The band was tight, and save for a few numbers that were sped up by adrenaline, as is wont to happen in live shows, the performance went off without a hitch. Even the song that they performed as an encore, a newer piece that they had not dedicated as much practice time to, came out well, the few glitches being things that only a practiced ear would catch. Like my dad. Had this been months ago, she would have been looking forward to dissecting it with him on the ride home. Now all she wanted to do was sit silently in the car, and sequester herself in her room for the rest of the night.

The audience stood and clapped at the end of their last number, and the seated band members stood so that they could take a bow in unison. As the applause died down, all non-quintet members started to file off the stage, each one taking their chair with them to clear the stage. Another microphone stand was produced mysteriously from somewhere just offstage, and Marcus stepped to it and adjusted it to the right height for his horn. A few boys aided Jay in wheeling the riser upon which the drum kit was set up closer to the front of the stage. Krista followed suit, unraveling her cord as she stayed near the drum kit.

“And now,� Mr. Brannigan said, addressing the audience, “we have a special treat for you. Please welcome Taryn Hoffa to the stage.� Taryn stepped out from the wing and made her way to the microphone amid applause from the audience (with scattered ‘whoops’ from some of the more vocal students in attendance). Krista could not help but admire the elegant way in which Taryn carried herself, every bit the jazz chanteuse for the evening.

“Thank you, Mr. Brannigan,� she said into the microphone, eliciting more hoots and shouts from the students.

The jazz teacher smiled and situated himself behind the old upright, which had been wheeled closer to the front of the stage as well. He turned and raised an eyebrow at his musicians, who nodded in readiness. He tapped his foot in a count off, and they swayed into the song.

Don’t look, don’t look, Krista chanted to herself, her eyes fixed firmly on her hands. She may as well have been telling the sun not to set. Try as she might, she could not stop her gaze from traveling away from her hands, across the floor, straight to her heart’s desire. All she could see was Taryn’s back, but it was enough. Her trademark sway was accentuated by the cut of the black dress, which clung to her slim body like a second skin. Krista swallowed in a futile effort to bring moisture to her suddenly dry throat. She’s so beautiful, she thought, and was seized with a deep feeling of regret that this was conceivably the last time that she would have the privilege of looking at her this way, sharing a stage with her. After tonight, she would just be another in the throng of admirers in the audience, watching her from afar. It didn’t seem fair. Either way you cut it- being near her or being far- Krista would be miserable for some time to come. She refocused her gaze on her hands, and concentrated on playing her last song with Taryn.

The last note faded into the dark auditorium, and there was a moment of silence before the audience exploded into exuberant applause, taking to their feet in their enthusiasm. Krista bowed with the rest of the quintet, shifting anxiously as she awaited the cue to exit the stage. As soon as Mr. Brannigan turned to walk away from the piano, she unplugged the cord from her bass and made a hasty retreat to the wing, instrument in hand. Get to the band room, throw this in your case, get out. Easy. Just gotta be quick about it. She tried to maneuver gracefully through the well-wishers from the full jazz band, who were waiting backstage to congratulate them. Her bass made it difficult to do so, and she wished she had just left it onstage and trusted that someone would return it for her. “Thanks, thanks a lot,� she said, trying not to stop and chat with anyone. She just needed to get---

“Krista! Kris!�

She pretended not to hear and quickened her pace. She escaped the auditorium and dipped into the crowd that of concert goers that was flooding into the hallway.

Seeing the other girl speed up, Taryn frowned in dismay. She’s running away from me, she thought, and was surprised at how that thought caused her to ache. She considered letting it go, but pressed her lips together in determination and increased her own steps. She dodged through the crowd, ignoring their congratulations and praise, until she was finally close enough to reach out an arm and grab Krista’s shoulder.

“Wait,� she said forcefully, pulling her to a stop and twisting her around.

“Please, let’s not do this now.� Krista looked around, her features tight with worry and…was that fear? God, was she afraid of her?

“Then when?� Taryn asked, paying no heed to the increasingly curious looks they were receiving.

Krista shrugged helplessly. Alright, that’s it. Taryn opened her mouth, not sure of what she was about to say. Her only certainty was that she was not about to let Krista go without getting everything out in the open.

“Sweetheart!�

“Oh come on,� Taryn groaned, her frustration at the bad timing of Krista’s parents disabling her ability to censor herself. She dropped her hand from Krista’s shoulder and plastered a smile on her face. No matter how much she needed to discuss things with Krista, she wouldn’t make matters worse for her with her parents.

“You were fantastic,� Mrs. Evans said, engulfing her daughter in a hug. Mr. Evans stood close behind her, beaming his pride.

“You were wonderful as well, Taryn. What a voice!� Mrs. Evans continued, looking up to address her.

“Absolutely radiant!� Mr. Evans supplied.

“Thank you.� Thanks a lot for your fantastic timing.

“And you. You never fail to astound me,� he continued, and handed Krista a bouquet of flowers.

“Thanks. Um…where’d you get that?� Taryn looked to where Krista was pointing, and saw that Mr. Evans was clutching the school paper in his hand. Krista’s tone confirmed her earlier suspicions, and her heart clenched in sympathy for her.

“Oh, they were handing these out with the program. It’s not The Times, but it should be fun to read.�

“How about we go out and celebrate? Ice cream sound good?� Mrs. Evans asked.

“Sounds great. You want to walk with me to the band room so I can pack up my bass?� Krista asked.

“Of course.� Mr. and Mrs. Evans turned and bade farewell to Taryn. Krista only gave her a weak smile, not even fully looking at her, before turning and leading her parents away. Standing in the hallway, surrounded as she was by so many people, Taryn still felt quite alone at that moment, and a little…confused. She was having so many new experiences in such a short amount of time. She was chasing after someone for the first time since she had started dating…and it was a girl at that. She shook her head in wonder. How had her life gotten so weird so suddenly?

She turned to walk back to the auditorium to find her own family, and almost ran right into her mother, who regarded her with a curious look.

“Is everything alright?�

She sighed. “Besides the fact that a week ago I was boy crazy, and tonight I find myself practically chasing the girl I like just trying to get her to talk to me? Everything’s peachy.�

“What? What happened?�

Taryn gestured at the paper in her mother’s hand. “Read the magazine insert in there. I think you’ll get it.�

“Okay,� she said uncertainly, looking at the paper as if it were a snake waiting to bite her.

She spotted Jay approaching over her mother’s shoulder, and made a quick decision. Something was going to get resolved tonight.

“Hey, a few of us are gonna go out and--- what’s the matter with you?� Jay asked as he drew within earshot.

“Actually, do you mind joining up with them later? I’ve got some stuff I kinda wanna talk to you about.� The bravado in her voice belied the nervousness Taryn felt. She had no idea how he was going to take the information she planned to share with him. She feared for the worse. She felt rather than saw her mother’s surprise, and refused to meet her gaze, in case she lost her nerve.

“Uh, okay,� he replied, his eyebrows lowered in suspicion. “I’ll tell the others.�

“Okay, do that and meet us at the car,� Cheryl said. Jay nodded and disappeared back into the crowd. Taryn walked ahead of her mother, eyes to the floor as she prepared herself for the evening ahead.

Krista lay restlessly in her bed. Her bedside clock blinked 11:39. Sleep had eluded her for the last hour. She would have been online relating the evening’s events to her friends- if she’d had access to the internet any more. Instead, she was forced to lay there, with nothing to do than ponder things on her own. Her thoughts were loud and unyielding, refusing to allow her any rest. Her parents had retired hours ago, and had thankfully been too tired upon returning home to give the school paper any further thought. Whereas they were sleeping blissfully, that paper, laying on the hall table where her father had deposited it, was one of many things occupying her thoughts that night. She didn’t think that her parents would have any inkling for whom the poem was written, but it would lead to questions regardless. Questions that she did not feel like fielding. ‘Is this about a real person? Are you thinking about someone? Are you hormonal?’ She was not looking forward to that.

And of course, there was the main concern. She was seriously considering faking sick again tomorrow. Since she was grounded anyway, she didn’t have to worry about Taryn seeking her out for a conversation outside of school. But during…she could certainly avoid her in between classes, but lunch period was open season. There was nowhere she could hide for those 20 minutes. Maybe the librarian needs some help during that period. Or, maybe I could help out in the main office. She ran the possibilities through her mind, attempting to formulate a plan to at least get her through the week. And after a week…

She was jarred from her contemplation by a small sound breaking the silence of her room. She stilled and listened carefully to see if it happened again. She had just about attributed it to her imagination when it came again, and she sat up. It seemed to be coming from her window. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she moved to her window, opened it, and peered out. Her heart sank at the sight below her. Taryn was standing in her backyard, looking up at her. She is really aching to let me have it.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, until Taryn finally placed her hands on her hips and said, “Are you gonna just stand there, or are you coming down?�

“Shhh,� Krista whispered frantically. “Why are you here?�

“I told you we needed to talk,� Taryn insisted, lowering her voice. “If you won’t come to me…I guess I have to come to you.�

Krista shook her head in disbelief. She had no idea that Taryn could be so vindictive. Fine. If she needed to tell her off so badly…I guess I might as well get it over with. At least this way, she reasoned, it’ll be done, and I won’t have to spend the week hiding. Much. “I’m coming down. Give me a second.�

Taryn clenched and unclenched her hands as she watched Krista disappear from the window. This was it. This was the final hurdle of the evening. She breathed deeply, a sudden surge in her pulse threatening to make her faint. She had never been so scared in her life. She had never put so much on the line all at once before either. But she had gotten through one major conversation already: telling Jay about her feelings for Krista.

He had surprised her by not flying off the handle, but instead asking careful questions, attempting to understand.

“So…you like like Krista?� he had asked, frowning.

“Yeah.�

“And you’ve like liked her from the beginning?�

“No. I mean…I think I did. But I didn’t know I did. You know?�

“Even when I liked her?�

“I think so,� she’d answered, her voice meek.

“And that’s why you didn’t want me to date her.� The hurt in his voice had made her cringe as he plainly stated the ugly truth.

“I guess so. But I didn’t know that then, Jay. Honestly.�

“And this…is about you?� he’d asked, holding the magazine up.

“I believe so.�

“So…you kissed her? When?�

“The night of the party. Right before you and Sergio showed up. After that guy…�

“I thought there was something weird going on,� he’d muttered to himself. “It all makes sense now. Yeah.� He’d nodded his head for a solid minute before finally looking at her and saying, “I need to…do something. Think.� And with that he had left the room.

Taryn had waited in her bedroom for what seemed like forever, knowing that she could do nothing else. When he had finally returned and stood in her doorway, she held her breath. His expression had been inscrutable, and he’d said only one thing.

“If you were my brother, I’d totally kick your ass, cause this whole thing sucks. Not that you like her, because whatever, I’m over that. But cause you totally cock-blocked me the whole time with ulterior motives. But, it’s a little different because you’re my sister for one, so I can’t hit you, and…I get that it probably wasn’t easy for you to deal with it anyway. Being gay and all. Or whatever. I mean, there’s just no blueprint for this. It’s weird. But you do owe me. You owe me big. I’m talking, personal-slave-for-a-month owe me. So just be prepared.�

She had only been able to nod her head in agreement, so strong was her shock. Not that being a personal slave was any easy task, especially given how sadistic her brother could be (some of the pranks he had pulled on her in the past popped to mind), but all things considered, she knew that she had gotten off easy.

The outcome of that conversation had bolstered her nerves, and she had decided that come hell or high water, she would have this conversation with Krista. Thus, she found herself in Krista’s backyard, throwing rocks at her window like some lovesick kid, and hoping that she was still awake at that late hour.

She saw the back door swing quietly inward, and her breath quickened to the point of hyperventilating as Krista emerged. This is it, Taryn. Don’t blow it. She waited for Krista to walk over to her, but the other girl stood on the stairs of her porch, looking at the ground. Okay. Taryn made her feet move until she stood at the bottom of the stairs. She gestured for Krista to sit, and waited for her to settle on the top stair before taking a seat herself. They sat for a moment, staring out into the yard, surrounded by the sounds of the suburban night.

Realizing that if they were going to talk, she needed to start, Taryn decided to jump into the fray. “I liked your poem.�

Silence. She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but silence wasn’t it. She turned her head to look up at Krista, and found her staring at her with an incredulous expression.

“What?� Krista choked out.

Emboldened, Taryn turned fully on the stair and placed her hand on Krista’s knee. She noted how Krista’s eyes widened as she followed the movement. “I said, I liked your poem. ‘If You Only Knew’. I liked it a lot.� She paused, uncertain of how to continue. “I like that I know now.�

Krista shook her head wordlessly. She was having difficulty processing the conversation. Did Taryn just say what she thought she said? Her skin was prickling, she felt cold and hot at the same time. She licked her dry lips.

Taryn observed the movement and felt something clench deep within her belly. She was heady with the sensations of the moment. “I…I like you a lot,� she stated softly. God, that was eloquent. I like you a lot. She berated herself and what she felt was a clumsy approach at expressing something so important.

“What? How? I mean, you’re not…� Krista questioned, her brow furrowed.

Okay, time to back up. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know that…I’ve been feeling these things, and I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what it was about. I’ve never been this…into anyone. And I didn’t get it until the night of the party. Then it all kinda…fell into place. I’ve never had a kiss…affect me like that.�

Krista wasn’t sure that she was hearing things correctly. Did Taryn just say that she had kissed her? Was she really telling her that she liked her? Liked liked her? A bubble of happiness was building, threatening to burst out through her mouth in the form of laughter, but she fought it down, waiting. It couldn’t be this easy. But it hasn’t been easy at all, she remembered. And she hoped.

“And I was scared,� Taryn continued, choosing her words carefully. “I was scared cause it was new, and I thought that I had lost your friendship and freaked you out. And then I read the poem…� Krista didn’t say a word. She just sat there gaping at her, and Taryn started to feel insecure. A thought occurred to her, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Unless…I’m wrong. And that wasn’t about me…�

“No, it was,� Krista hastened to assure her, and paused as the words left her. She had just admitted it, for the first time, put it out in the open. And instead of revulsion or disgust or anger, what she saw in Taryn’s eyes was relief. Unable to contain herself any longer, she permitted the smallest of smiles to grace her lips. “So…you like me?�

“Yes,� Taryn answered, nodding slowly. One little word summed up everything she had been struggling to articulate. One easy little word. “And you still…?�

“Very much so,� Krista said, and blushed at her directness. But Taryn was smiling now, and the hand that had been resting on her knee was now squeezing.

They sat staring at each other, wearing identical wide, goofy smiles, until Krista glanced at the ground and crinkled her nose. “What?� Taryn asked anxiously.

“I kinda…� Krista groaned. Don’t push it. Let it stay at this for now. But she couldn’t deny the insistent longing, one that had been forced down for so long and now, recognizing a changed situation, refused to be denied any longer. “I kinda want…�

Taryn’s heart started to beat faster. She had a good idea of what Krista was trying to suggest, and she was thankful and gratified for the girl’s bravery, because it was what she wanted to. She lifted herself up from her stair, her hand not leaving its moor on that knee, and moved to sit next to Krista, who lifted her head and watched her. They were finally face to face, on the same level, and Taryn’s other hand came up to pull one of Krista’s out of their locked position in her lap. Her thumb lightly caressed the back of Krista’s hand, and she shuddered slightly at the wave of sensation that that small contact elicited. I had no idea…

Realizing that if they were going to talk, she needed to start, Taryn decided to jump into the fray. “I liked your poem.�

Silence. She didn’t know what reaction she’d expected, but silence wasn’t it. She turned her head to look up at Krista, and found her staring at her with an incredulous expression.

“What?� Krista choked out.

Emboldened, Taryn turned fully on the stair and placed her hand on Krista’s knee. She noted how Krista’s eyes widened as she followed the movement. “I said, I liked your poem. ‘If You Only Knew’. I liked it a lot.� She paused, uncertain of how to continue. “I like that I know now.�

Krista shook her head wordlessly. She was having difficulty processing the conversation. Did Taryn just say what she thought she said? Her skin was prickling, she felt cold and hot at the same time. She licked her dry lips.

Taryn observed the movement and felt something clench deep within her belly. She was heady with the sensations of the moment. “I…I like you a lot,� she stated softly. God, that was eloquent. I like you a lot. She berated herself and what she felt was a clumsy approach at expressing something so important.

“What? How? I mean, you’re not…� Krista questioned, her brow furrowed.

Okay, time to back up. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know that…I’ve been feeling these things, and I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what it was about. I’ve never been this…into anyone. And I didn’t get it until the night of the party. Then it all kinda…fell into place. I’ve never had a kiss…affect me like that.�

Krista wasn’t sure that she was hearing things correctly. Did Taryn just say that she had kissed her? Was she really telling her that she liked her? Liked liked her? A bubble of happiness was building, threatening to burst out through her mouth in the form of laughter, but she fought it down, waiting. It couldn’t be this easy. But it hasn’t been easy at all, she remembered. And she hoped.

“And I was scared,� Taryn continued, choosing her words carefully. “I was scared cause it was new, and I thought that I had lost your friendship and freaked you out. And then I read the poem…� Krista didn’t say a word. She just sat there gaping at her, and Taryn started to feel insecure. A thought occurred to her, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “Unless…I’m wrong. And that wasn’t about me…�

“No, it was,� Krista hastened to assure her, and paused as the words left her. She had just admitted it, for the first time, put it out in the open. And instead of revulsion or disgust or anger, what she saw in Taryn’s eyes was relief. Unable to contain herself any longer, she permitted the smallest of smiles to grace her lips. “So…you like me?�

“Yes,� Taryn answered, nodding slowly. One little word summed up everything she had been struggling to articulate. One easy little word. “And you still…?�

“Very much so,� Krista said, and blushed at her directness. But Taryn was smiling now, and the hand that had been resting on her knee was now squeezing.

They sat staring at each other, wearing identical wide, goofy smiles, until Krista glanced at the ground and crinkled her nose. “What?� Taryn asked anxiously.

“I kinda…� Krista groaned. Don’t push it. Let it stay at this for now. But she couldn’t deny the insistent longing, one that had been forced down for so long and now, recognizing a changed situation, refused to be denied any longer. “I kinda want…�

Taryn’s heart started to beat faster. She had a good idea of what Krista was trying to suggest, and she was thankful and gratified for the girl’s bravery, because it was what she wanted to. She lifted herself up from her stair, her hand not leaving its moor on that knee, and moved to sit next to Krista, who lifted her head and watched her. They were finally face to face, on the same level, and Taryn’s other hand came up to pull one of Krista’s out of their locked position in her lap. Her thumb lightly caressed the back of Krista’s hand, and she shuddered slightly at the wave of sensation that that small contact elicited. I had no idea…

The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation and nervousness. It was as if she were doing this for the first time, and she attempted to dispel some of her nervousness with a joke. “Only if you promise that we’ll still be talking to each other afterwards,� she teased, her eyes flickering to Krista’s lips as she moved her face closer.

“I promise,� Krista whispered, and then further speech was impossible. Taryn was moving towards her, her face swimming out of focus as the gap between them disappeared. She closed her eyes, and although she was depriving one of her senses of the experience, the remaining ones were in full force. She could feel Taryn’s breath washing across her face as she neared; she could smell her shampoo, and something she couldn’t place but suspected was uniquely Taryn; she could hear her heart beating erratically; she could feel Taryn’s hands, one on her knee, gripping her tightly, the other holding her hand and continuing that maddening massaging motion; and finally, blessedly, she could taste.

Taryn nearly stopped breathing when her lips touched Krista’s, tentative and unsure at first. She wanted to record every moment of this, but her mind refused to produce any rational thought other than the word ‘Finally’. After that all was blank and she was nothing more than sensation. The softness of Krista’s lips as they pressed against her own rocked her to the core. She felt as if she would tip over at any moment, and she gripped her knee harder to make sure she kept her balance.

They held that position for some time, simply reveling in the relief of finally being this far, before a desire for more contact arose. Taryn didn’t want to push her; she suspected that Krista was limited in her experience. She started carefully, flicking her tongue over Krista’s bottom lip, gauging her reaction. When Krista’s free hand came up to wind through her hair and pull her closer, her mouth opening to allow her entrance, Taryn pulled her closer and sank into her welcoming embrace.

The two girls sat on the stairs exploring each other, basking in their newfound intimacy, relishing the release of pent up emotions and wants, heedless of the passage of time. They broke apart from time to time for air, or simply to gaze into one another’s eyes and grin at each other, but they did not leave the porch or break physical contact. It was some time before Taryn could bring herself to look at her watch and face the reality of life outside of Krista’s arms.

“It’s 1:30,� she said, her voice heavy with regret. “We’d better get to bed.� Krista quirked an eyebrow at her, and she blushed. “You know what I mean.� Did I just blush at a sex joke? What has she done to me? The thoughts were not unkind. She was rather enjoying it.

They stood together, hands clasped, neither eager to leave. Krista shuffled, and asked, “What’re we going to tomorrow? Or today I mean?�

“What do you mean?�

Krista nodded her head towards their linked hands, giving them a slight swing. “I mean, I don’t think…I’m not saying we should go in and…y’know. But…are we dating?�

Taryn giggled, and promptly clamped her free hand over her mouth. “Did that just come out of me?�

“Yeah,� Krista said, her own attempts at hiding a laugh failing.

Taryn shook her head. “You’re making a mess off me. But,� she said, pulling Krista towards her and giving her a peck on the lips, “yes. We’re dating. If you want to be. And we can talk about the other stuff tomorrow- later today- after we get some sleep.� They did have a lot to talk about and figure out still.

“When? I’m still grounded, remember?�

“Right. Forgot. You know, we’re out here…�

“Yeah.� Krista beamed at her, and Taryn’s own smile grew larger. Her face was going to hurt later.

“Well, we can make some alone time during lunch. And we can meet out here again tomorrow night…� Taryn trailed off hopefully.

Krista nodded. “Yeah. We can work that out.�

Taryn gazed into her eyes and gave her hand a squeeze. “We definitely can. It took too much time for this for us not too.�

“Agreed,� Krista said, rolling her eyes.

They met again for the final kiss of the night, mindful of needing to part company and keeping it relatively chaste to better facilitate that.

“Goodnight,� Krista whispered.

‘G’night.�

Taryn stood in the backyard and waited for Krista to disappear inside her house before slowly walking towards the gate to go to her own. Her steps were light, and she had to check the ground to see if she were actually leaving footprints. So this is what I’ve been missing, she mused. She couldn’t wait for Krista to be off punishment. They had a lot of lost time to make up for.

Krista watched the receding figure from the shadow of her bedroom, idly wondering if the smile on her face would be a permanent fixture. It showed no sign of leaving, and she had no illusions that she would be falling asleep any time soon. She climbed into her bed and slid her notebook out from underneath her pillow. It was time for the first happy song she’d written in a long time.


The End

Taaa-freakin'-daaaa! That's it. Now I get it published, and then turn it into a movie (I'm thinking Lifetime or Oxygen). Do you think Evan Rachel Wood will be too old to play Krista by the time that happens?

Of course, nothing is every truly done, and I've already sent the "completed" story to loads of friends for editing and comments and suggestions, which means loads of rewrites and such. I welcome all feedback concerning any aspect of this story: "Hey, pick up a grammar book", "Learn to use spellcheck", and "Are you kidding? You can't end it like that!" are all acceptable forms of feedback.

So, yeah, for anyone who's like, "Wait. We don't get to see Krista come out to her parents?" let me give you my explanation, and you tell me if it flies. Tell me if you think it's lame and should be done anyway. Tell me if you think the story is lacking because of its omission.

At its heart, this is a romance. Because they're teenagers, and parents tend to play a big role in most teenager's lives, I didn't feel like I could leave them out and make them all Saved By the Bell-like with the non-existent parental units. So I put parents in, and tried to include them in the story to some extent, but this is definitely a story about Taryn and Krista. So, in my mind, resolution with Krista's parents was not important.

The other things is, I didn't want to turn this into an afterschool special. Coming out, esp. to ones parents, is a huge deal for some people, and I feel that the way I've portrayed Krista's parents thus far leaves no room for an easy resolution a la Cheryl Hoffa. Kris coming out to her folks means a lot more angst, more drama- essentially, almost another story all together. Whatever reaction the Evans have will affect Taryn and Kris's relationship, and her ability to be in the band again, etc. etc. I just didn't think I needed to get into all that, because we're talking another 100 pages at least to flesh that out properly, and I wanted to cover romance and not the trials of coming out necessarily.

Title: Renegade

Summary: Trace Sheridan is a dirty cop in trouble with time running out. How can a dead woman walking get her life back?

She was powering herself forward, sure by now she was running on pure adrenalin alone. Sweat was running down her face, into her eyes and ears, trickling down her back, pain and strain reminding her of her limitations, muscles and ligaments screaming at her, "enough, already!" But it was not enough, it couldn't be. She had not caught up to him yet and, damn it, this time she was not going to let him get away. The burn in her legs had long passed and now it felt like she was sprinting on two stumps. Thankfully breathing was automatic and not something she had to think about doing because right now her only focus was to catch the man who shot her partner. But not for any reasons of nobility, as one might expect of her. Her quest was not to capture this man and bring him to justice, but to finish him off for self-preservation.
It had happened so fast. They hadn't been on duty that long when one of her most valuable confidential informants called her and asked for a meeting. Told her he had certain knowledge of a situation that would probably garner her another commendation. Told her that Vincent DeSienna, once a cohort, now the bane of her existence, had resurfaced and her CI knew where she could find him. The fact that she would act on this information was a no-brainer.
Responding to the requested area, Tracey Sheridan and her partner, Robert Montesano, pulled their vehicle into a secluded alley, the usual dark, obscure place to talk, and sat in their car, looking for Boney Jackson, her snitch. Checking her watch, Trace remarked to Bobby that it was unlike Jackson not to be right there. That's when they saw a shadow move in the foreground and mistakenly assumed that person was the one who should have been there to meet them.

Complacently, almost lazily, Bobby Montesano opened the driver's side door and was about to get out when a series of shots rang out, one striking the young detective of almost two years in the shoulder. Reacting quickly, Trace reached over and pulled him down level on the seat as two more bullets slammed into the backrest of the driver's side seat, where Montesano's head had been merely seconds earlier.
When the sound of gunfire stopped abruptly, Trace surmised whoever was shooting at them had emptied his clip and utilized the three seconds it took to slap another magazine in, to exit her side of the vehicle with her portable in one hand and her Glock in the other. Crouching by the wheel, hoping the engine block was between her and the shooter for some protection, Trace raised up quickly and unloaded her clip in rapid succession, drawing fire away from her wounded partner. Ducking down, she released the empty magazine, replacing it with a full one as more shots rang out, flying over her head, at least three striking the front grill of the sedan.
She was about to put out an emergency 'shots fired, officer down' call, when she heard Bobby's voice, strong but in definite pain. "Trace! You all right?"
"Still here," she yelled back. "You?" More gunfire. "Bobby! Hit the brights one time!" As he did, she laid prone on the pavement, peeking in the direction the vehicle's headlights were pointing. Recognizing the blinded face, a startled Trace hesitated while the ramifications of this development registered, which gave the shooter enough time to dive down behind his trademark BMW. "Son of a bitch," she whispered to herself, "It's DeSienna. Fuck." She yelled to Bobby to call it in and she moved her aim to the Beamer's tires, flattening two so that he could not escape by vehicle.

"Can do. Go get that bastard," he told her, as it was suddenly silent except for the sounds of footsteps running away. Jumping to her feet, Detective Tracey Sheridan took off after the fleeing figure as though she had been jettisoned from an idling spacecraft. If anyone could look into her normally alluring ice blue eyes right now, growing darker by the second, they would not see life in them, they would see death. Murder, to be more precise.
She had to have been chasing him for at least a mile. The only sound she could hear was her own breathing. The cadence of two sets of footsteps was no longer registering in her brain. On a casual day, Trace could do that length in eight minutes. With her intentionally putting on the speed, she knew she had covered twice that distance in the same amount of time. And yet she still had not caught up to him...but she was gaining.

2.
Damn, she was fast, he thought as he could hear her behind him, almost on top of him. He hadn't thought this out fully, hadn't planned on not killing her, or at least wounding her. What had gone wrong? Well, first, the bitch disabled his car, so he couldn't make a quick getaway and, second, a back-up plan would have been good, maybe have one of his men at a rendezvous point to pick him up in case things had not worked out as intended. Well...spilt milk and all that, he was just going to have to keep running and stay ahead of her.
He had impatiently waited for them, set up the ambush, his vendetta against her so thorough and raging. She had been his father's favorite dirty cop, taking money to make evidence disappear in any case involving his family. Then she suddenly stopped, defecting to an even more corrupt influence, and it appeared as though she was on a calling, trying to personally eliminate his family members one by one. She had been instrumental in the arrest of his father, a man who had been like a father to her, also - at least financially. She had been in on the apprehension of his younger brother, used her connection with him and knowledge of his deep anger issues to provoke him into taking a swing or two at her, resulting in jail time. Then she expertly entrapped and testified against his cousin, the family attorney, which helped get him disbarred.
He had laid low for a while, felt it was necessary for his own survival but her being such a traitor ate away at him, eroding what emotional security he might have had remaining. She left him with no choice, he needed to get her before she got him. He was the only one left to run the family empire, if he went down, the dynasty went with him. His other relatives were idiots, he couldn't rely on them to keep the family on top where they deserved to be. He had to get this bitch. He had to. This mission couldn't be left up to one of his flunkies, he had to do this himself, had to have that satisfaction.

It should have been so easy. He coerced one of her most faithful confidential informants into requesting a meeting. Then he killed him. Hey, the guy was useless anyway, working with the cops, betraying his streets, he didn't deserve to live. And, the fact that the dirtbag informed to her just made said dirtbag's demise even sweeter. Then all he had to do was wait for them to come into the alleyway expecting to meet with her CI and eliminate them both. He was really only after her. Capping her partner would have just been an added bonus.
His biggest mistake, he knew, was that he had underestimated her. Again. As much as he despised her, he couldn't deny the bitch knew her shit. He should have had someone else take her out, someone who was expendable, just in case. But no, he had to do this himself, had to be the one claim bragging rights on this one. He would be damned if she would get him, too. He had to be the one to stop her, to eliminate her as a problem, it was only right. He owed it to his family to kill her.
But, as usual, her reflexes had been too quick, she was just too smart. He had kept himself adequately hidden and protected. Hitting her first had been his intention but she hadn't been driving, her partner had. He'd started firing at them the second the car stopped and the doors opened, had unloaded two full clips thinking he couldn't miss. Yet he had.
Missed her. And now, the sound of her gaining on him pushed him harder, even though he knew he was almost out of steam. And, as he was out of bullets, he knew if she caught him, she'd kill him.
DeSienna had led her through a labyrinth of back alleys which crisscrossed over several deserted side streets. He knew this territory well as he had spent most of his childhood here. He was running out of places to divert off to until he could hear music and noise up ahead, emanating from the usually overcrowded craft street fair that littered the next eight blocks. Turning the corner, he was relieved to enter a sea of people occupying the street and he quickly, gleefully, got lost in the haphazard throng.

3.
She was so close, not even ten steps behind him. She watched him turn the corner and disappear from her sight. She came bounding around after him and before she could slow down, she smashed into a young couple, who were heading toward the alley to get a little more privately acquainted. The force of the collision sent the two lovebirds crashing to the ground. Barely losing her balance, Trace recovered by turning out of the fall and was about to continue her foot chase when a hand reached out and grabbed her ankle.
"Hey! Where the fuck do you think you're going?" the older teenage boy spit at her, his ego bruised more than his body.
She so did not have time for this, some little ham head trying to prove his machismo to some chick he probably didn't even know. Looking at the crowd of people lining the street for the next eight blocks, she knew she had lost DeSienna. And even if she hadn't, it would have been too dangerous to pursue him in this setting. Whirling, she stomped her free foot down on the young man's wrist, which prompted the automatic, immediate release of his grip on her ankle. Howling, he let fly a string of uncomplimentary expletives that almost made Trace blush. Almost.
"Shut up," Trace advised him, evenly, displaying her badge and pointing her gun at him...not so much for threat as for emphasis. She wasn't sure but she thought he might have pissed his pants. She scanned the people enjoying the evening's festivities and then realized she needed to catch her breath.
Bending at the waist, leaning the palms of her hands on her knees, she closed her eyes as perspiration continued to drip down her forehead, neck, chest and back. It was then and only then she realized how hard she had been pushing herself. Straightening up, she paced a bit, trying to regain a somewhat normal respiration.
"Shit! Son-of-a-bitch! Fuck!!" She sputtered, trying to collect her composure before she keyed the radio. A few deep breaths later, she reported in and cursed herself again for losing him. As she walked back toward the alley, she sneered at the man still on the ground, however, extending a hand toward the young woman, whose eyes were glued to her Glock, which had just been holstered. Accepting the offering, the girl rose to her feet easily with the help of the woman pulling her to a standing position. "You okay?"
"Yes...I'm...I'm fine, thanks," the girl responded, a little nonplussed by the last couple of minutes.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, sincerely.
"Hey - what about me?" The young man asked bitterly, still seated on the sidewalk.
She looked down at him, with a smirk, shaking her head. "What about you?"

4.
Detective Sheridan walked toward the ambulance to where her young partner was about to be wheeled on and moved to a hospital. The EMT attending to him had given him something for the pain and it was starting to take effect. "How are you, Bobby?" she asked, clasping his hand, tightly.
"Great now," he grinned, then grimaced. He indicated the paramedic. "Hector here gave me some good stuff, which I'm sure must be illegal," he stumbled over his words, "and I feel pretty darn good, comparatively." When Hector smiled down at him, Montesano looked at the nice looking Hispanic EMT and said, "If I weren't straight, I'd marry you."
Winking at Trace, Hector then patted Bobby's arm and said, "First, that would make you a bisexual bigamist and second, you just love me for my drugs."
"I never said I wasn't shallow," Montesano retorted.
"A couple minutes, Detective, then we need to get him out of here," Hector advised Trace and then walked to the front of the vehicle.
"So I guess it's not life threatening, huh?" she smiled at her usually dark complexioned, ruggedly handsome, twenty-eight-year-old partner who was now extremely ashen.
"No. Thanks to you."
"Aw, come on, Bobby, I was only doing my job."
"You saved my ass, Trace," Detective Robert Montesano conceded, graciously. "If you hadn't reacted so fast, we'd be the lead story on the eleven o'clock news."
"You probably are anyway." Looking up, she spotted their boss, Lieutenant Quintana, exiting a police cruiser. This was routine, so she wasn't surprised to see him. His presence was required at any incident that involved his officers getting shot or discharging their weapons for any reason.
Behind him was Lance Eaker from the Internal Affairs Division. That wasn't unusual, either, given the circumstances. She was grateful that it was Eaker, as he was one of the nicer IA officers, less obnoxious than most. Having run the gamut with nearly every officer from IAD, her being the focus of several investigations, which never amounted to anything, she liked Eaker the best. She also took full advantage of the obvious, hammering unrequited crush he had on her. Trace understood Internal Affairs had a job to do and they usually weren't as bad as they were portrayed in the movies or on television, but if you had something to hide, they could be repugnantly relentless. As well they should have been. It was dirty cops that ruined it for the rest of them. If they got caught, she mused to herself, a satisfied smile curling her lips.
"Sorry you didn't get him," Bobby told her, sincerely.

"Me, too, the bastard," she spit out. "If DeSienna didn't have such a hard on for me, none of this would have happened. This isn't over yet, partner. He still is going to have to explain what his car is doing here and why bullets registered to his gun are everywhere, including in you and our sedan." And, hopefully, not explain to them why he was really trying to kill her.
"And in Boney Jackson," Montesano supplied.
"What?" Shocked, Trace turned to see the coroner's office loading a bagged body into their van. "No..."
"Sorry, partner," Bobby consoled. Jackson was not a model citizen, he had an arrest record as long as his own arm, but he had redeemed himself by becoming Trace's informant and he had done a damned good job. She could feel her blood pressure rise just at the thought that DeSienna most likely killed him because of her, that he would have killed Bobby because of her. That he would have killed her without a second thought.
She would make sure Jackson got a funeral and a proper burial. It was the least she could do. DeSienna's blood money in her alias account should cover the expenses just fine. Or at least cover what she spent from her own pocket.
Hector reappeared and strapped Montesano securely to the gurney. "Okay, Detective, it's time to go."
As they lifted him slightly and rolled him backward, the legs of the stretcher collapsed, fitting nicely into the back of the ambulance.
Just as Quintana and Eaker stepped next to Trace and before the meat wagon's doors were closed, Bobby grinned at his partner and slurred, "And if you were straight, I'd marry you, too!"
Laughing, Trace looked over at the stunned faces of her boss and Eaker. Oops. Oh well. Although she had never been blatant about anything neither did she go to great lengths to keep her orientation a secret, either. They had to know. They couldn't be that dense. Or could they? Most of the men she knew or worked with were guided by their little head, rarely, if ever, thinking with their big head, so...her male colleagues probably couldn't get passed the fact the she was naturally beautiful and had a body a bishop would have given up his vows for.

Even though she knew she wasn't considered 'stereotypical' with her long black hair and mannerisms neither masculine nor feminine, she also didn't own a dress or skirt, never carried a purse, always wore men's jeans, was always 'one of the guys,' the fact that she never showed up at company functions with a date and - oh yeah, there was that 'scandal' two years ago when she picked up the gorgeous, recently divorced, female district attorney and left the holiday celebration with her. Even if none of the other signs clued them in, that incident should have been the kicker.
She specifically remembered that division Christmas party where she showed up late, had a few drinks, flirted outrageously with and, shortly thereafter, left with the city's DA. It had been the talk of the surrounding precinct men's bathrooms and workout rooms for months. Had they or hadn't they? Neither was talking which only seemed to stimulate the rumor mill more.
And, boy, had they! Okay, so it was a one-night stand, as the sex did last one night, all night, and at a few points, they were standing. But she was the envy of all her co-workers, even though no one had the gonads to say anything to her about it. They all wanted the intelligent, deliciously sensual DA, a fantasy that dominated locker room conversation and personal dirty jokes between partners - but it was Trace Sheridan who got her.
Even the dayshift watch commander, the most conservative of cops, couldn't help but be jealous - not that he approved of any form of homosexuality - but...just the thought of what the two women must have done in bed together, especially with them both being individually so hot and sexy, and that he would have preferred to be the one in bed with either...or both...or watching them...it was a scenario that stayed with him and the others a very long time. A lot of them thought that Trace and the DA were still secretly seeing each other but both women mutually agreed that it wasn't a good idea. Not that one time in the sack was nearly enough but even if Trace did do relationships - which she didn’t - an affair between them would have been much too distracting. For everyone.
She never really thought about the possibility that most of her male colleagues did not want to believe she was a lesbian because a majority of them wanted her for themselves. It wasn't that she was a great cop (because she wasn't, the only thing she was really good at was being deceitful - not that any of them knew anything about that part of her life), it was more that Trace Sheridan was a looker.
The tall detective was a striking woman by anyone's standards. She had expressive, intense, light crystal blue eyes, almost a shadowy aqua when angry or aroused, under inherently long, dark lashes, sculpted cheekbones and a strong set to her jaw which was somewhat reminiscent of a proud, noble tribal warrior from generations past. She had a spirituous, sensuous mouth which, when she smiled, parted to reveal an easy yet almost carnal grin. Her mahogany-streaked ebony hair always fell playfully tousled around her tanned, expressive face

She also had a body to die for stretched over a six-foot frame, and she knew this because she worked very hard at keeping it that way. It was not her initial intention to attract anyone with her figure as it was more to stay in shape just in case she had to rely on her own physical resources in situations like tonight. She ran five miles at least every other afternoon before her shift began, worked out for forty-five minutes three days a week at the gym and taught women's unarmed self-defense classes at the local YMCA once a week. That and random good genes blessed her with the body now coveted by nearly all her male co-workers and a few of her female ones.
But even if Trace did do relationships, she didn't want them or have time for them. It was difficult to commit to anything other than her profession and the times she had attempted something more than just a few dates had all ended badly. Going out with anyone 'on the job' proved either too competitive, too familiar or too much of a gamble at being found out as a cop on the take and dating a civilian was too difficult because they never really understood the dynamics of her profession and she got tired of explaining why she was always late, always being called away, always canceling plans.
It worked out better for her to rely on special 'friends' who didn't mind sharing a bed now and then or meet someone when the mood and circumstances were right to satisfy her healthy sexual appetite. She wasn't the most discriminate lesbian in town and she never had a problem finding accommodating women.
Shaking her head, the detective turned to them, resting her fist on her hip, waiting for either one of them to speak. From the looks on their faces, it might be a while.

5.
Opening a can of Canada Dry, thirty-year-old Detective Tracey Sheridan took a long drink, allowing the harsh carbonation to conquer the dryness all the way down her throat. She knew even the minute amount of ginger in the beverage would help settle her stomach somewhat. She wasn't trying to calm herself from being afraid, on the contrary, she had been angry. Frighteningly angry. Had she got her hands on Vincent DeSienna, the ball-less, gutless little prick, she might have not had any need for her trusty service weapon, so incensed had she been at his cowardly attack of her and her partner. She was well aware of the risks that came with being a 'double agent,' so to speak, and that what had happened earlier was always a possibility but it didn't make her any less furious. Getting even with her was one thing but taking out those around her, who had nothing to do with their personal fight, enraged her.
Looking across the table of the gray, dull but practical interview room at IA Officer Lance Eaker, Trace watched as he finished adding some information to his report. He glanced up and studied her intently. Of all the luck...his Greek Goddess was a dyke. He had heard the rumors but his feelings for her helped him deny them. Well - that didn't mean he still couldn't fantasize. She was staring at him but it was obvious her mind was a thousand miles elsewhere. Eaker snapped his fingers to bring her back to reality.
"I know it's been a wild night there, Sheridan, but try to pay attention so we can both get the hell out of here and go home." His words were playful but his eyes were humorless. Maybe it was perfect timing to find out that Detective Sheridan was gay and he didn't stand a chance with her because he knew she wasn't going to be around too much longer. She had already been on borrowed time with her systematic but barely legal elimination of the city's most notorious crime family. Anyone who pissed off a DeSienna was a moving target and it was only a matter of time until she was taken out. Who she was or what she did for a living or who she knew couldn't save her. Trace Sheridan was a dead woman walking.
"What else do you need, Lance? We've been over everything four times," she sighed, wearily.
"Just want to make sure we didn't miss anything - for your sake," he replied, reviewing his paperwork one last time. "You going home or up to the hospital?"
"I'd be too antsy at home," she answered him, not daring to mention she was concerned DeSienna might be waiting for her there with another sneak attack on his agenda. "I'm going to see Bobby. I hope someone called his wife."

6.
Tracey Sheridan didn't know she wanted to be in law enforcement until the month before she applied to the police academy. The decision was as much of a surprise to her as it was to everyone around her. Especially her mother, a former crack whore who'd spent more time in jail than out of it.
Zelda Sheridan had been cycled into the foster care system when she was three years old. Her biological parents had abandoned her and she journeyed through one abusive situation after another. At sixteen, she ran away, finding more love and compassion on the streets with strangers. She also learned she was sitting on a gold mine and used her natural 'assets' as a way to earn money. At eighteen, she looked thirty, acted fifty and found herself pregnant by an unknown john, who could have been one of many. For reasons even she didn't understand, she cleaned herself up and decided to have and keep the baby.
After Tracey was born, Zelda actually settled down, secured a legitimate job and became a doting mom to her little girl. Until her daughter turned six. By then, the twenty-four year old woman was bored with a routine nine-to-five workday and barely earning minimum wage. She regressed to her former profession getting much more caught up in it than before, turning her little girl into a feisty, independent but protective, latch key kid.
Trace had always been spontaneous - as a child, an adolescent, a teenager - and headstrong. When she made up her mind to do something, she did it and never worried about the consequences of her choices until it was too late. That got her into more trouble than it was worth, usually. But not with her mother...Zelda had her own issues to deal with...like where her next fix was coming from. This left Trace to basically bring up herself.
From an early age, she learned how to get around the law, how to dodge any authorities looking for her, how to get what she wanted by manipulation and, more than anything, how much money was the passport to everything in life. At least in her life.

She also knew soon after she hit puberty that she liked girls much better than boys. She witnessed too frequently how men treated her mother, who was normally a kind, sweet woman who just happened to look for love in all the wrong places and through a syringe. As Trace matured, she realized that her predilections were inborn and not environmental, even though her experiences with the opposite sex were rarely positive. The difference between her and her mother, though, was that men never scared or intimidated her.
Then fate intervened and she got hooked up with a man named Vittorio DeSienna. Not by choice but by a mistake of her mother's. Zelda and her 'man of the minute' found themselves dangerously beholden to the most notorious mob boss in three states for assaulting one of his 'lieutenants' who was walking back to his car after a payoff and stealing the money to support their drug habit. Trace came home from school one day and found her mother a bloody mess and the lifeless body of Zelda's boyfriend on the kitchen floor. It was a warning. Since the DeSienna's got most of the money back, they left Trace's mother alive. Barely. If Vittorio did not get the rest of the money, Zelda would pay for it with her life, which she had little of, since she'd already paid for it with her soul.
The defiant but enterprising eighteen-year-old went directly to DeSienna and offered to work off her mother's debt. DeSienna took one look at her and immediately wanted to employ her as a high-priced prostitute. When she told him just exactly where he could stick that offer, instead of being angry, he was amused by her courageous obstinence. He soon learned that Trace could get into places and accomplish things his sons and ‘family’ could not. And she found that she liked it - her mother was safe and the money was great. Then, two years after he took on Trace, Vittorio suggested she try to get into the police academy, wanting nothing more than to have his own personal cop on the payroll.
Liking the idea, she submitted her paperwork, aced her written exam, charmed her way through an oral board, easily passed her physical and smoked her psyche evaluation. The entire time she was in training, she had no contact with the DeSienna family or anyone affiliated with them. She wanted no previews of complicity or hint of impropriety in her behavior or associations, the promise of unlimited income so great if she could pull this off.
Graduating at the top of her class, Trace spent four years on patrol in Union City's downtown station, the busiest area in the county, the precinct Vittorio ran his operations in. Trace learned quickly what she could and couldn't do to be effective in her job and work for DeSienna on the side. Or, more correctly, be useful for DeSienna and work as a cop on the side.

The trouble started when Vittorio's son, Vincent, became obsessively jealous of the attention his father was lavishing on the statuesque, stunning woman and, also, after he realized that he could never make her his mistress. Without his father's knowledge, Vincent began to undercut everything Trace did, not only making her look incompetent but raising suspicion in Vittorio's eyes that the woman might be double-crossing him. Knowing the old man would always side with his number one son, regardless of how many times Vincent had disappointed him and she hadn't, Trace realized her 'career' with the infamous crime family was coming to an end.
Trace was not a stupid woman. Before she could be completely cut loose, she sold herself to the highest bidder, who happened to be the nemesis of Vittorio DeSienna and his nasty brood - the Union City Police Commissioner. She knew the commissioner was not the sterling character his publicity staff and PIO made him out to be as she had dealt with him a few times in the past in underhanded deals and agreements with the DeSienna family.
Her first assignment was a big one and one that would really prove her mettle with the highest police official in the county. She got promoted to Detective 2nd Grade following a single-handed take down of her former boss. Trace had previous knowledge of the day, time and place, the racketeering top mobster and two of his cronies were planning to personally torture a long time but traitorous colleague in an abandoned store in the old warehouse section of town.
That particular incident raised her to nearly legendary status which, for a brief time, almost became much more of a hindrance than a help. Keeping as low a profile as possible under the circumstances, she eventually had to be transferred out of the downtown precinct for two years while the dust cleared. In that two-year period, she took down another DeSienna, Vittorio's youngest son. Angelo "Andy" DeSienna was a reckless punk who stupidly (and drunkenly) confronted her outside a cop bar one night. She had been on her way in after her shift when it happened. While in jail, awaiting his trial, hot head Andy killed another resident who he claimed made sexual advances, which earned him twenty-five years in an out-of-state prison.
After that, Trace requested to go back to the downtown station and was paired off with a rookie detective named Montesano. Their first week out, she subtly arranged for them to be in the right place at the right time to witness a bribe being taken by Evan Lenoci, the DeSienna family attorney and cousin of Vincent. Testimony given by Trace (but not her partner, who wasn't completely sure of what he saw) resulted in Lenoci being disbarred. Vittorio's oldest boy then stepped up his gunning for her before she could remove him from his rightly inherited throne in the DeSienna kingdom.

7.
Vincent DeSienna had been arrested the next day for the murder of one Reginald "Boney" Jackson and the attempted murder of Detectives Robert Montesano and Tracey Sheridan. Those were the major charges. He was being held in the county lock up with more charges pending. There was so much solid evidence against him even his crooked, high-priced attorneys couldn't get him out of this one. She had even gone to visit him, just to rub his nose in it and to insure he would keep his mouth shut about her, very unprofessional she knew but it was too good an opportunity to pass up, regardless of the ass chewing she got from her boss.
If looks could indeed kill, Trace would have been a victim of multiple fatal wounds, courtesy of one Vittorio Vincent DeSienna Jr.'s steely gray homicidal orbs. It was a shame he was such a vindictive, loathsome person because, despite that, he wasn't a bad looking man, a trait Trace was sure, got him places his muscle and influence ordinarily wouldn't, even though it got him nowhere with her.
But this had been a deadly game of one-upmanship between the two of them for too long and she had finally won, she had destroyed the mighty DeSienna snake pit. Sure, other distant relatives would slither in to take Vincent's place as the head of the 'empire,' but she had been the driving force behind the demise of the truly powerful family members. It was a good feeling. It was a better feeling that her reputation would be fiercely defended by the police commissioner, regardless of what he had to do to keep their little secret.
The first thing she did, after personally informing Bobby, who was still in the hospital recovering from shoulder surgery, was phone her dear friend, Mark Teranovich, her very first patrol partner who had quit the force after his leg had been shattered during a gun battle with a few of the DeSienna entourage. Mark had barely been out of the academy four months when the attack occurred. Even though he was getting full disability and compensation for his line duty injuries, he was still sour at the abrupt end to his law enforcement career at the hands of the infamous family. This incident occurred on a day Trace wasn't at work and even though Vittorio always denied it was intentional, she wondered if it was a warning to her to be loyal. Mark and Trace had remained fast friends, though, and she tried to take a day out of every two weeks or so and spend it with him.
Since then, Mark had become somewhat of a hermit, buying a small house in the mountains and wallowing in his hobby of inventing. He had made a fortune on a simple, silly little thing constructed from foam rubber, cloth and velcro, used to wrap around the hard plastic handles of a laundry basket. They were distributed in supermarkets, drug stores and discount stores, places that sold out of the product the very first week it went on the shelf. The income from that and his police pension allowed him to live very comfortably and lavishly indulge in more complex, technically innovative creations. He missed being a cop but he found his niche in inventing, in fact, the more eccentric, the better.
Following that phone call, she had gone out to celebrate with her best friend, Sandy Cline, but Trace had been so exhausted from the recent activities, that she really could not enjoy the evening. Returning home earlier than either would have really liked, Sandy and Trace agreed to go out at the end of the week and really make a night of it.
The next day she arranged for Boney Jackson's services. That took a good chunk out of her legitimate savings but it was something she knew she had to do. Paying for the funeral out of her illegal savings would have been easier but unwise, as she was sure an investigation would be launched into where she got that much money. Regardless if the commissioner squashed any inquiry, the suspicion would remain. She would file a requisition to be reimbursed by the city, knowing it probably wouldn't happen and, even if it did, she more than likely wouldn't see the money until one of her retirement checks.
A majority of the rest of the week had been spent on paperwork, documenting the DeSienna bust, making sure all the 'T's were crossed and 'I's were dotted so that when this case went to court there would be no mistakes, no loopholes, no tricks the defense attorney could pull out of his ass to weaken the state's case against good old Vinny. At least through no fault of the detective's, that was.