Catch Me Now

Red Roses

They all stared at him; it was as if everyone was holding their breath. My heart had suddenly skipped, and fallen deep down into the bottom of my stomach; did he just say bomb?

“Wh-What?” I ask quietly, my hands beginning to shake.

“Damnit,” the man Mike called Ed growls, looking to everyone around the room. “Jules, you’re with me, we’re gonna head down to his car and find out where he lives. Ben, get Spike his kit and anything else he needs, Raf, I need you on Spike’s second. Leah… I need you to stay with the boss and help him find out anything he can.” Ed stopped himself and glanced over at the man on the cane, his eyes serious. “Boss, we need you on this one. Can you stay with us?”

“Of course, Eddie. I’m right here with you,” he said. Ed jogged out of the room, the girl on his heels, who I believe he called Jules. Then, the officer looked to me. “My name is Greg Parker, I used to be a Sergeant with this team. We’re all gonna do our best to help you today, alright? What’s your name?”

I stared at him, trying to answer. My hands were shaking harder, and my eyes remained glued to his face. I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Raella,” Mike mumbled softly, his eyes focused on the…thing strapped to my middle as he spoke. “Her name is Raella Amaro, and she just got back from New York five days ago.”

I smiled weakly down at him, watching his beautiful, focused eyes helplessly.

Greg nodded slowly, walking over to stand behind Spike. “Well, Raella, everything’s gonna be just fine, alright?” I looked up at him and gave a slow exhale.

“Y-Yeah,” I managed, nodding a small thank you. He turned to look at the woman behind him, I think named Leah, and murmured some words that didn’t quite reach my ears. They walked out of the room, leaving me and Mike to our own devices as the other two guys, Ben and Raf, I believe, headed off quickly to get equipment for my old best friend.

I sighed shakily and looked down at Mike.

“H-Hell of a way to reconnect, huh…?” I asked quietly. He bit down onto his bottom lip, his fingers nimbly moving the sides of the vest away from the bomb, exposing it and all of its wires. His eyes moved up to meet mine, a gentle, apologetic smile on his lips.

“You could say that…” he replied. “I never did get a chance to ask what brought you back… I thought you struck gold down in the big city.” I laughed half-heartedly, a thick swallow going down my throat as I lowered my arms just a bit.

“I just sort of… Missed some things about this big city, I guess,” I mumbled, trying my best to relax despite my still trembling body and stiff as hell spine. He smiled softly, his cheeks tinting ever so slightly.

“How’re we doin’, Spike?” Greg said, coming back into the room.

Mike sighed softly and glanced over at his boss. “Well, it’s not too high tech. Pretty much completely immune to our electronic countermeasures, no remote detonation capabilities. It’s a digital timer, twenty-eight minutes left, but… The wires, boss. He’s got dummy wires, multiple cu-"

“Alright, alright, Spike, what can we do?” Greg hurriedly muttered, stepping up behind Mike and placing a hand onto his shoulder.

“We need schematics, boss. If I cut a dummy wire… It’s over.”

--

Greg looked at Spike. He watched his teammate of almost eight years now, and for the first time since he joined Team One, Greg could see a fear in those eyes that was more powerful than the knowledge it hid. More powerful than the years Spike spent learning explosives inside and out, more powerful than all the times he’s diffused them and done everything right. It was more than the sort of fear he had when he lost Lou, and the fear he’d had when he thought Sam was gone with the 911 bombs.

This fear was a result of love, and Greg had enough years on his belt to see that this girl was a long-buried memory that had once been the center of Michelangelo Scarlatti’s world. And what made Greg both happy and horrified, was that he saw the same feelings burrowed in the eyes of Raella.

“Alright, Spike,” he acknowledged, hitting his mic. “Winnie, I need an address or a phone number on the Fabers’ parents. And please, re-up Team Three. We’re too focused here, if another call comes in, it’s gotta be somebody else’s.”

Downstairs, Jules and Ed had broken into Matthew Faber’s auburn red two-door, rifling through the glove compartment, the trunk, the floor, anything they could find that would get them answers for Spike.

“Ed, I got somethin’,” Jules blurted, thrusting a faded driver’s license forward into his palm. He glanced down at the ID, pursing his lips.

“It’s near fifteen years old, but it’s all we got right now. Let’s try the address.” He slid out of the car and jogged around to the back. “Winnie, we need you to run a plate, see if there are any hits on this guy or his car. Might not even be his… Tango Hotel Two Seven Three Niner Zed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jules and Ed had arrived at the decrepit apartment whose address was on the license they found, the neighborhood less than desirable and the smell of the apartment the moment they walked in even worse.

“Alright, Jules, let’s get to it,” Ed commanded, immediately stepping in with his weapon raised and calling out. As they cleared the apartment, room by room, Jules couldn’t help but notice the disheveled, disgusting way this man had been living. He was disorganized, he was living in filth.

“Guys,” Winnie patched in, “The address on the plate and under Faber’s name match the one on your ID. It’s definitely current, so no surprises.” That was somewhat of a relief, in a way.

Then, Jules stepped into a different room; the last one. It was clean – marvelously clean. Every inch had been scrubbed. And in the middle of the room was a desk.

“Ed! You need to see this,” she called, holstering her gun and approaching the desk. Her eyes scanned the floor for wires, booby traps, anything that would fall into the category of, “Oh Shit.”

“There’s a note on the table,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes at the small slip of paper as she reached out for it. Ed came to stand beside her, sighing softly and hitting the mic.

“Spike, we might have something.”

Back at the station, Spike was currently trying to determine which of the wires were dummies, every other possible countermeasure turned down and the clock ticking down to almost ten minutes. Sweat beaded over his forehead. “Go ahead, Ed, I’ll take anything at this point.”

“It’s… Some kind of a riddle, Spike. And it’s written to you,” Jules reluctantly spoke into her headset.

“Just read it to me, Jules,” he replied.

She complied, her skin crawling at the words on the paper.

“Death and misfortune befalls those with greed,

Red roses befell those who destroyed my good deed.

So now they must pay with much more than their pride,

It is not their loss I want, but truly their lives.

Clear is my wish, no matter it’s cost,

Discover the color, Scarlatti, of what you’ve just lost.”

Spike’s face fell, and he looked up at Raella. He’d never felt so…helpless. His hand came up to brush through his hair, his heart pounding against his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.