Criminal Affair Pt. 08

-Jill-

I didn't exactly wake up in a ditch, but I woke up in a stranger's bed. Here I am again. Back to square one. Only one body is in the bed, so thankfully I didn't end up in a group sex thing. That was a real possibility. The real punishment is the worst hangover of my life.

"Want some breakfast?" The guy from the bed asks as I'm getting dressed. I'm trying to do this quickly, but I'm so dizzy and unsteady I have to lean on the bed, and I can only use one arm to do it.

"Nope, just going to head out," I say and leave out the door before anything escalates. What the hell happened last night?

Derek, I can only think about Derek. What did I say to him? He found me, but I don't remember much of what I said to him. The fact I didn't wake up in his bed means it was probably bad.

I take an elevator to the street and try to get my bearings. It's hard to focus because I feel a heavy burden on my chest. Did I just cheat on Derek? No, we've never agreed we're in a relationship. This doesn't count.

Then why does it feel wrong? I've never regretted sex. Other women have the morning walk of shame, I don't. I have the walk of pride of a night well spent. Not this morning. This morning I stare at the curb in shame.

I take a cab to get home, where Penelope runs out of my room and wraps me in a hug. She's concerned but she's not going straight to judgmental.

"I was so worried. Derek said you were drinking, then said I'm done and hung up. What did you say to him?" Penelope asks.

"I don't remember. The second that mixed with booze I was gone," I say and walk to my fridge to get some water. "What are you doing in regards to finding work?"

"I'm taking care of you first..."

"We last three days when we're home together before you or I get a hotel in town because we'll kill each other otherwise. I'm not getting worse and I'm getting used to the bad. What is your plan?" I ask, just to know when she's getting out of my house.

Bitch, you have a medical degree, find a hospital.

"I have a residency starting at the hospital that treated you next month."

Great. So she'll live in the city as well. Maybe its time for me to go home to Missouri and let her stay here. That might actually be nice. Just hang out with dad until I recover.

"Fine. Just to be clear, you, in my office, is not long term," I say and take my pills. "What the fuck did I say to him?"

"He sounded upset. Pissed really," Penelope says.

Derek knows I couldn't have been in the best state of mind. I hope he didn't take it too personally. Then again, he might take it more seriously, because what I said wasn't guarded by my inhibitions.

My phone rings and I see it's Derek calling. I sigh in relief and answer.

"I don't remember what I said, I'm sorry though," I say.

"It's Jesse," his shy, guarded voice says. Stuttering his own name. I just realized they gave him a name he couldn't pronounce. That's messed up.

"Hey, is your dad there?" I ask.

"He's been yelling in the phone at my mom all morning. She came by when Hillary was here and tried to take me," Jesse says. This is why I didn't want to get attached. Because I actually give a shit. My fist clinches and I want to shoot her.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Can you come over? He's really happy when you're here, it would probably cheer him up," Jesse says, and I mouth 'fuck' to myself. I might be the last person he wants to see right now.

"I wish I could, but I'm really busy," I say, and I feel bad. I just blatantly lied to him.

"I don't want to go back to my mom. She's yells at me, and her house always smells funny," Jesse says, and I want to hang up. Not because he's annoying, but because if I listen for a second longer I can't ignore it anymore. "She makes us move all the time, and never lets me see dad. If she takes me, I'll never see you either."

This little bastard can pull on some heartstrings I never knew I had.

"I'll try to stop by tonight. I have to go, but don't worry. Your dad will take care of it," I say to assure him, and we hang up.

I lied to him twice.

I'm taking care of it.

I call my old desk phone, the phone ringing twice before someone answers it.

"Sergeant Walsh," my replacement says. Walsh was my guy for years. He deserved that promotion.

"It's Jill."

"Hey, you doing okay? I heard what happened."

"Not calling about that. I need you to use police resources for something personal," I say, getting straight to the point. He'd expect nothing less from me.

"Is it legal?"

"Absolutely not."

"What do you need?"

"Find someone. Grace Whitaker, might be listed by her maiden name, Heller," I say and I hear him typing.

"We have a Grace Heller in a police report earlier today, disorderly conduct and trespassing at...looks like her ex husband's apartment. Derek Whitaker's statement is that she tried to kidnap their kid. Whitaker? Missing persons guy?"

"One and the same. Did the officer get her address?"

"Looks like a hotel. Paradise Inn on Lexington. Room two nineteen."

"If you get a call from her in then next few hours, send Ramirez," I say, and he says he will, but I'm not so sure he fully understands.

-

Paradise Inn feels more like its located in hell. Most of the people in the hotel were living here, indicated by a few things of laundry hanging off the balconies. Located a single turn off the freeway, the parking lot surrounded by three connected structures, two stories with a lanai on the second floor. All of the cars are dirty and dented.

It's dusk with the last glare of sun descending below the tallest buildings. Vagrants loiter around the area. Some are leaning on the rails shouting down to people below. Doors are open with music coming out, Latin and Hip Hop mostly. The kind of place that makes a woman walk with her hand in her purse, her hand clasping the grip and finger extended over the trigger well. I don't telegraph I'm armed, and no one bothers me as I make my way up the stairs and follow the numbers.

I arrive at two nineteen and listen. I hear a television inside and peak in through the blinds. I see a figure in the room, sitting on the edge of the bed.

I knock loudly, and I'm greeted by a voice telling me she's coming.

The same woman from the hallway with Jesse opens the door. Grace. The same woman who dumps her child at a doorstep with a stranger, and only comes back when the money ran out.

"Who the fuck are you?" Grace asks, and I can tell she's trying to recall why she recognizes me. I'm wearing more clothes this time. "You're his whore."

"I absolutely hate women like you," I say and push her into the room, and close the door. After a quick scan I see piled trash and the night stand has a fresh bag of pot. My detective skills tell me the table next to the window had a few lines of cocaine snorted off it. By detective skills I mean my eyes, it's as plain as day.

Good. Means this bitch won't call the cops.

"Keep your hands off me..."

"You are going to leave, and never come back," I say, her laughing and shaking her head.

"Who are you to tell me that? He's my son, I can go and get my son whenever the fuck I want."

"No you can't, as a matter of fact. If you were a man, you'd be in jail. When you left, Derek got a new judge, and got custody. So that gravy train of payments is over. That's the only reason you came back I'll assume. The money stopped. You wanted to bring Jesse, here?" I ask, gesturing all around. "So he can watch his mother snort coke and extort his father?"

"Don't judge me..."

"I will judge you. I don't give a fuck. I will make your life a living hell."

"What could you possibly do to me?" Grace asks.

You don't want to know. But you asked.

"First off, anonymous tip on the drugs. Patrol comes by to verify a statement, arrested for possession. I'll make sure you get the most drug sentencing happy judge in the city. Your priors will not help. Or say Derek is encouraged to formally charge you with attempted kidnapping, and he gets full custody. Petitions court for child support, which you'll stiff him, because this was never about Jesse to you."

Grace looks at me, and I know she wants to attack me, but she doesn't. She's not dumb enough to attack a wounded cop in a room filled with drugs.

"There is no scenario where this ends well for you. Get away while you still can," I say and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I hear items in the room being thrown as I walk across the balcony toward the stairs, me unable to hide a smirk.

I go home by a cab and arrive at the elevator the same time as Billie. She invites me into her place for a drink which I accept and sit across from her in her living room which is comprised of a sofa, a coffee table and two chairs that face across at the long ends of the table. They all generally face her television, but we've shifted the chairs straight.

"Doing any better?" Billie asks, taking a hearty gulp of beer from a bottle. Figured she was a beer girl.

"I'm going to get medically retired," I say, and she thinks it's a good thing, before my face tells her it isn't, and her face changes fast.

"Not what you wanted?"

"No," I say honestly and take a drink from the bottle of water she gave me.

"Got a plan b?"

"No, and I'm too old to have one now," I say.

"How old are you?" Billie asks.

"Thirty two."

"You're not too old. You have college?" She asks and I nod. A bachelors in Criminal Justice and an associates in Biotech I took mostly because it worked well from a CSI standpoint.

"Starting over sucks," Billie says, and I nod slowly. "You get your benefits, just relax and pour your man coffee in an apron."

"A year ago I would have shot you for saying that," I say with a smile. "I've had a lot of down time recently, and spent a good portion of it with his son. Cooking meals, and doing homework and playing with toys. I think I liked it a little too much."

"Considering your own?"

"No," I say sternly. I'm not the having a baby type. "Being a mother like figure for a kid. I can probably do that."

"What kills people is losing a routine. Find a new routine," Billie says with a smile, cracks another beer and starts downing it.

"I think I royally fucked up with Derek. I woke up in another bed this morning. Derek and I have never stated anything official, so I'm trying to rationalize it, but I can't."

Billie put her beer on the table between us and looks me dead in the eye.

"Leslie tried rationalizing it. Even tried blaming me for why he was such a cheating dick hole. I might have even respected him if he just owned it, but he didn't, just like a little bitch. Do not rationalize it to him. Don't bring that into his house, in front of his son and teach him that anything is okay if you rationalize it."

Billie is right. I've already admitted to myself I was in a relationship, whether or not I defined anything with Derek. Derek is my boyfriend. He's more than that to me, and he deserves more than me telling him bullshit.

-

I get the news from Jefferies' regarding the circumstances of my final days, and I meet with the union rep and a lawyer to go over my benefits. I'm basically getting a full retirement calculated at my years of service. It's a hell of a lot more than most police officers get when they leave before retirement. I should be happy about it, but I'm not.

You can keep that, if you'd only give me back my arm.

After I talk over my retirement, I take the elevator to my department and see Jefferies' going over a few notes with the team then dismisses them to their work. Lincoln looks away coldly, and I paused at our desks.

In only a few months Lincoln took me from a green rookie detective to a fairly competent one. Procedure, protocol, and a few pointers absent of anything I'd consider to be condescending or sexist. He didn't just treat me like he'd treat a man, he understood I was a woman. I couldn't have prayed for a better mentor. Lincoln has been looking out for my best interest this entire time, and I turned on him. In fact, I acted like a straight petty bitch. After he literally saved my life.

"Lincoln, can we talk," I say, him sighing and nodding while looking at his desk. "Private."

"Sure," he says, standing up and walking out into the hall, closing the door behind us.

"I haven't been in the best place, recently. I was spiraling, and I was making it worse. The way I've been acting since I was shot, has been wrong. To you, to the team, and to myself. If someone acted that way to me, I'd shoot her," I say, him chuckling a little. Lincoln is a forgiving person, if you only have the courage to ask for it.

"I didn't take it personally. I've seen plenty of cops go down this route, you probably have to. I've actually been blaming myself."

"What?" I ask. How? I knocked on the door. There was no way either of us could have known.

"I missed a detail. When the uni first called in the car under the tarp, I asked for records on who was currently leasing, but I didn't look into them before we left. I should have, because the guy who shot you had a record of grand theft auto and weapons charges. We would have stacked on the door, we could have probably gotten a warrant to search under the tarp."

That is a pretty big detail to miss. I'd hate myself for fucking that up too. In my career, I've had no shortage of fuck ups though. One of mine was fatal.

"I didn't check my corner once. We went in, I swept, and didn't check behind the door. Perp came out, domed the patrol officer standing right next to me. That was less than five months on the job. No one blamed me, but me," I say, Lincoln swallows and nods, knowing my point.

"When you went into shock..."

"Stop," I say, Lincoln tearing up a little and looking away. "Link, look at me."

Lincoln gasped a little and managed to look up. "I'm alive, okay. I'm still here. This isn't on you," I say, gesturing the most I can with my arm. "You are still a great detective, so keep being that."

Lincoln hugs me, and I hug him back with my good hand. He wipes his tears and he walks back into the office, leaving me in the hall. I look at the wall and see a placard. 'Missing Persons, 4th floor'.

I take the elevator to the fourth floor and see Derek at his desk in the corner office. I've never actually been to his office if you can believe that. The placard on his door says "Detective Sergeant Whittaker." I didn't even know he was a Sergeant.

"How come I don't know you're a sergeant?" I ask from his door, Derek looking up for a brief second then back down.

"It happened three days ago," Derek says, closing a folder. He pushed his chair back and walked out of his office, his face indicating he wants me to follow him. The fourth floor has a small break room he led me to, quickly turning around when we arrive.

"Congrats..." I begin.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asks. Really, we're not even going to discuss it? You ended it that fast and didn't tell me?

"Can we have an actual conversation about us?"

"What us?" Derek asks. "From the very beginning you were adamant we had no labels. Whether or not you remember, you confirmed it still meant nothing."

"I'm sorry for whatever it is I said. I mixed alcohol with pills, I should have known better..."

"...I was married to a fucking drug addict, the it'll never happen again routine doesn't impress me," Derek interrupts.

"I wasn't myself..."

"...You think you weren't, but you were. You were pure, undiluted you."

This is going nowhere fast. Derek has emotionally checked out from me. This is over something I said. He doesn't know what I did, though he likely has that assumption.

"Please," I say, and I know that word is powerful to him. He knows I don't ask.

"I have a son, whose mother abused him, and the courts still took my custody. My mother used to throw chairs at me, and once broke three of my ribs, then demanded I apologize for making her do it, while my father couldn't be within one hundred meters. Seven combat deployments isn't where my PTSD comes from. I've never had a high regard for women. I rode the fuck and forget carousel for years. I won't put my son through you as well."

"I love Jesse," I say in defiance. I start crying a little. That hurt. That hurt so bad.

"You love yourself more, and you don't like being responsible for anything but yourself. That's why you passed on lieutenant twice. That's why you never became a detective before me. You've chronically avoided responsibility."

"I was a sergeant. I led my team on the street."

"If it went bad you could take over. You never had to really trust anyone."

I want to retort, but he isn't wrong. He isn't completely right either, but he's not wrong, and he's not lying. I've become the kind of woman he hates. There is no correct way for me to fight for him right now, and I actually want to. Derek is a man I will fight for.

Compliance and partial agreements is all I have. I have to put my pride away for now.

"You're right," I say to compromise with him. "Until you. You changed my life, significantly. I was in a content little rut, but you motivated me to do something different. It sucked at first, but I saw the value of it pretty fast. Then I met Jesse, who taught me I had sides of myself I never knew of. I got emotionally angry when I heard about Grace trying to take him..."

"You know about that?" Derek asks.

"He called me," I said, Derek truly not knowing this. "For the sake of plausible deniability, let's not say exactly what I did, let's just say it worked. I didn't kill her, or hurt her, she's just gone.

"I'm not perfect, and I've made mistakes, the biggest ones I've made recently. I don't remember what I said, and I don't remember what I did afterwards, but I know it was bad. The worst thing I could have done. You probably already assume it, so I'll confirm it. I did wake up in another man's bed."

Derek absorbs it for a few seconds and swallows some emotion down. Anger and disappointment look similar on him. I think he's surprised I didn't avoid it, or use wishy washy words to minimalize its impact.

"Thank you for not trying to justify that," Derek says. This is a big win. I've kept his respect at least. I think I want his respect the most.

"I understand if you need time. A few days, a week, a month even. I'm not scared of us anymore. I am ready to be more than me," I say with a small smile and walk away.

This is all I can do right now. I am in no position to make demands. All I can do is tell him what I want, and hope he can forgive me.