino's version.
Sequel to "Spontaneous" and "Nobody Lies Like You" and definitely not what I had envisioned writing when I first started this little girl. Sometimes my muse just likes to be a diva and have it her way.
A billion and one thanks to our prized![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
schnaucl for all her pointers on jurisdiction and my military homeboy for his tips. Proppity-prop-props and finger-snaps to y'all.
The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
One minute, Don’s on the phone, pacing around the motel room, barking orders at David about sending backup, getting the specifics on the people involved, dishing out duties for the team.
The next minute, he’s rolling his eyes, responding to something David said, asking what else there could possibly be and how this situation could ever be any worse than it is.
Then Don is hunched forward in the chair at the small desk, the curl of a fist pressed to his forehead, and he’s begging David. “Fuck, David. Please, man. Please just don’t say anything. I’ll owe you a promotion. I’ll owe whatever you – No, it’s not entrapment; I don’t mean it to be like that. I just mean… please don’t say anything. Send the backup if you can, we’ll get this taken care of, and then I’ll deal with that later. I know how it sounds, believe me, but just… have my back on this issue with Miller. Everything else… I understand.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Agent Sinclair? Thank you.”
He sets the phone on the desk and takes a moment to let out a long, shuddering sigh before moving to his feet and stuffing clothes into bags. Charlie’s clothes. Charlie’s bags.
“What’s going on?”
He stops packing and moves to his brother. “Someone I arrested a few years ago, Leroy Miller, he got out of prison. He was on death row – Mafia, drug trafficking, gun running, multiple murders, a few of them were federal agents – but he escaped, and he’s…” Don shrugs and nods. “He’s coming for us.”
Charlie stares at him, mind unable to process. What? Someone is what? He thinks about the time with the sniper, the time with the Russian mob. Dangerous, absolutely, but this personal? Bank accounts and stealing data were one thing but a vendetta, the intention to murder?
And Charlie can’t believe how calm Don is being towards him about this. A serial killer is after them, he had just been wound tight on the phone with David, and now he’s acting like it’s no big deal.
Don’s voice in his head; Jesus, David, how in the hell could there possibly be anything worse than this? Don’s pale face and nausea-clenched body in the desk chair.
He swallows hard. “What else, Don?”
Don laughs – actually laughs – and puts his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Nothing else, buddy. Just office politics. Don’t worry about it; you’d think it’s boring.”
“I could never think anything in your life was boring.”
He nods quietly, his smile faltering for a moment, and kisses him. “You look like hell, kid. Go grab a shower. I’ve got a few more quick calls to make, and then I’ll join you.”
“You just had a shower.”
His eyebrows rise in amusement. “I didn’t have one with you. You’re not really turning me down on hot shower sex, are you?”
Charlie grins weakly. “No…”
“Okay then.” He slaps his little brother’s ass. “Get to it.”
Charlie stands under the hot spray. Someone Don sent to prison, someone in the Mafia, broke out and has his sights set on killing them. No matter how intense and intricate the previous cases – at least the ones he knows about – had been, nothing was this big. It’s more like a storyline from a Coppola or Scorsese film than something they would ever have to face. Someone’s coming to murder them. Someone who is close enough that Don requested his team and backup. Miller. How long will it take for them to get here, and will they make it in time?
And what about Dad? Don’s too thorough to have forgotten to secure their father’s safety, but does he know what is happening, or did Don give him the usual nonspecific warning that Dad is wont to dismiss?
His hands are shaking, stomach knotted up. He needs numbers. He needs to do something to calm his mind, to make him feel like he’s contributing towards the resolution, that he isn’t just standing idly by. He needs to redirect the reality by narrowing his focus to something safe and familiar.
The shower curtain opens, and Charlie jumps, heart lodging itself in his throat.
“Relax, buddy, just me,” and he looks like he’s been crying, but that’s not possible. He steps into the tub and pulls them both under the shower head, hands roving over the mathematician’s body and tongue in his mouth.
“I’m scared,” Charlie whispers.
“I know, but we’re going to be okay.”
“I need the data; I could – ”
“No, Charlie, there’s no math to do on this one.”
“I need to focus…”
“Hey, hey.” He takes Charlie’s face in his hands, forcing him to look the agent in the eyes. “Focus on this.” A hand drops to Charlie’s cock, sliding it against his own. “Focus on this.”
Charlie’s mind reels with the exquisite perfection of the moment, his back against the shower wall and Don’s hands underneath his thighs and ass, his ankles crisscrossing behind his brother’s back to hold him in closer, tighter, giving him his own leverage.
It’s never been this good before. Not the first time when half the thrill was just knowing that they were finally doing this. Not the time after they had reconciled their shared sin. Not the times when they explored the depths of their fantasies. Never anything this good.
The skin of Charlie’s neck absorbs Don’s strained and guttural moans; the younger brother’s overwhelmed keening echoes off the tile.
God, never this good.
“Fuck me, Don. Make me come,” he pleads.
“Not yet.” He keeps the pace slow, drawn out, excruciating. “Want this to last. Want this to last forever. Want to stay with you like this for as long as possible.”
Reality slams to the front of Charlie’s mind, and he squeezes his brother tightly.
“Don’t leave me, Don.” He hears something choked and muffled, and it registers to him that his brother is crying. Don never cries. Has he ever cried? “Don’t you ever leave me.”
“Love you, Charlie.” He lifts his face, tears indistinguishable from the water of the shower – maybe that was his plan – as they leak from reddened eyes, and kisses his brother deeply. “I love you so much, Charlie. I’ll always remember this.” His cracked voice comes out between short, heavy gasps as he pushes harder, deeper, faster, as if giving Charlie what he asked for is the verifiable data. “Tell me you’ll remember this.”
“Always, Donny, always. Could never forget.”
And when Charlie comes, it’s like every orgasm he’s ever had has coalesced together and exploded in light and music and life.
Never this good.
“Come on,” Don says, Charlie’s bags draped over his shoulder.
“We’re going?”
“Yeah, gotta keep moving.” A wry laugh peppers the answer, trying so hard to keep him calm and in good spirits. He ushers them out the motel door.
“Hey, aren’t you going to grab your bags?”
“I’ll be getting them in a bit. Gotta finish up with this first. I want you to go ahead now.” He continues to guide them out to the parking lot where a taxi waits.
“But Don…”
Don opens the cab door and sets the bags gingerly on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry, buddy.” He walks Charlie around to the other side and all but pushes him into the seat. “I’ll be coming along later; I just need to take care of this thing with Miller.” Charlie glances at the driver whose rigid body and face is set forward, almost military. Military… “Secret Service,” he answers to the unspoken question.
“Where are we going?”
Don hesitates. “Europe.”
“Europe?!”
“Relax, Charlie, it’s okay.” It’s the thirty-fourth time Don has said this to him in the last hour. “Sometimes, we just have to take extreme precautions. It’s for your protection.”
“You mean our protection.”
Don nods somberly. “Yeah, our protection. Besides, you’ve got all those offers to teach in England. Would be a nice change in scenery, right?” He fakes a laugh and smile. “You’ve got all the paperwork?” he asks the driver.
“All ready to go, Agent Eppes.”
“Alright then.” He looks back at Charlie. “Don’t worry, buddy.” The words have become his mantra. “I’ll take care of this, then there’ll be a few days – ”
“A few days?!”
“A few days of processing,” he continues, “and then I’ll be with you.”
“Promise me.”
“I’ll be with you in a few days.” Charlie starts trying to get out of seat. “Stay in the car.”
“Promise me!” Don holds him down to the upholstery. “Promise me, Don. Swear on Mom.”
“You know I can’t do that. You can’t be sure of what’s going to happen.”
“I am not leaving – ”
“Okay, Charlie, okay; Miller is not going to kill me. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, okay? Fuck. Now, just chill out, go to the airport, arrangements have been made, start looking at some of those teaching offers.” He smiles, and this time it’s genuine. “Hell, work on P vs. NP. You’re going to solve that son of a bitch, kid.”
Charlie nods. “Okay.”
Don walks towards David. “We ready to roll?”
“Yup. Miller and his crew are stationed at a warehouse about five miles down the road.”
“What is it with mobs and warehouses?”
“Couldn’t say.”
David’s face is hard and unforgiving. “Look, David, I’m so – ”
“Shut up, Don. We’re about to go into the line of fire; now isn’t the time for that shit.”
They move quickly, keep low, guns drawn, and eyes trained on the fugitive and his partners. Don motions back to the team. Time to go.
“FBI! FREEZE!”
They scatter; shots predictably fire. Advance. Retreat. Duck down. Pull up. Don spots his man.
“I got Miller!” he shouts, claiming the target as solely his, damned if anyone else would take him.
Behind the crates, down a hall, shots fired at him. He keeps to the walls, jumps over packing materials, dives behind a shelving unit as another series of bullets speed towards him. He rounds a corner, arm clotheslining Miller, and the fugitive falls to the floor, gun flying out of his hands.
Don kicks the Glock out of reach and points his Beretta at Miller.
He laughs. “Agent Eppes. We meet again.” His hands are raised apathetically to humor Don, eyes darkening as he runs his tongue lewdly over his lips. “How’s that sweet little brother of yours?”
Don fires twice.
“Thanks again, Sinclair.” Don watches agents escort Miller’s crew into custody and haul away body bags. “Couldn’t have possibly done this without you.”
“Don’t thank me, Don,” David spits, not in modesty but in refusal to believe that he had ever done anything positive for his boss.
Don bobs his head once, accepting that this is how it’s going to be. “We better get moving on that paperwork with Miller.”
“Self-defense, right?”
“Of course.” Don’s eyebrows knit in feigned indignation. “He had a perfect kill shot, two feet away. Not like I had another choice. I’m not just going to kill a man for the hell of it; you know that. So we should head back so I can start on the reports.”
David shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He cocks his head towards the directors a few dozen feet away that are wrapped in conversation with the local authorities.
Don hears the approaching footsteps from another direction and turns to see Megan.
“Don.” Mock-greeting. She pulls her arm back and slaps him. “You fucking bastard,” she hisses, walking away quickly.
He presses a hand to the stinging spot, righting himself and staring coldly into David’s eyes. “Don, I didn’t have a choice. Miller’s people had that surveillance tape delivered to me. To my name, on my desk. I’m required by law to report. I’m not going to commit a crime to help cover yours. We’re talking about… ” He can’t force the word out of his mouth, just flinches in disgust.
“Well, looks like you’re going to get your promotion after all.”
“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. You were my mentor.”
“And you were my friend! You ate at my house, you confided in my father, you protected my brother.”
“Don, it’s in your best interest to avoid mentioning your brother to me.”
He shakes his head. “Charlie’s a good kid.”
“Oh, I’m sure; he must be.”
Don’s fists clench, and he fights the asphyxiating urge to swing. “Don’t you dare. You were part of my family.”
“Yet you never felt compelled to fuck me.”
“Don’t, David. That’s not fair. You didn’t have to do this.”
“If I didn’t, someone else would have; I had every reason to think it was something pertaining to the case, so I wasn’t the only person in the room when the videotape was reviewed. Miller knew exactly what he was doing, knew that your closest partners would be the ones working on this case, knew that if we thought it was intel…. He was going to destroy your life one way or another.”
“And what now?”
“You know what happens now. You knew the moment I told you on the phone. That’s why you made certain travel arrangements that I know nothing about.”
Subdued hysteria forces out a laugh. “Miller is not going to kill me. I promise.” Good thing I only made the promises I could keep.
Don shuts his eyes and lets out a breath that he’s been holding for far too long as three policemen approach.
“Officers,” David greets.
“Where’s the other suspect?”
Don’s stomach lurches. Charlie. Suspect. Never thought the day would come that they’d be interchangeable.
“We’re not aware of his location,” David lies convincingly. “For all we know he could still be within the jurisdiction.”
“Put out an APB.”
Don forces back tears and vomit and attempts to calm himself. Charlie’s well in the air by now, nonstop flight to London. The documents he provided to Agent O'Neill were sufficient enough to obscure the trail, and if/when they find out, his brother will be landed, most likely already sipping tea with Susan Berry and working at Cambridge.
One of the officers steps closer to him, and Don nods his head slowly, hears the familiar rattling of metal, lets the officer turn him around and pull his arms back, the hard, pinching cuffs closing around his wrists.
The young officer clears his throat, and his voice is smooth and solemn. “Donald Eppes, you’re under arrest.”
Fandom: Numb3rs
Characters: Don/Charlie, David, brief Megan, brief OMCs
Rating: NC-17 (the NC-17 part is short and kind of a rip-off)
Warnings: Incest, murder, mid-narrative switch in POV (my bad -- 'twas the only way for me to write what I wanted to), other stuff
Spoilers: "Sniper Zero," "Backscatter" (and there may be others from the beginning of season two that I should have spoiled, but, alas, I haven't seen those episodes)
Word Count: 2419 (subject to change)
Feedback: Flog away
Disclaimer: Property of Heuton, Falacci, Scott Free, CBS, et al; no infringement intended
A/N: Title is in reference to the bastardized version that appears in Pulp Fiction and not the genuine scripture, which varies greatly from Tarantino's version.
Sequel to "Spontaneous" and "Nobody Lies Like You" and definitely not what I had envisioned writing when I first started this little girl. Sometimes my muse just likes to be a diva and have it her way.
A billion and one thanks to our prized
schnaucl for all her pointers on jurisdiction and my military homeboy for his tips. Proppity-prop-props and finger-snaps to y'all.The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.
One minute, Don’s on the phone, pacing around the motel room, barking orders at David about sending backup, getting the specifics on the people involved, dishing out duties for the team.
The next minute, he’s rolling his eyes, responding to something David said, asking what else there could possibly be and how this situation could ever be any worse than it is.
Then Don is hunched forward in the chair at the small desk, the curl of a fist pressed to his forehead, and he’s begging David. “Fuck, David. Please, man. Please just don’t say anything. I’ll owe you a promotion. I’ll owe whatever you – No, it’s not entrapment; I don’t mean it to be like that. I just mean… please don’t say anything. Send the backup if you can, we’ll get this taken care of, and then I’ll deal with that later. I know how it sounds, believe me, but just… have my back on this issue with Miller. Everything else… I understand.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Agent Sinclair? Thank you.”
He sets the phone on the desk and takes a moment to let out a long, shuddering sigh before moving to his feet and stuffing clothes into bags. Charlie’s clothes. Charlie’s bags.
“What’s going on?”
He stops packing and moves to his brother. “Someone I arrested a few years ago, Leroy Miller, he got out of prison. He was on death row – Mafia, drug trafficking, gun running, multiple murders, a few of them were federal agents – but he escaped, and he’s…” Don shrugs and nods. “He’s coming for us.”
Charlie stares at him, mind unable to process. What? Someone is what? He thinks about the time with the sniper, the time with the Russian mob. Dangerous, absolutely, but this personal? Bank accounts and stealing data were one thing but a vendetta, the intention to murder?
And Charlie can’t believe how calm Don is being towards him about this. A serial killer is after them, he had just been wound tight on the phone with David, and now he’s acting like it’s no big deal.
Don’s voice in his head; Jesus, David, how in the hell could there possibly be anything worse than this? Don’s pale face and nausea-clenched body in the desk chair.
He swallows hard. “What else, Don?”
Don laughs – actually laughs – and puts his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Nothing else, buddy. Just office politics. Don’t worry about it; you’d think it’s boring.”
“I could never think anything in your life was boring.”
He nods quietly, his smile faltering for a moment, and kisses him. “You look like hell, kid. Go grab a shower. I’ve got a few more quick calls to make, and then I’ll join you.”
“You just had a shower.”
His eyebrows rise in amusement. “I didn’t have one with you. You’re not really turning me down on hot shower sex, are you?”
Charlie grins weakly. “No…”
“Okay then.” He slaps his little brother’s ass. “Get to it.”
Charlie stands under the hot spray. Someone Don sent to prison, someone in the Mafia, broke out and has his sights set on killing them. No matter how intense and intricate the previous cases – at least the ones he knows about – had been, nothing was this big. It’s more like a storyline from a Coppola or Scorsese film than something they would ever have to face. Someone’s coming to murder them. Someone who is close enough that Don requested his team and backup. Miller. How long will it take for them to get here, and will they make it in time?
And what about Dad? Don’s too thorough to have forgotten to secure their father’s safety, but does he know what is happening, or did Don give him the usual nonspecific warning that Dad is wont to dismiss?
His hands are shaking, stomach knotted up. He needs numbers. He needs to do something to calm his mind, to make him feel like he’s contributing towards the resolution, that he isn’t just standing idly by. He needs to redirect the reality by narrowing his focus to something safe and familiar.
The shower curtain opens, and Charlie jumps, heart lodging itself in his throat.
“Relax, buddy, just me,” and he looks like he’s been crying, but that’s not possible. He steps into the tub and pulls them both under the shower head, hands roving over the mathematician’s body and tongue in his mouth.
“I’m scared,” Charlie whispers.
“I know, but we’re going to be okay.”
“I need the data; I could – ”
“No, Charlie, there’s no math to do on this one.”
“I need to focus…”
“Hey, hey.” He takes Charlie’s face in his hands, forcing him to look the agent in the eyes. “Focus on this.” A hand drops to Charlie’s cock, sliding it against his own. “Focus on this.”
Charlie’s mind reels with the exquisite perfection of the moment, his back against the shower wall and Don’s hands underneath his thighs and ass, his ankles crisscrossing behind his brother’s back to hold him in closer, tighter, giving him his own leverage.
It’s never been this good before. Not the first time when half the thrill was just knowing that they were finally doing this. Not the time after they had reconciled their shared sin. Not the times when they explored the depths of their fantasies. Never anything this good.
The skin of Charlie’s neck absorbs Don’s strained and guttural moans; the younger brother’s overwhelmed keening echoes off the tile.
God, never this good.
“Fuck me, Don. Make me come,” he pleads.
“Not yet.” He keeps the pace slow, drawn out, excruciating. “Want this to last. Want this to last forever. Want to stay with you like this for as long as possible.”
Reality slams to the front of Charlie’s mind, and he squeezes his brother tightly.
“Don’t leave me, Don.” He hears something choked and muffled, and it registers to him that his brother is crying. Don never cries. Has he ever cried? “Don’t you ever leave me.”
“Love you, Charlie.” He lifts his face, tears indistinguishable from the water of the shower – maybe that was his plan – as they leak from reddened eyes, and kisses his brother deeply. “I love you so much, Charlie. I’ll always remember this.” His cracked voice comes out between short, heavy gasps as he pushes harder, deeper, faster, as if giving Charlie what he asked for is the verifiable data. “Tell me you’ll remember this.”
“Always, Donny, always. Could never forget.”
And when Charlie comes, it’s like every orgasm he’s ever had has coalesced together and exploded in light and music and life.
Never this good.
“Come on,” Don says, Charlie’s bags draped over his shoulder.
“We’re going?”
“Yeah, gotta keep moving.” A wry laugh peppers the answer, trying so hard to keep him calm and in good spirits. He ushers them out the motel door.
“Hey, aren’t you going to grab your bags?”
“I’ll be getting them in a bit. Gotta finish up with this first. I want you to go ahead now.” He continues to guide them out to the parking lot where a taxi waits.
“But Don…”
Don opens the cab door and sets the bags gingerly on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry, buddy.” He walks Charlie around to the other side and all but pushes him into the seat. “I’ll be coming along later; I just need to take care of this thing with Miller.” Charlie glances at the driver whose rigid body and face is set forward, almost military. Military… “Secret Service,” he answers to the unspoken question.
“Where are we going?”
Don hesitates. “Europe.”
“Europe?!”
“Relax, Charlie, it’s okay.” It’s the thirty-fourth time Don has said this to him in the last hour. “Sometimes, we just have to take extreme precautions. It’s for your protection.”
“You mean our protection.”
Don nods somberly. “Yeah, our protection. Besides, you’ve got all those offers to teach in England. Would be a nice change in scenery, right?” He fakes a laugh and smile. “You’ve got all the paperwork?” he asks the driver.
“All ready to go, Agent Eppes.”
“Alright then.” He looks back at Charlie. “Don’t worry, buddy.” The words have become his mantra. “I’ll take care of this, then there’ll be a few days – ”
“A few days?!”
“A few days of processing,” he continues, “and then I’ll be with you.”
“Promise me.”
“I’ll be with you in a few days.” Charlie starts trying to get out of seat. “Stay in the car.”
“Promise me!” Don holds him down to the upholstery. “Promise me, Don. Swear on Mom.”
“You know I can’t do that. You can’t be sure of what’s going to happen.”
“I am not leaving – ”
“Okay, Charlie, okay; Miller is not going to kill me. I promise.”
“You promise?”
“I promise, okay? Fuck. Now, just chill out, go to the airport, arrangements have been made, start looking at some of those teaching offers.” He smiles, and this time it’s genuine. “Hell, work on P vs. NP. You’re going to solve that son of a bitch, kid.”
Charlie nods. “Okay.”
Don walks towards David. “We ready to roll?”
“Yup. Miller and his crew are stationed at a warehouse about five miles down the road.”
“What is it with mobs and warehouses?”
“Couldn’t say.”
David’s face is hard and unforgiving. “Look, David, I’m so – ”
“Shut up, Don. We’re about to go into the line of fire; now isn’t the time for that shit.”
They move quickly, keep low, guns drawn, and eyes trained on the fugitive and his partners. Don motions back to the team. Time to go.
“FBI! FREEZE!”
They scatter; shots predictably fire. Advance. Retreat. Duck down. Pull up. Don spots his man.
“I got Miller!” he shouts, claiming the target as solely his, damned if anyone else would take him.
Behind the crates, down a hall, shots fired at him. He keeps to the walls, jumps over packing materials, dives behind a shelving unit as another series of bullets speed towards him. He rounds a corner, arm clotheslining Miller, and the fugitive falls to the floor, gun flying out of his hands.
Don kicks the Glock out of reach and points his Beretta at Miller.
He laughs. “Agent Eppes. We meet again.” His hands are raised apathetically to humor Don, eyes darkening as he runs his tongue lewdly over his lips. “How’s that sweet little brother of yours?”
Don fires twice.
“Thanks again, Sinclair.” Don watches agents escort Miller’s crew into custody and haul away body bags. “Couldn’t have possibly done this without you.”
“Don’t thank me, Don,” David spits, not in modesty but in refusal to believe that he had ever done anything positive for his boss.
Don bobs his head once, accepting that this is how it’s going to be. “We better get moving on that paperwork with Miller.”
“Self-defense, right?”
“Of course.” Don’s eyebrows knit in feigned indignation. “He had a perfect kill shot, two feet away. Not like I had another choice. I’m not just going to kill a man for the hell of it; you know that. So we should head back so I can start on the reports.”
David shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He cocks his head towards the directors a few dozen feet away that are wrapped in conversation with the local authorities.
Don hears the approaching footsteps from another direction and turns to see Megan.
“Don.” Mock-greeting. She pulls her arm back and slaps him. “You fucking bastard,” she hisses, walking away quickly.
He presses a hand to the stinging spot, righting himself and staring coldly into David’s eyes. “Don, I didn’t have a choice. Miller’s people had that surveillance tape delivered to me. To my name, on my desk. I’m required by law to report. I’m not going to commit a crime to help cover yours. We’re talking about… ” He can’t force the word out of his mouth, just flinches in disgust.
“Well, looks like you’re going to get your promotion after all.”
“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. You were my mentor.”
“And you were my friend! You ate at my house, you confided in my father, you protected my brother.”
“Don, it’s in your best interest to avoid mentioning your brother to me.”
He shakes his head. “Charlie’s a good kid.”
“Oh, I’m sure; he must be.”
Don’s fists clench, and he fights the asphyxiating urge to swing. “Don’t you dare. You were part of my family.”
“Yet you never felt compelled to fuck me.”
“Don’t, David. That’s not fair. You didn’t have to do this.”
“If I didn’t, someone else would have; I had every reason to think it was something pertaining to the case, so I wasn’t the only person in the room when the videotape was reviewed. Miller knew exactly what he was doing, knew that your closest partners would be the ones working on this case, knew that if we thought it was intel…. He was going to destroy your life one way or another.”
“And what now?”
“You know what happens now. You knew the moment I told you on the phone. That’s why you made certain travel arrangements that I know nothing about.”
Subdued hysteria forces out a laugh. “Miller is not going to kill me. I promise.” Good thing I only made the promises I could keep.
Don shuts his eyes and lets out a breath that he’s been holding for far too long as three policemen approach.
“Officers,” David greets.
“Where’s the other suspect?”
Don’s stomach lurches. Charlie. Suspect. Never thought the day would come that they’d be interchangeable.
“We’re not aware of his location,” David lies convincingly. “For all we know he could still be within the jurisdiction.”
“Put out an APB.”
Don forces back tears and vomit and attempts to calm himself. Charlie’s well in the air by now, nonstop flight to London. The documents he provided to Agent O'Neill were sufficient enough to obscure the trail, and if/when they find out, his brother will be landed, most likely already sipping tea with Susan Berry and working at Cambridge.
One of the officers steps closer to him, and Don nods his head slowly, hears the familiar rattling of metal, lets the officer turn him around and pull his arms back, the hard, pinching cuffs closing around his wrists.
The young officer clears his throat, and his voice is smooth and solemn. “Donald Eppes, you’re under arrest.”
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