Disclaimer: NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating: NC17
Summary: Part 8. Jack and Ed are forced to reveal more than they'd planned.
Copyright January 2003 Cassatt
Ed, standing with Jack by the pool table, could feel Serena's eyes on them as they talked. A hot glare, cutting across the room, through the groups of men who were oblivious to it, their attentions solely on each other, or themselves. Just as Jack and he had been five minutes before. He concentrated on the feel of Jack's hand, gripping his. It was real. The rest was not. It was real, the rest was not. Except that the rest was, too.
"Ed," Jack said, "are you still with me?"
He knew what the intended meaning of the phrase was, but he couldn't help the need he felt to answer it more broadly. "I'm sorry, I was thinking. And -- yes, I'm still with you, Jack. I'm not going to let her hurt me, and I'm not going to let this affect us."
Jack's face softened, momentarily. "Another complication?"
Ed caressed Jack's stomach, unseen by Serena. "Yes. Could be a big one, could be small." His heart was thudding, and he could feel the vibration of Jack's, too.
"Okay. Let's go get this over with. I think I should talk to her alone, after we find out what she's doing here." He looked over his shoulder, and Ed's eyes followed. Serena was leaning against the wall, right next to the office door, with her arms folded. Jack turned back to him. "I'm not sure what I'm going to tell her, and what I'm not, at the moment. About me and this case, that is."
Ed nodded. "Whatever you decide is fine -- though Lennie has no intention of saying anything about the diary to anyone, or your involvement with Ryerson. I know you know that, I just wanted to remind you that the information is safe. Just the three of us."
"I know," Jack said with a soft smile. "So. You ready?"
Again, he nodded. They started the long walk across the game room. Jack was still holding tightly to his hand. Ed considered pulling out of the grip, then decided he didn't give a damn.
As Jack approached Serena, he kept eye contact with her. He had one thing that he would absolutely take care of before this evening was over. Serena would not out Ed, or he would see to it that she paid, and dearly. Jack took control of the conversation even before they'd quite reached her side.
"So you've come to look into the money angle?" he asked. "To talk to Mr. Cabot?"
She was taken aback, momentarily. "Yes, and to introduce myself to him."
Ed's grip tightened on his hand. "Did he know you were coming?" he asked her, his tone just this side of harsh. Jack understood the concern behind the question.
"No," Serena answered, her own tone not much smoother. "His mother told me I could find him here." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You know him, Detective, don't you? What are you, friends?"
"We're not friends," Ed said, "it's complicated."
Jack was about to jump back in, when Serena beat him to it.
"Doesn't look too complicated to me," she retorted, "and I'd think that you ..."
Jack interrupted, "Before you finish that sentence, I suggest that we find somewhere with a bit more privacy to talk. Detective Green has some information for you, but this isn't the place to discuss it." He waved vaguely over his shoulder at the crowded room behind them all.
Ed said to him, "I can ask Anthony if we can use the office, or the alley is another option...."
Just then the office door opened. Anthony looked at Serena first, then to Ed and finally to Jack.
"Mr. Cabot," Jack said, "this is Serena Southerlyn, she's the ADA I was telling you about. She has some questions for you, but the three of us have a few things to discuss first." Anthony's eyes darted right for Ed's and stayed. "I don't want to impose," Jack continued, "but could we use your office for ten minutes or so?"
"I understand," the man replied, finally breaking eye contact with Ed. "Give me a moment, then you can use it for as long as you need. Have to get to the bar and check on things anyway." He turned to Serena and held out his hand, which she took. "I appreciate anything you can do, Ms. Southerlyn."
Serena said, shaking his hand, "I'll do the best I can when the time comes."
Anthony nodded once, let go, and went back into the room, leaving the door open. He shut down his laptop and gathered papers together, dropping all of them into one of the desk drawers. The silence between the three of them as they waited was thick with tension, and Jack tried to relax the fingers that were now tightly intertwined with Ed's. Ed let go enough, and glanced at him. His face appeared impassive, but Jack recognized something in his eyes with an internal jolt. Ed was afraid. Just barely afraid. Jack wanted to wrap him in his arms and give reassurance that he couldn't possibly give.
Anthony left, and they took over the room, Ed closing the door behind them. They stood, still in a group; as if by consensus nobody wanted to sit in the victim's desk chair, or invade the personal space of his survivor.
"Well, this explains something," Serena said, breaking the oppressive silence. "I'd asked Van Buren how victim number three had been identified, specifically, since the report seemed a bit vague. She told me that a passerby recognized him, that either you," she said directly to Ed, "or Briscoe must have forgotten to put the person's name on it. She assured me that she'd locate the information again, should it become necessary. It won't be, will it, Detective? You ID'd him, didn't you?"
Ed snorted, his lips clenching down to a thin line. "Yes, I ID'd him."
"And that information," Jack said pointedly, "needs to remain confidential."
Serena shook her head and dropped her briefcase on the visitor's chair. "There is no expectation of privacy here, Jack, and you know it."
"Technically, of course not," he answered with frustration, "but that has nothing to do with it. We have an obligation not to put our investigator's life on the line, or in the glare of the spotlight. What would be the point? It's not necessary. No one is even going to question how we ID'd the victim. We know who he was. He was a fairly prominent member of the gay community, easily identified."
She didn't look convinced.
Ed said to her, "I questioned Anthony earlier this evening, about the drug theory." He then proceeded to distract her from discussing his own sexual preference by bringing her up to date on what he'd discovered, and what he and Lennie had devised regarding the trap.
"I take it," she said, "that Mr. Cabot has already agreed to do this?"
"Of course," Ed replied, "why wouldn't he?"
"And you believe him about the drug angle as a detective, or because you don't want this victim tainted by a drug scandal?"
Jack could see that Ed was about to bite her head off again, so he answered. "I was here, too, Serena. Anthony was telling the truth. And for the record, this email idea is a damned good one."
She folded her arms. Her eyes drifted from his to Ed's, then back again. "Okay. I'll be getting complete records from the banks for victims one and two, in the morning. I'll ask Mr. Cabot if he'll turn over vic... Crymson's financial records, and then follow up with his bank, too."
"Good," Jack said. He turned to Ed. "Would you excuse us?" Unexpectedly, Ed wavered, so he walked him back out to the game room, again shutting the door behind them, though this time to find a different kind of privacy. "Ed," he said leaning in close to the man's ear, "it'll be fine. I'll make her understand."
Ed shook his head incrementally. "I don't think it will be. This whole thing is so fucked up...."
"Yes, it will." Jack locked eyes with him, letting him see how determined he was, how far he would go, how much he loved him. He caressed his cheek, down to his neck. "It will."
Ed leaned in quickly and kissed him with a needy, hungry kiss, as if the merging and moving of their lips could cast a spell of protection over the two of them. As if their kisses could prove that what they had was nothing unusual, and not in need of protection. The fluttering in Jack's chest told him it very definitely was unusual. The woman on the other side of the door was evidence of how much could be lost. He wanted to grab Ed and not let go. Ed slowed down the urgency of the connection, gradually kissing Jack more gently, until with a long, soft sigh he pulled away. "I'll be with Peter," he said. He hesitated. "Good luck."
Jack nodded to him and watched as he walked back to his friends. He took a steeling breath and opened the door.
Serena rose from the chair. "So can I assume that this is the real reason you recused yourself? You knew the victim, too?" she asked.
"I didn't know him as anything more than the owner and bartender of this club. But that, combined with my relationship with Ed, was reason enough to recuse. The prosecutor couldn't become an issue in the case -- that's what was important."
"And you didn't feel it necessary to tell me any of this," she said sharply.
"No," he stated, "I didn't feel it necessary. Nora knows. I answer to her." He glared, fighting the urge to bite her head off as Ed had done.
Serena looked away first. "I wasn't implying otherwise. It just seems that the most likely inference to make is that you didn't want anyone to know you were involved with a man."
He chuffed and shook his head. "What's the real problem here, Serena? That you didn't manage to find out that I'm bisexual in your quest to uncover the details of my life, or that you think you should still be privy to my trust? Because I don't care what anyone knows about who I'm involved with, and your investigation should have turned up that fact, at least."
She was staring again, and for the life of him, Jack couldn't figure out what she was thinking. But then again, he rarely could. She said, "I told you the other day -- I thought we'd worked all of that out, Jack. If we haven't, then say something."
Her idea of working things out and his were totally different, and involved sincere apologies, but he didn't have the energy to get into it. "Trust, once lost, is not easily gained back. And in this situation -- you want to know the bottom line? To trust you with a secret that could destroy a man, hell, could get a man killed was simply not possible." He pointed at her. "The responsibility for that is all yours. You're the person who invaded my privacy, and flaunted that fact, mocked me in front of my boss. Why should I have trusted you with something this important?"
"You think that I would have said something about Green? Or you?"
"I had no idea," he spat out. "I wasn't about to take that risk, and neither was Ed. But now that it's out of our hands, I'm going to tell you the same thing that I told Van Buren. If anything happens to Ed -- if he gets shot, or gets a clubbing in the head, or anything -- and I find out that it's because of something you said to someone around the courthouse, or the precinct, I will make you wish you never graduated from law school."
She put her hands on her hips. "You're threatening me."
He pointed again. "No. I'm promising you. You will keep your mouth shut about the fact that Ed ID'd Crymson, or that he knows this club, or that I know this club, or that the two of us are in a relationship."
"This isn't exactly ethical, Jack," she retorted.
"None of it has any direct bearing on this case, other than the fact that Ed knows the community, and has cooperation from members of the community. And that has been more valuable than you realize."
She sat heavily in one of the chairs, her gaze shifting from him to the surface of the desk. He followed suit, and waited for her to finish thinking. He'd told her as much as he would, for now.
Ed leaned back against the wall, in the alleyway, next to Jack's bike. He propped himself with one foot, shoved hands into his jacket pockets and closed his eyes. He'd called Lennie, again, to tell him what had happened with Serena. According to his partner, the woman would be cool, the Nicks were up by seven with three minutes left in the fourth quarter, and he was going to pick up donuts on the way in so did Ed want a cruller in the morning? He'd told him "no", thankful that at least he'd had a chance to smile for a minute or two.
He was tired. It had been a very long day, and a soft bed with the man he loved in it sounded better than sweet. He was also feeling the urge to play poker, though not a strong enough urge to be a problem. The rhythm of a card game, however, was enticing right then. The regularity of it, the ritual almost. Five cards dealt, then sorted, then assessed, then traded, then the risk began. He understood it; he knew the rules; he knew how to play. He'd thought he knew how to play 'keep Eddie in the closet', too, and look what had happened.
The club's back door opened and thinking it would be Jack, he lifted his head.
"Sorry, Detective," Anthony said, "didn't mean to disturb you." He lit a cigarette and took a very long drag.
"No problem," he answered. "I didn't realize that you smoke."
The other man shook his head. "I quit six years ago."
Ed's stomach clenched, but he smiled gently. "I understand."
Anthony took another pull, and blew the smoke toward the street. "Mr. McCoy and Ms. Southerlyn are still in the office. She didn't know about the two of you, did she?"
"No, she didn't. It's a bit complicated." How many more times would he have to use that as some sort of explanation, he wondered. "I hadn't come out to her yet."
"I thought not, since you didn't say anything earlier," Anthony said quietly. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and smiled. "You know, one of the things that I loved in Crym was his total lack of judgment about people being out or in. He had some pretty good arguments with folks over the years about it. And I'm sure I don't have to tell you how radical some of us can be over the topic."
"No," Ed agreed, "you don't. But it's not always a choice that can be made freely."
Anthony nodded, no longer smiling. "In a perfect world..." he said almost to himself. "'Not every truth is the better for showing its face undisguised; and often silence is the wisest thing for a man to heed.'"
"Who said that?"
"An ancient guy named Pindar. Crymson liked to quote that one a lot." He smoked some more.
"I had a friend who used to quote Ralph Ellison when he'd get really wound up about coming out," Ed admitted. "'I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me.'"
Anthony looked down the alley, toward the streetlights. "Invisibility certainly has its merits..." He ground his cigarette into the cement with his foot, and met Ed's eyes. "I would trade every good thing that Crymson ever did for this community ... for the chance to hold him for one more night." He swallowed hard, and wiped the corner of one eye.
Ed's own throat was closing; he didn't know how to respond, or if he even could. "I know," he managed to say.
"Do you think I'm terribly selfish?"
"No," he said sincerely, "no, I don't."
Anthony smiled a small smile and took a deep breath. "Thank you for asking me to help you find this fucker. And I'm glad that your lover is going to oversee the prosecution. He's good at what he does, isn't he?"
Ed smiled. "He's damned good. And you're welcome."
"Okay then. Now that I've gotten my lungs filled with nicotine and all kinds of carcinogens, I'd better get back to work. I'll talk to you tomorrow, I hope. Good night, Detective."
"Ed."
"Good night, Ed."
"Good night," he replied gently. After the other man had gone back into the club, Ed closed his eyes again. On the whole, he thought, the personal problems that had been brought on by this case might be bearable. He wasn't forced to ache for Jack as night approached. He wasn't forced to consider enduring his life, rather than enjoying it. He could sleep with the scent of his lover under his nose, the man's skin under his fingertips. He could hold him all night.
Serena stopped fiddling with the paper clip she'd found and finally looked directly at Jack. "Okay, I'll go along with this. I can see that it's workable, and I really want to handle this prosecution. Nora knows about all of it, you said?"
Jack breathed. "Yes, she does."
She unbent the clip with a sudden movement. "So my getting this opportunity, as she told me, was really just because I'm your second and you needed to try and keep control over the situation, wasn't it? It had nothing to do with my abilities..."
"Nora was trying to protect me. Protect Ed, more importantly. Protect this case," he said. He felt somewhat badly, for the first time. He'd have to admit that her personal reactions, or ambitions, had never come into the equation.
"I understand, Jack. A few things are making more sense to me. Detective Green's snarky attitude, for one," she said, pursing her lips.
Jack sighed in frustration. "I'm not sure you really get it. Do you think Ed's a good detective? In general?"
"Yes, he seems to be."
"Well, do you have any idea how much he wants to catch this son-of-a-bitch?" He leaned forward. "Crymson was...," he hesitated, trying to find words to describe the man, "he was more than the bartender, or the owner. He looked out for people, he didn't shy away from getting involved -- to Ed, and the men here, he was like the ultimate big brother. The word 'friend' doesn't apply, and has nothing to do with it. This was Ed's safe house, and somebody murdered the one person who made it safe. He wants this killer, with a passion." He wasn't sure that Serena understood what passion was, really. "Cut him some slack. Anita is keeping him in line just fine."
"You're quite eloquent in your defense of him." She looked at him expectantly.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I know him," he answered, unwilling to say anything more.
She was about to respond, then she paused. "You wish you were prosecuting this case, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
She smiled a surprisingly soft smile. "Then you'll just have to coach me on all of your tricks if and when we get to trial."
He had to smile in return. "Who says I use tricks?"
She arched both eyebrows in reply.
"Of course I'll coach you," he answered. He put both hands on his knees and stood, before things got a little too emotional; he didn't want to lower his defenses that far. "So. It's been a long day. I'll get Anthony..."
"No, I'll find him. You find Ed, and go home." She stood, too.
He studied her for a moment, but could see no censure, or derision, or disgust in her face. He had to assume that he was reading her correctly. He nodded, and left the office. Home was sounding exquisitely wonderful to him. Home, bed, Ed, sleep were what he wanted more than anything right then. What he needed, and craved.
Once inside the door to Jack's apartment, they came together in a slow dance of heavy, breathless kisses, of pinning each other against whatever wall or door was close, of pulling clothing off, of somehow making their inexorable way to the bedroom. Somehow taking covers down. Somehow removing shoes. With mouths moving together, and lips burning together, and hands finding skin. Together. Bodies gently collapsing onto the sheets. Together.
Ed briefly pondered the act of drowning, how easy it must be to do, as Jack covered him, kissing him deeply. With the same slow rhythm that they'd fallen into at the close of a door. He could drown like this and not suffer in the least. Jack thrust hips into him, and his breath caught, and he said something close to 'oh' down Jack's throat. But he knew what his lover wanted, so he tightened his hold on the man and rolled them. He was now the water, the force, the mover. Jack responded with a low noise of his own. A call. A plea.
Preparation was done with soft, pale skin under his mouth. The skin of Jack's chest, the rasp of salt and pepper chest hair against his cheek. The skin of belly, and side, and hip. Always moving. Slowly. Sensuously. Between Jack's legs.
Then he bent his right knee, and slid his thigh under Jack's, lifting the man's leg enough to enter him, sliding in with a long, deep sigh from them both. Jack's eyes opened, and locked with Ed's, and he swore that he'd never before in his life known anything like that piercing gaze. Dark hazel eyes, burning for him. Almost liquefying him.
He began to thrust, and leaned down to kiss Jack, and the combined sensations of taste, friction, and fingers roaming over his back almost did him in. He loved him, the best way he knew how, taking them to the one place where they couldn't be touched. Where nothing else mattered. He thrust, long, nearly languid thrusts with Jack devouring him whenever their lips met. He thrust. He loved. He burned. They burned. They loved... and thrust, and thrust, and thrust.
There was no thought of teasing to make this last, of keeping them hanging. Only one need pounded in Ed's mind -- release. Sweet release, intense connection, then deep sleep. Jack was moving in ways that Ed recognized through the haze of his impending climax. The man he loved was getting close. Low, hissed words of love were being spoken into Ed's mouth as they kissed. He reached between them and stroked Jack, almost too close himself yet still wanting to pull his lover into bliss. It didn't take long. Jack clutched the back of Ed's neck and groaned, thrusting into his fist as he spurt onto their skin. The contractions took Ed over the edge, and with one last, deep thrust he came; his thoughts jumbling, exploding; his body throbbing right along with Jack's.
He collapsed onto Jack's heaving chest, and the walls of control that he'd held fiercely around his heart unexpectedly disintegrated. His throat closed so harshly it ached, and tears that he couldn't stop welled up, and spilled. He cried. He cried for Anthony, and Crymson, and for all of the frightening ways his own life was changing while Jack held him tightly, and crooned soft words of comfort, and love, and his walls kept crumbling.
At some point he slipped out of Jack. At some point Jack rolled him onto his back, as he threw an arm over his face and tried to breathe. Jack removed his condom, and cleaned him. He heard running water, footfalls, then felt the bed dip. He was pulled into an embrace, and he buried his face into Jack's neck, inhaling deeply. Their legs intertwined. Warm hands caressed his back. He told Jack that he loved him, nearly overcome by the raw power of what he was feeling. He loved him. Jack said he loved him, too, in such a way that Ed's tears threatened to begin anew. He breathed, kissed Jack's neck slowly, and finally let sleep take him.
The sun was just rising, beginning to illuminate the city outside of the kitchen windows. Jack was watching Ed move around the room again, blatantly enjoying the view. Even though he suspected that the other man knew just how good he looked in sweat pants and a tee-shirt, that didn't stop Jack from letting his admiration show. He couldn't have stopped it if he'd had even half a mind to try. Ed was pouring himself another cup of coffee while eating a piece of toast.
"And your answer to my question is," Ed prompted without turning around. He put the last bite into his mouth, added cream to his cup and returned the carton to the refrigerator.
That you're making my fingers tingle? Jack thought. He sipped his own coffee to stall. "You know, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a trip to England once this case is over."
Ed came back to the table and relaxed in his chair. He smiled. "I'd love to see England. We'd visit Mark?"
"Yes, and some of the country."
"I'm touched that you want me to meet your friend," Ed said, still smiling, "and I can't think of anything I'd like better than to sit here and talk about taking a trip together. But that's not going to answer my question." He drank.
Jack sighed. "Do you have any idea how tired I am of thinking about Serena and how she's going to react to something?"
Ed had more of his coffee. He was no longer smiling.
"I'm tired of her judgments," Jack continued.
Ed nodded.
Jack got up and went to the coffee pot. "You want any more?"
"No, I'm good."
He brought the pot to the sink and rinsed it out. He sensed Ed's presence the moment before strong hands touched the sides of his waist, then slid to his front, and a firm body pressed up against his back. He sighed again, setting the pot down, and relaxed into the embrace. Ed kissed his neck. Long arms surrounded him. For the first time in years, he yearned to go right back to bed and forget about work. To hold Ed. To listen to some music. Watch a movie. Spend the morning together.
"I'll tell her first thing," Jack said quietly.
He felt Ed nod, then the man kissed him again. "You think we could go to Ireland, too? Find out where the McCoys came from?" Ed asked.
Jack chuckled. "I've no idea where they originated. But yes, I'd like that."
"Good," Ed murmured. He held him a bit tighter. "Good."
Jack had to agree.
"Ed," Van Buren said, "you believe Crymson's partner about the lack of drug usage in the club?"
Ed, sitting next to Lennie in front of her desk, nodded. "I do."
She raised her eyebrows. "A club? In New York City? That has no drug problem?"
Ed shrugged. "Anthony didn't say there was no drug usage, just that there had never been anything but recreational use -- in the bathrooms. I'd have to say, that's been my experience of the place, too."
"Okay," she answered with a slight grin, and a shrug of her own. "Now. Don Marsh, our B and E suspect. Today is the last day that I've got money to keep his apartment under surveillance. There's been no activity on his bank account."
Lennie said, "Kinda hard to use the bank when you're at the bottom of the East River..."
"Yes, well," she said pointedly to him, "let's stick with the assumption that he's in hiding, until we have proof otherwise, shall we?"
"So he's in hiding," Lennie answered, "it's been three nights since he did the club. He's got a girlfriend. He has to be in contact with her somehow, he had to have planned something, especially if he's running on a strictly cash basis. Cash will only last so long."
"Unless he's gone south," Ed said. "Say across the border, and he'll be finding ways to supplement his cash supply."
Lennie smirked. "A resourceful guy."
"Hey," Van Buren said, "he's managed to get picked up just five times, and only went away twice. I'd say that's pretty resourceful."
Ed sensed that Lennie was about to make a caustic remark about lawyers, and willed his partner to keep it to himself. Though normally Ed might agree, that morning he wasn't able to think anything bad about the profession that had lured his lover to New York. He didn't want to feel defensive about Jack. He couldn't. Not that morning.
Lennie put out his hand to Van Buren. "Can I see his file?" Lieu gave it to him, and the man started rifling through the thick packet of paperwork.
"What?" Ed asked.
"Let's say," Lennie answered, still looking through the file, "he's not south of the border. Let's say he's gone home..."
Ed smiled. "How old was he when he got busted the first time?"
"Looks like... yup, here it is." Lennie raised his head. "Eighteen and a half." He pulled out one of the papers. "And guess who posted bail? Mrs. Delores Marsh of Bayside, Queens."
Lieu spun in her chair, and pulled a phone book off of the shelf. She searched it quickly. "She's still listed, but phone only." Lennie handed her the sheet. "I'll get Reina to confirm the address. Looks like the surveillance team might get a change of scenery today."
The logic of Lennie's idea suddenly grated. "We should have thought of this sooner," Ed said, somewhat harshly.
"Ed," Van Buren said, her tone gentle, "you've been doing what I told you to do."
He could only nod in response. He didn't agree with her in the least.
Jack loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Though it was only the beginning of the work day, the confines of professional dress were already irritating him. He stood up from his chair and looked toward his doorway. Now was the time to go get Serena. He could call, but that would mean sitting and waiting, which felt annoying as hell. Without realizing it, he'd put both hands on his hips, and clenched his jaw.
He was suddenly disgusted with himself. There were no apologies to make, and no explanations to give that he hadn't given already. She could stuff her judgments. He'd ignore them. As he walked toward the hall, he concentrated on the person who was rarely out of his thoughts. How their lives had become so enmeshed, and how much he had wanted that to happen. How important the night before had been. How close he felt to Ed that morning. He breathed.
Serena was sitting at her desk, hanging up the phone as he arrived at her doorway.
"Good morning," she said with a smile.
"Good morning," he replied. "Would you follow me back to my office? There's a couple of things I need to tell you about this case."
She nodded, and Jack took it as a sign that she didn't ask "which case." It wasn't necessary. Within several minutes he was once again at his desk, now with his ADA sitting at the head of the T-table. She'd placed the files that she'd brought in front of her, but she was merely waiting, expectantly, for him to start.
"There is another reason that I recused," he said. "I had a short conversation with Crymson, last Saturday night. Ed had one, too, earlier than mine. After Crymson's body was found, in hindsight we concluded that, from what he'd said, he was privy to information about the other two murders. That possibly he knew the two victims, and if so, he knew that something bad had probably happened to them. We told Briscoe this on Monday morning."
"The police kept this out of the report to protect Ed?"
"Yes."
She settled in her chair and crossed her legs. "Would you tell me exactly what he said to each of you?"
He was surprised, for there was no judgment in her tone at all. He relaxed, too, and related what had happened the Saturday before. She made no notes, just nodded in response as he talked.
"Thank you, Jack," she said, then paused, glancing down at the file for a moment. "If it was blackmail that they were involved in, backing off when Ed mentioned our office would fit, I think. Still, I can't help wondering why he'd want an attorney at all. Was he afraid of getting arrested?"
Thoughts of the diary were making him uncomfortable, so he ignored them. "Maybe," he answered. "Or maybe his question was about the incriminating information that was being used -- if it all truly revolves around blackmail."
She studied him. "You believe it does, though, don't you?"
That he could respond to easily. "Yes, I do. Gut feeling." He still harbored deep reservations about Crymson's role in a blackmail scheme, however.
"Well, I've already gotten Abbott's bank records this morning, Ryerson's bank is due to call me back in," she looked at her watch, "about twenty minutes. The police have personal records from their apartments. Crymson's partner is gathering things -- says he'll have it by ten..."
"What time did you get in this morning?" He was a little stunned.
"I've been here since seven. So -- looks like the detectives will be here over lunch to plow through financials. I think we should see what we can find first. If there's a question about the club's books, then we'll get the forensic team on it. Can you help us?" She picked up the files and straightened them, tapping the folders' edges on the table.
"Yes," he answered, feeling a small smile break out.
"Thank you," she said, smiling as well. She stood. "Did you need me for anything else?"
He shook his head. She told him she'd let him know the time of the work session and left. He got up and went to his door, opening it, no longer needing privacy so intensely. Walking back to his desk, he thought about Ed coming to Hogan Place. He knew he'd have to be circumspect, but right then, for just a few minutes, he let himself feel serenely happy that he'd be near the man he loved. In the middle of the day. In the same room, at the same table. He was almost embarrassed at the thrill he felt. He smiled full out, sat, and got to work.
Ed sipped a cup of coffee, sitting at his desk. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. Lieu had talked to him, alone, after their status meeting. She'd assured him that they were doing all of the right things, that she had confidence in him. While he appreciated the talk, he was still smarting over their lack of follow-through on Marsh. He'd decided during the short walk to his desk that he was going to review everything. Every piece of information they had on the case. Each report.
He started with the files on the victims themselves. What they knew of their lives. Ryerson was first. He read every paper in the folder, thinking about the picture he had in his mind of this man's life in New York. He read the last thing filed, Ryerson's employment application. The man had only worked at the bank for two years, had moved to Manhattan specifically because of the job. He'd transferred from the corporation's Chicago office. Ed had assumed that this was one possible explanation for why Ryerson had what appeared to be a loner's social life. But Ryerson, it turned out, was more than a social loner. Van Buren had tried to locate next of kin through the bank, but had been unsuccessful. One of his acquaintenances from the club had handled the burial.
Ed thought about Ryerson and Abbott at the Freedom Day Parade, obviously knowing each other. Abbott had started her job at about the same time. He opened her file and rifled through the papers quickly, finding her application. His heart sank as he read that she hadn't come from Chicago. He knew that her parents were presently living in Milwaukee, but he'd hoped that she'd spent time in Chicago, too. Her previous employers were all in Wisconsin. He scanned further down the page, thinking that maybe she'd gone to school in Illinois. But she'd graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Madison.
He went back to Ryerson's form and turned it over, looking for his schooling. His heart started to pound. Ryerson had also graduated from UW-Madison. At the same time. But how did Crymson fit into this equation? He looked around the squad room for his partner.
Lennie pulled into a parking space in the garage near the DA's building, turned off the car, but didn't make a move to get out. Ed unhooked his seat belt. "Ed, wait a minute," Lennie said.
Ed let go of the door handle. "Something wrong?"
"No, at least I don't think so." Lennie hesitated. "Look, are you doing okay?"
He sighed to himself. "The truth?"
"Of course."
"Yeah, I'm doing okay. Mostly okay. I had a pretty rough night; I'm still pissed that we didn't do more to find Marsh." He really did not want to go into how much he didn't want to be in Serena's company.
Lennie looked out the windshield, his lips set in a line. Then he met Ed's eyes directly. "I don't want to pry, but if you're having trouble with McCoy, and you need to talk, you can. With me."
"No, Lennie," he said, shaking his head gently, "Jack's not the reason I had a rough night. Exactly the opposite. He carried me through the worst of it. I just..." He broke the eye contact. "I don't do so well when my life spins a little out of control. I like to make the decisions that affect it, not have them made for me. You know what I mean?"
Lennie chuckled. "Yeah, I think I do. I've got the disciplinary file to prove it, too." He sighed. "So is this about Serena?"
He shrugged. "Partly. Let me put it this way. I know how to be in the closet -- I'm not so sure I know how to be slightly out..."
"I can't help you much with that one, pal. Except that I understand what it's like when people find out something about you that you'd really rather they didn't know, and at the same time you know damned well that there's no way you can keep them from knowing."
He smiled broadly. "I think I followed that." Nodding, he quieted his smile. "It can suck, can't it?"
"Yeah," Lennie answered, "it can suck for sure." He finally unhooked his seat belt. "So, whaddya say we go figure out what the hell these people were doing with their lives, and hopefully, catch us a perp?"
"Sounds good," Ed said. They got out of the car and Lennie opened the trunk. Ed lifted the box of paperwork. "Lennie..."
Lennie slammed the hood shut. "What?"
"Thanks."
"Hey, I keep telling you," Lennie said, patting him on the shoulder, "that's what partners are for. Come on, let's go see your boyfriend."
Ed chuckled, and they started to walk. "You get a kick out of saying that, don't you?"
Lennie darted a glance at him. "Guess I do," he said with a smile. "I still don't get what you see in him..."
"Well, now, you couldn't, could you?" Ed asked pointedly.
"Not talking about sexual preferences, here, Eddie. I mean -- what the hell is it with that guy? First women fall all over him, and now men, too?"
Ed stopped abruptly. They were almost to the entrance of the building. Lennie stopped, too. "If you really want an answer to that," he said in a low voice, "we'll continue this conversation in the car. Besides, sounds like someone's jealous..." He continued their progress to the door.
Lennie snorted. "Jealous? Right." He held the door open for Ed.
Ed had to turn sideways to fit through with the box in his arms. He grinned at his partner. "Jealous," he hissed in passing.
Lennie made a few more noises on the way to the elevator.
Ed was sitting in one of the conference rooms, unpacking the box they'd brought, half-listening to Lennie and Serena chat. He'd been disappointed on passing Jack's office to see it empty. He'd also been thinking about Lennie's question throughout the elevator ride, and on the walk down the corridors. His answer would be simple, not that he'd ever share it with his partner. Superficially, Ed had an abiding appreciation for Jack's looks. He thought the man was quite good looking, and the specific things that he loved were easy to list. There was a certain flush in his cheeks that Jack got, when he was in the throes of passion, that turned Ed's insides to jelly. The little grin he'd flash. His hands. His eyes, and the way they'd sparkle when he laughed, or soften when he spoke words of love. Below the surface, Ed wasn't sure he could possibly explain to Lennie what it was about Jack. He also wasn't sure he even wanted to try. Words would sound so... inadequate.
Serena was offering them coffee, which Ed declined. He'd had too much already. He put the box on the table and the three of them began to sort through everything. He would wait until Jack arrived before telling Serena about the college connection between Ryerson and Abbott. He'd justified that decision easily, though admittedly not in a rational manner. He was trying to keep his attention on the papers on front of him, but his glance kept drifting to the corridor beyond the glass partition. The fourth time he did it, he happened to catch Lennie's eye. The corner of his partner's mouth curled, and after shooting him a small glare, he went back to Karen Abbott's checking account statements for the prior year and a half.
The sound of the door opening brought his head up sharply, and his heart skipped. Jack walked in, their eyes locked, and the other man did something else that Ed loved. He smiled. Ed was smiling as well, oblivious to everything but Jack for far too brief a moment. He watched him say "good morning" to Lennie, ask Serena what needed to be looked at, then come around to his side of the table. Ed was thinking that it had been a couple of days since he'd seen him in suit pants, and how much he liked him with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, when Jack stopped next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at his lover, grateful beyond measure for the contact, the ease of it, the naturalness of it. Jack smiled again, squeezed his shoulder, and sat. Ed relaxed, exerting a conscious effort to keep from touching him. Be very careful, he reminded himself.
"I found a connection between Ryerson and Abbott," he said, deliberately looking at Serena first, then back at Jack. "They both graduated from the University of Wisconsin at Madison. Same graduating class. Then I looked on the 'net and saw that there are about forty thousand students there, at least right now. That's a hell of a huge school."
"But what are the odds," Jack asked with a trace of excitement, "that they didn't know each other while they were there? They had to."
"Slim, I agree," Serena answered, shrugging. "What about Crymson, though?"
"Well," Ed answered, "that's what I'm hoping Anthony can clear up when he gets here. As far as I know, Crymson went to Alabama. He was a fanatic about the school."
Lennie looked at her. "The name of his club?"
She merely looked blankly back at him.
Lennie grinned. "Crymson's Tide. The Crimson Tide? The Alabama football team?" He looked at Ed. "I have to admit, I thought it was pretty clever."
Serena said, "I don't follow football. A bunch of men hitting each other to move some ball around? I've never understood it."
Ed suppressed a grin, as he watched Lennie about to explain, then stop himself. "I'm not sure," Ed said, "I can see the man leaving Alabama for Wisconsin. Being gay."
"But Madison," Jack said, "is known for it's liberalism. It's where the Progressive Party started. It was a hotbed for radicals when I was looking at schools, and fifteen years ago wouldn't have been that different. It was the place to be if you were anywhere near the Left."
Ed was about to reply when the phone rang. Serena answered it; Anthony was at the receptionist's desk. Ed almost volunteered to go, but he wanted her out of the room. She left, and as soon as the door closed behind her, he asked Jack how his talk with her had gone.
Jack leaned toward him, but directed his answer to Lennie, too. Ed was relieved to hear that she'd simply taken the information without fuss. There was a charged moment when Jack mentioned the diary, but Lennie lifted a hand and said that as far as he was concerned, he knew nothing about a certain diary entry. He would swear that he'd never seen it. Jack hesitated, then thanked the man sincerely. Lennie nodded.
Ed couldn't help himself. He reached under the table to touch Jack's thigh, just to feel him -- solid, and warm. Jack responded by sliding his own hand there, too, and their initial grip was tight, then slowly caressing. Ed relaxed again. He knew how inappropriate it was, how dangerous as well. But he needed it. For just a minute. The door opened again and they let go, also slowly.
The three of them stood, greeting Anthony, and Ed caught something in the eye contact that made his heart begin to race. Anthony nodded incrementally to him as they all sat down.
"Mr. Cabot," Serena said, "says that his partner did go to Wisconsin-Madison. So it looks like we've found out how the three people knew each other, or at least an assumption to work from."
Before Ed gave himself a moment to process that, he looked straight at Anthony. "You got an email, didn't you?"
"I think so," the man answered. He opened a briefcase, pulled out a small stack of files, handing them to Serena, then a single sheet of paper. The sudden tension in the room was making Ed's heart beat faster. "I've gotten more responses than I expected this early. Crym was on a few mailing lists that have members around the world, so I thought with time differences and such, it would take at least twenty-four hours before things started coming in. And from what he always told me, the activity on the lists was much heavier on weekends. Either way, about half of the people I sent to have answered." He hesitated, and it was all Ed could do not to grab the paper right out of his hand.
"This one is the first suspicious one I've gotten," Anthony continued. "And it's really close to what you were wanting. But the sender..." He hesitated again.
"What is it?" Jack asked, with surprising gentleness.
Anthony sighed. "I'm sorry. I want this guy," he said more harshly, "believe me. Okay. Here's an email from Richard Woodbridge -- you know who he is?"
"Jesus," Ed spat out, "he's the mayor's liaison with the gay community."
"Yes," Anthony said, pointing at the paper, "and this email address is apparently his personal one, because I checked it on the city's web site. Which in itself isn't necessarily odd. Crymson was on the committee that was formed to approve or disapprove of the various choices that the mayor had made for the position. All of the shit that came down about the St. Pat's Day parade, you remember. Anyway -- Mr. Woodbridge writes here how wonderful Crym was, what a loss this is for the community, and how much he appreciated the support he got from him at the time of the appointment. But Crym didn't like him. At all. He would never give any specific reason, he just made a number of comments about how the man wasn't to be trusted. When I'd ask him to explain what he meant, he'd always answer my questions generally. And it wasn't because he didn't trust people with political ambitions -- he didn't trust this man. The whole thing was off, and now he's writing Crym emails?" Anthony shook his head. "It doesn't make sense to me."
Lennie said, "But politicians always schmooze. Maybe he just sees this as an opportunity to be supportive of the community."
Ed's mind was racing as fast as his heart was. He looked at Jack, and the brief eye contact they held told Ed that Jack believed Anthony, too.
"Did Crymson approve of his nomination?" Jack asked.
"He abstained," Anthony answered. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out another file, this one thick with papers. "I was curious, so I found this in Crym's cabinet. It's his committee notes, a few letters, that sort of thing."
"Were the tallies made known to the candidates?" Jack continued.
"I don't know. I'd be surprised if they were. I can point you to someone who'd be able to answer that for you." Anthony met each of their eyes, in turn. "Look, I realize that this isn't anything but my gut feeling. I also realize that I obviously didn't know as much about Crym as I thought I did. But I have a hard time believing that if this man was writing to him, and it was innocent, like the guy was needing a favor, or was offering one --- that Crymson wouldn't have been bitching to me about it, or at the very least mentioning it. The fact that I didn't know they'd been in contact is totally out of character for him." Anthony stopped suddenly, and sat back, breathing heavily.
"I understand," Ed said. "I do." He reached across the table and picked up the email. "Serena," he started to ask, but she'd already gotten a copy of the log and handed it to him. As he scanned for dates, she got up and came to look over his shoulder. "Crymson wrote to him Friday, the day after Ryerson was found. He didn't answer," he said, "but he did exchange emails with Crymson the week before." He checked for something else. "On that Tuesday, he and Crymson write. Wednesday, Crymson and Karen Abbott start writing to each other for two days. Thursday, Ryerson and Crymson write."
"LUDs," Lennie said. "We need his phone number."
"It should be listed," Jack said.
"I'll get it," Serena said and headed for the phone on the side table.
Jack got up and searched through their office's case files for the LUDs they already had. Ed looked across at Anthony. The man's eyes were closed, and his steepled fingers were pressing the top of his nose. Ed got up, too, and went around to him.
"Anthony," he said quietly, touching his arm. Anthony glanced up. "Come on, I'll walk you out."
The man nodded and by the time he was standing, Jack had joined them. "Can I say something else?" Anthony asked. "Ms. Southerlyn mentioned the possibility of blackmail on the phone earlier. I've checked his accounts. He really didn't have much disposable income. Just like I thought."
"We'll figure it out," Ed assured him. "I promise."
Anthony got out a PDA from his briefcase and searched through it, then wrote a name and phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to Ed. "He was in charge of the committee."
"Thanks," Ed said.
"Should I answer his email?"
"I'll let you know what we want you to do."
Jack said, "Don't tell anyone about this, Anthony. If for no other reason -- he could be a very dangerous man."
Anthony nodded. "And if it is him, this is going to be a real political mess..."
Ed absolutely did not want to think about that. Jack agreed with the other man, and shook his hand. Serena was still on the phone, but Lennie stood and thanked Anthony. Ed then walked him to the elevators, asking about Crymson's life at college. He wanted to offer him words of comfort, and solace, but he wasn't a friend. The most he could give Anthony was exactly what he'd already given him. A promise.
Jack was heading to his office to return a phone call, with a hopefully quick call of his own. He only needed to look at one file to verify one date. Then he could return to the conference room and help put the pieces together. He was thinking about calling Nora to give her a heads up about the possible suspect, when he turned the corner. What he saw caused a cold stab to hit, deep in his stomach. Ed was standing next to the elevators, with his back to the corridor. He was standing too close to Anthony, appearing to listen while the other man talked. Jack's eyes zeroed in on one thing. Ed's hand, resting on Anthony's forearm, where it was clutching the briefcase to his chest. The cold stab got colder.
He realized he'd stopped walking, and forced himself to keep going to his office. His mind had stalled. He got to his sanctuary and closed the door behind him and it wasn't until he was sitting at his desk that he let himself think. He asked the big question immediately. Why was he feeling jealous? And of a man who'd just lost his life partner? He skirted pinpointing the answer, all the while knowing it was dangerously close to being identified.
He dug through the files on his desk, found the right one, and automatically dialled the ADA who needed the information. Their conversation was brief and to the point. That done, he had no more distractions. The answer appeared in his mind's eye against his will.
Anthony was everything Jack was not, and while he told himself repeatedly that he did not ever compare himself to anyone else, or feel anything but content with who he was -- he couldn't escape the undeniable facts. Anthony was vulnerable, and needy. He was very handsome. He was gay. And he was much closer to Ed in age. Jack felt queasy.
He continued to hash it all out, sitting at his desk. All of the reasons why his jealousy was completely and totally misplaced. All of the reasons why he was certain that Ed loved him. All of the reasons why he did not need to be doing this, right then, with an investigation going on that he had to be a part of. All of the reasons why he couldn't pull his lover into his office and ask him. Right then. Ask him to quell his insecurities, to reassure him that comparisons were irrelevant. Just exactly what he was loathe to do.
There was a light knock on his door, and as he looked up, his stomach clenched. Ed walked in, smiling in a way that almost smoothed his stomach out. Smiling in that way, the way he did when they were alone, the way he had when they'd said "good bye" that morning.
"Hey," Ed said, "we're about to put in our lunch order. What kind of sandwich do you want?"
"I'll pass," he answered, hearing his tone come out more tersely than he'd planned.
Ed was now standing at the side of his desk, his brows knitting. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. I've got some research to do, and I'm not hungry." He moved a few files from one pile on his desk to another, unable to keep eye contact. Even telling himself he was being ridiculous didn't seem to prevent his reactions. He opened his knee drawer and threw a pen in, shutting it with more force than necessary, angry at himself more than anything.
"I thought you were going to help us," Ed said evenly.
Jack looked up. Ed's hands were on his hips, and he was studying him. He looked back down at his desk.
"I got more information from Anthony...," Ed started to say.
"I'm sure he was very forthcoming," Jack spat out, talking over him.
"What the hell does that mean?" Ed's voice was starting to rise.
"Nothing." Jack risked another look up. "Nothing," he repeated, more harshly.
Ed's mouth was setting, and his eyes were beginning to burn. "Look, I don't know what you're thinking, but if it's what I think you're thinking, you're way off base here."
"I'm not thinking anything," Jack retorted, "other than the fact that I've got work to do."
Ed stared for a long moment, and said, "Fine," with force.
Jack stared back, then watched Ed turn and stride to the door. But he stopped just feet from it, put his hands on his hips again, and looked at the floor. After some seconds, he started to shake his head. Jack heard him mutter, "Uh uh."
Ed turned again and was around the T-table and at the side of Jack's desk in six quick strides. He leaned on the edge with both hands. "No, Jack. You're going to tell me what you want to eat, because I know you need to have food," he stabbed the desktop with one finger, "then you and I are going to find some place private where we can talk. Right now. I'm sure there must be some corner somewhere, that you know about, where we won't be seen." He stabbed the desk again. "Now."
Jack stood and tossed the file he'd picked up onto his desk. "Fine." He went to the opposite side from Ed and started for the door. Ed beat him there and blocked his exit.
"Your order?" His eyebrows raised, but his voice no longer had the edge of anger to it.
"Ham. Rye. Iced tea. Jennifer knows." Jack's tone was still sharp, and he didn't try to hide it.
"Thank you," Ed said, and opened the door, waving Jack through first.
As he stood at the elevator with his arms folded, he waited while Ed gave the receptionist the lunch requests. Ed smiled at the woman, charming her. She blatantly flirted with him, and Jack turned away as a surge of possessiveness threatened to overtake him. He no longer knew what he was doing, or feeling, or what he'd say to Ed when they were alone. The only thing he knew right then was that he was dangerously close to doing something stupid. Something he would regret for a very long time.
On the ride up to the top floor of the building, Ed didn't try to make small talk with Jack. He let the man stew, if that's what he wanted to do. Instead, he fantasized about pressing Jack against the wall of the elevator and kissing the man senseless. Or kissing some sense into him. He just barely suppressed the smile that was trying to break out. He knew what he wanted to say, and he knew how important it was that Jack hear him. But he also believed in action, and pouring his feelings out through a toe-curling kiss might work wonders.
They reached their destination, and Jack walked off without making eye contact, so Ed caught up to him and kept pace. The man opened the door to the stairwell and they went up two short flights, to the landing in front of the roof access. Jack sat on the top step, with his shoulder to the wall, leaving room for Ed to join him. He did.
"This is cozy," Ed said, smiling at his lover. "Do I want to know how many women you've been up here with?" He saw, with relief, Jack's face soften.
Jack turned to him. "Not many," he answered.
He reached out and took Jack's hand, lacing their fingers, bringing it to rest on Jack's knee. The other man moved that foot down one step, so their hands could sit on his thigh more comfortably. Jack's gaze was fixed on them.
Ed took a deep breath. "Right before we got here this morning, Lennie and I were talking and he asked me why I was with you. That wasn't exactly the question, but that's really what he wanted to know." He paused, trying to find the words that would break Jack's defenses down.
"Seems like a good question," Jack said quietly.
Ed's heart caught. "Not in the way you're thinking. He wanted to know what it was about you that had, as he put it, first women and now men falling all over you."
Jack snorted. "I'd hardly characterize it like that."
Ed smiled. "Yeah, well, you get his meaning. I didn't answer him, mostly because we were about to enter the building and it wouldn't have been exactly prudent for me to be declaring the reasons why I'm in love with Jack McCoy as we walked to the elevators." Jack glanced at him. "But. I spent some pleasant minutes coming up with a list. And realized that half of these things I've never said to you. And maybe that's why Anthony... bothered you."
Jack grinned ruefully. "That's a very nice way of saying that I had a jealous fit."
"Okay, you had a jealous fit."
"Yes, I did," Jack said with a deep sigh.
"So let me tell you my list." He brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Jack's.
Jack shook his head, his eyes sliding away. "That's not necessary."
"I disagree, Jack. But either way, I'm going to tell you..." Before Jack could argue with him, about how he didn't need any reassurance, or any explanation, Ed began to name the qualities he saw that he admired and adored. External and internal. Jack blushed when Ed talked about why he thought he was handsome, describing every feature that he loved to look at, or touch, or move his lips over. Ed felt the man next to him relax, incrementally further and further, as his list went on, and when he got to the part about how much the night before had meant to him, how safe he'd felt, Jack's eyes were locked with his. Ed punctuated his point by leaning in and kissing the soft skin of Jack's cheek with slow, traveling kisses. His heartbeat quickened in response to Jack's breathing becoming more, and more shallow. Jack moved his head in tandem with Ed's mouth, pressing his face to Ed's, turning, tilting, until lips found lips, and they kissed with sultry, hungry kisses. Sitting at the top of the stairs at Hogan Place, they were lost in the haze of the previous night, once again lying together on a comfortable mattress and cool sheets.
Ten minutes later, Jack was walking unhurriedly down flights of stairs with Ed, the silence between them peaceful. He was thinking about what his lover had said, and what they'd been through over the past couple of days. The intensity of the connection that he'd felt the night before, and how that might have brought out his jealousy. How far he'd fallen for this man. Just as he didn't believe in self-flagellation, he also didn't feel the need to consider forgiving himself for his lapse of security. Everything was fine between them, and that was the most important thing.
He smiled to himself. Ed had breached his defenses -- lovingly, tenderly, and forcefully. He'd taken control of the situation, and Jack could only love him more for it. If he'd thought about being in this kind of relationship a year ago, two years ago, five years ago, he would have laughed out loud. Or walked away. But now? There was a balance to it that he relished. Relaxed into. Needed.
Ed had talked, again, about the difference in their ages. Jack had only one response to the man's feelings, one that he was very clear about. They got to his floor, and while Ed picked up the lunch order that had been delivered, Jack went into his office. He wrote Ed a note, folded it, and met him in the hall.
"For later," he said to Ed as he gave it to him. They continued toward the conference room.
Ed shifted the box of food to one arm, raised his eyebrows, and grinned. "Later, later?" He put the note in his pocket. "Or just until I'm sitting down?"
He smiled back. "Whenever. Your choice. Now -- let's go see what we've missed."
"Nothing," Ed said softly, "as important as what we did."
Jack wanted to respond, but two co-workers came toward them. He locked eyes long enough with Ed to nod. They arrived at their destination, and after one more long look at each other, Jack opened the door.
On to Part Nine, "Foreseeable Risk"