mccoylover

Hard to stay blue...

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 03:40:51 GMT

with so many well wishes! Thanks you guys! You're the best!

Time to Whine

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 04:08:51 GMT

Man. I've neglected this journal for so long I bet most of you guys thougth Mccoylover fell off the planet. This last year its just seemed harder and harder to get my act together and manage my time well.
It's also seemed harder and harder to keep in touch with the people closest to me.
Lots of my best buddies have moved in the last year (mostly due to frustration with trying to teach in a district where money, support, and any sign of s desire to learn have seemed to dry up as fast a drop of water in the desert). To top it off the rift that developed after my parents died between my only sibling and myself just seems to get wider everytime I try to bridge it.
I bummed, depressed, and just plain discouraged.
Oh, and I turn fifty on Friday.

What Age Do You Act?

Thu, 16 Apr 2009 01:18:15 GMT

You Act Like You Are 34 Years Old

You are a thirty-something at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!
You're responsible, wise, and have enough experience to understand a lot of the world.

You're at the point in your life where you understand yourself pretty well.
You are figuring out what you want... and how to get it!

What Age Do You Act?

What's Your Personality Type?

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 03:31:39 GMT

What celebrity do you think looks like you? What celebrity do other people say you look like?

View 503 Answers

stealing this from alkow

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 01:56:05 GMT

What's Your International Spy Name?

Your International Spy Name is Solitaire Swan

Your Code Name: The Dancer

You Reside in: Shanghai

Why You're a Good Spy: You're a good liar

Writer's Block: Confidential

Sun, 26 Oct 2008 23:12:55 GMT

Prying eyes are everywhere, from pesky younger siblings to the Patriot Act. What steps do you take to protect your privacy, on or offline?

View 432 Answers

I do not write anything on the net that I consider 'dangerous' to my well being and persona safety (that includes ill thought out opinions I may have when something bad happens regarding one of my 'hot button issues, giving personal information out, that kind of thing).

Writer's Block: Volunteering

Sun, 26 Oct 2008 01:11:16 GMT

When it comes to making a difference, some people donate money and others volunteer their time. What cause gets your time or money?

View 449 Answers

Planned Parenthood

Mothership Comes Back 11/5!

Sat, 25 Oct 2008 16:43:44 GMT

"Law & Order," the longest-running crime series and the second-longest-running drama series in the history of television, enters its 19th season with returning characters Detective Cyrus Lupo (Jeremy Sisto) and partner, Detective Kevin Bernard (Anthony Anderson), who investigate crimes and apprehend suspects under the supervision of their precinct lieutenant, Anita Van Buren (S. Epatha Merkerson). Chief Assistant District Attorney Michael Cutter (Linus Roache) and the Executive Assistant District Attorney Connie Rubirosa (Alana De La Garza) are back manuvering within a complicated justice system to prosecute the accused under the guidance of District Attorney Jack McCoy (Sam Waterston).

The show is a Wolf Films production in association with Universal Media Studios. Dick Wolf is creator and executive producer; Rene Balcer, Fred Berner and Peter Jankowski are the executive producers.

Airing in the Wednesday 10-11 p.m. (ET) hour last season, "Law & Order" averaged a 3.3 rating, 8 share in adults 18-49 and 10.8 million viewers overall, a 22 percent increase in 18-49 and a 20 percent jump in total viewers versus its results for the prior season, when it ran on Friday nights.

Silent, but not gone!

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 03:11:01 GMT

When I started posting on LJ you guys were just amazing... as you still are! I was very touched when each one of you 'friended' me. I thought 'wow, how cool such talented and interesting people would take the time to do that'.

I still feel that way. I feel compelled to let you all know that because I know I have been doing more lurking that posting for a while and I don't want anyone to take that personally.

I have been a bad friend and I feel really bad about it!

Between work and trying to find time to write and oh yeah, actually have a personal life that is not on the net, I have bee nawaful about responding to posts for a while. I know everybody has stuff and honestly I don't know how so many of you stay on top of everything in your lives.

These days I feel like I'm trending water.

Anyway, I just wanted to take a second to explain myself and let know all know I will try to do better with keeping up with everyone.

You all inspire me so much with your writing and well as how you deal with whatever personal situation you care to share here. I just wanted to let each of you know that!

Writer's Block: Your First Record

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 03:02:02 GMT

What was the first music album you ever bought or owned? Do you still listen to it or have you moved on?

Submitted By mirandagaara

View 500 Answers

This is really gonna age me, but my first album was Bobby Sherman's first album and yes I have moved on.

Writer's Block: Becoming a TV Character

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 16:36:20 GMT

What is the one thing you're most neurotic about?

View 500 Answers

The first character that popped into my head when I read this, was Judge Elizabeth Donnelly.

Why? The woman IS presence.

Not only is she stunning and not just in the physical sense lol, she's sharp minded as well as sharp witted and if you really pay attention, you can see she has a tremendous amount of compassion in addtion to the ethics that have led her to make some of her more unpopular decisions.

Plus, with my backstory, she landed Jack McCoy, lol.

A Great L and O music video

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 01:34:39 GMT

If you haven't seen this it is a real treat! Just about everyone from all 18 seasons is included.

And Clarebell....Ben looks really hot in it!
http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=VS9oNBJEtNU

Writer's Block: Last Twenty Bucks

Wed, 20 Feb 2008 03:21:58 GMT

List three things you'd buy with your last $20. One practical, one frivolous and one of your choosing.

View 500 Answers

Gotta go with a bit of gas for the car, an iced white raspberry mocha, and the lastest copy of Ms. (God I haven't brought one of those in ages...guess what I'm buying after work Wednesday).

Final Part of : Alex, We Hardly Knew Ye

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 23:39:58 GMT

“Liz,” Bensen called out tentatively.

Bensen had known the usually unflappable bureau chief wasn’t one to appreciate being fussed over, but the detective had feared the worst when the other woman and suddenly bolted for the bathroom.

“Liz, are you all right?”

After a few more moments of silence, Bensen was about to risk Donnelly’s wrath and open the stall door, when she heard nearly inaudible sob.

When Bensen peered through the door, she found Donnelly sitting on the lid of the toilet, what remained of her eye make up, streaming down her cheeks.

Donnelly looked up at the detective, too distraught even attempt to cover.

Bensen put her arms around her, as tears came to her eyes, as well. The two women wordlessly held each other. Donnelly crying for the loss of Alex Cabot. Bensen crying tears of relief and guilt until a tentative tap on the bathroom door jarred them back into reality.

“Liv? Liz, everything okay in there?”

The two women jumped, looking at each other, startled. Bensen found her voice first, as Donnelly began to wipe her tear stained face.

“Everything’s fine, captain.”

“Our table is ready. Unless you two -”

“No, we’ll join you in a minute,” Donnelly added. “You and Jack go on ahead. We’ll be right out.”

“Better?”

Donnelly nodded as she joined Bensen in front of the mirror.

“If Alex could see me now, she’d be mortified,” Donnelly said as she splashed water on her face. “I had her convinced I didn’t even have tear ducts.”

Bensen chuckled as she offered Donnelly her make up bag.

“Alex knew you had a heart,” Bensen said knowingly. “especially after the Brice case.”

“Thanks,” Donnelly said grimacing as she handed the bag back to Bensen. “That case was a fluke. Momentary lapse. Besides, if I’d listened to Alex, maybe Jeremy Brice would have-”

“Come on Liz. Could have, would have, should have.. .you know we can’t do what we do and second guess ourselves. We’d never convict anybody. Then where would the victims be?”

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“…how could he expect anything less,” McCoy was asking Cragen when the two women joined them in the dining room. “If you feel compelled to punch out a public official, it’s best to do it away from the TV camera’s.”

Cragen nodded reluctantly.

“Yeah, can’t argue with that counselor,” Cragen admitted. “At least it didn’t take the whole decade for Mikey to come in from the cold.”

“How is the major case squad agreeing with Detective Logan?”

Before Cragen could reply Olivia Bensen set her purse down on the table. The two men rose, McCoy reaching over to pull out the chair beside him for her. Bensen smiled up at him appreciatively as she sat.

“How’s she doing,” Cragen asked.

“She’s holding her own,” Bensen replied. “She asked me to thank you both for your concern and to tell the captain she’d see him when she comes down to the precinct to introduce the our ADA.”

Cragen set his napkin on the table, both men momentarily startled .

“Liv are you sure it’s a good idea for Liz to be walking the streets. I mean, she’s had, ”Cragen began.

“Don’t worry. I put her in a cab. She should make it home with out any problem.”

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It was just past midnight when the cab pulled in front of Liz Donnelly’s two story colonial home. After handing the cabby a twenty, Donnelly strode swiftly towards her front door, slowing suddenly as she noticed the figure, rising from the steps of her front porch. A look of confused caution changed to one of recognition as she stopped in front of the tall figure in the trench coat.

“How long have you been sitting there, Don?”

Now it was Cragen’s turn to look embarrassed. After Bensen had told him of Donnelly’s departure, Cragen had excused him self to make sure the less than sober EADA had indeed made it safely home. Cragen’s reason for leaving had been two fold: He didn’t relish being a third wheel in McCoy and Bensen’s dinner plans. He was well aware of McCoy’s reputation with women, as well as the fact a evening with the eligible bachelor might be a much need distraction for his detective after the events of the day, as well as after pulling heavier than usual overtime with her very married partner.

Cragen also felt compelled to see for himself that Donnelly really was in shape to be left on her own.

He had planned on just a quick stop by her place - remembering the way from the time she had been the DA on call when Cabot had been on vacation. What he hadn’t planned on a two and a half hour wait for Donnelly to show up.

Cragen considered his answer before replying. Knowing Donnelly would probably have occasion to talk to Bensen about the evening in the near future, Cragen kept the half truth vague.

“Not long. Didn’t want to intrude on Olivia and her dinner date, so I grabbed a quick bite down the street. Decided to walk off dinner…”

Donnelly leaned back on the porch railing and studied the captain with amused skepticism.

“You walked from Midtown to Chelsea? That‘s at least a sixty minute walk.”

Cragen pursed his lips together, meeting her gaze.

“At my age walking is the safest way to keep fit for the NYPD physical. Especially with the amount of time I spend behind a desk.”

Donnelly snickered as she walked passed him, key in hand.

“That’s your story?”

Cragen nodded smiling innocently.

“And I’m sticking to it.”

Shaking her head, Donnelly flipped the light switch up as Cragen followed her into the house. After going through the usual rituals - coats placed on the rack by the door, preparing a pot of coffee, joining Cragen in the living room after flipping on the gas fireplace - Donnelly looked at him inquiringly.

“Not going to ask?”

Cragen looked thoughtfully into the mug of coffee. Although he was curious, Cragen could see the judge seemed to be a far cry from the enebreated state she had been in, a few hours before. Cragen looked around the tastefully furnished room, then back at his hostess.

“And have you accuse me of confusing your living room with an interrogation cell? Come on counselor, you know I’m smarter than that.”

Donnelly leaned back on the sofa, the sound of her laughter, surprising Cragen. The captain pondered the musical sound realizing, while he the sound of the prosecutor’s chuckle was as framiliar as his own, this was the first time he had heard Liz Donnelly truly laugh. It was a sound he found himself hoping to hear more often.

“Besides,”he continued. “even if I wasn’t a police officier, it’s easy to see that wherever you went, seems to have had a positive effect on you. They say confesions good for the soul, so maybe…”

Donnelly had worked with Cragen long enough to be only mildly surprised at how close to home his guess had been.

“Close but no cigar, captain. After Olivia went back inside, I sent the cabby away and took a walk to clear my head.”

Cragen nodded, his fears confirmed. He resisted the urge to point out the dangers of a intoxicated woman walking around Manhattan alone at night, as Donnelly continued to speak.

“Something Olivia said got me thinking about some of the victims Alex and I dealt with. Eventually I hailed another cab and ended up back at Hogan Place.”

Cragen nodded in understanding. Her attachement to her office was a kin to his own. Cragen knew there had been many a time when he had, not only returned to the office in times of personal stress, but rolled out the roll away bed he kept in the corner of his office and stayed the night.

Remembering the 20 degree weather outside, Cragen silently gave thanks Donnelly had chosen to return home before the frost bite had set in on Cragen.

Donnelly paused to take a sip of her coffee. As she thought about the amount of walking she had done, she automatically slipped off her pumps.

“Olivia does have a way of making a person stop and think,”Cragen commented. “That’s what makes her so good with our victims. So you‘re back in your office?”

“Do you remember the Brice case?”

Cragen nodded, recalling the shy awkward boy who had been manipulated by a younger, more deadly school mate into covering up the murder of a young woman. The case had been a particularly difficult. It had also been vexing for Cabot and Donnelly at trial.

At first placing them at odds over which defendant was indeed the mastermind. Once Donnelly had discovered, she herself had been manipulated by Brice’s co - defendant, she had bent the rules and turned the tables on the other boy. Causing the boy in incriminate himself on the stand, giving her grounds to recommend letiancy during the sentencing of the Brice boy.

“Well, to make a long story short, I knew what a difference Alex had made when she dug deep enough to figure out who the real mastermind was in that case. I pulled the file and on impulse tried the mother’s number. Amazingly, she still has the same phone number.

“Mrs. Brice said Jeremy has come along in the time he’s been in the juvenile facility. Much more self confidence, much more his own person.,” Donnelly paused, shaking her head in amazement. “Mrs. Brice said her son’s going to prison had been a turning point in his life. That it forced him to confront his own insecurities and take responsibility for himself. Don, she thanked me for being so tough on him on the stand.”

Cragen laughed at the look of bewilderment on her face, causing her to laugh as well.

“I figured the woman thought I was evil in carnate after I made her kid cry on the stand. I called her because I thought I she should know how Alex had fought for him…and she tells me how grateful she that I -”

“It’s been one hell of a night for you, hasn’t it counsleor,”Cragen stretching a arm across the back of the sofa. “Hard to keep viewing yourself as incompetent when you have a perp’s mother thinking you walk on water.”

“Maybe I was being a litlle self indulgent when I said that. I’m an adequate attorney-”

Cragen sputtered, leaning closer as he gave her a ‘are you nuts’ look.

“Fine,”she said smugly. “I’m a better prosecutor than Jack McCoy on his best day.”

Cragen roared with laughter, eventually leaning back as fatigue from what was becoming a 18 hour day, began to catch up with him.

“Never any middle ground with you, is there Liz?”

“No room for grey in the black and white world we live in, is there Don,”she countered smugly with a wicked smile, as she inadvertently leaned back into the arm resting on the sofa back.

Cragen smiled back as he looked into the dark eyes that seemed seemed to dance with amusement. Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, Cragen implusively pulled her to him. Not feeling any resistance he drew her close, as he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Cragen wasn’t sure what startled him more. The fact he found himself initiating a kiss that was rapidly growing passionate with a woman he’d thought of for years as a friend and colleague, or the fact that the woman seemed not only to anticipate it, but seemed to be enjoying it every bit as much as he was.

When Donnelly opened her eyes, Cragen was staring down at her with a look of wonder on his weary face. She reached up to caress the back of his balding head waiting for him to say what she sensed they were both thinking.

“Wow,”the captain said at last.

Cragen found himself wondering how they had managed to avoid this situation for so long, as he ran a finger along the lips that still tingled from their kiss.

Donnelly chuckled at Cragen’s awkwardness. The captain’s manner was something that endeared him to those around him, Donnelly included. What Don Cragen lacked in polish he made up in honesty. Simple, straight forward honesty, that was balanced with a quiet wit, that made Cragen a breath of fresh air when compared to other men.

“Care to elaborate on that, captain?”

“I’m not sure what to say, counselor,” Cragen lied. He knew exactly what he wanted to say...and do. He just wasn’t sure how wise either action would be.

Cragen knew the kind of man Liz Donnelly had been attracted to in the past. The last one Cabot had mentioned her boss seeing was a judge from the state supreme court, her ex husband was another high powered prosecutor…

“All right, then I’ll say it,”Donnelly said candidly. “Wow - this could mushroom into a real freckin’ mess.”

Cragen chuckled this time, at a impersonation of himself that bested even Stabler's rendition.

“Now I know how you know exactly what to say to break a suspect, Liz. You can read minds,”Cragen teased.

Donnelly pressed a finger to his lips.

“You’re on to me, Don. Just don’t tell Casey Novak that.”

Cragen searched his mind, looking puzzled.

“Who?”

“The your new ADA. Can’t have the new kid knowing my reputation is based on smoke and mirrors…and mind reading.”

“I’ll keep your super powers to myself,” Cragen said with a sigh, as he stood. “I should probably head out.”

Donnelly looked up at him, surprised at the pang of disappointment she felt.

“Maybe you better call a cab, unless you plan on another physical fitness jaunt. It’s after midnight. You won’t be able to hail a cab until you get to Broadway.”

Cragen nodded looking around for the phone.

“Telephone’s in the study,”she said as she stood. “I’ll show you the way.”

Knowing she was the prosecutor on call that night, she wasn’t surprised when the phone began to ring. She opened the double doors, leading to the room lined with bookcases.

“Hello.”

Cragen looked studied the pictures a top one of the shelves, as Donnelly continued the phone call. The photo’s were mostly of Donnelly’s daughter. The pictures showed the increasing resemblance the young woman had to her mother, as the photo’s became more recent.

Cragen’s glance shifted to the assortment of magazines piled up at the end of the bookcase. He reached down and flipped through part of the pile. Smiling at the odd assortment of quilting, cooking, and fashion publications mixed in with the law journals and copies of Ms. A single copy of Motorcycle Trends, dated January of 1982, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Hearing her tone move from placid to tense, Cragen focused back on her end of the conversation.

“…I’m fine…I know, I went back to the office first… Actually, I do mind… It’s late and I’m not alone… Because it’s none of your business … Don’t you have a detective - or some assistant - to harass at this hour,”she said flushing slightly as Cragen started to smile. “… I know, and I honestly appreciate that concern... I’ll see you in the morning….Goodnight.”

“Something’s never change, do they Liz? Even after the divorce, he stills cares.”

“You know he's always had a sense of duty, much like yourself,”she said quietly.

Cragen did a double take, stunned by the comparison of himself to Jack McCoy.

“Liz, I came here because I was worried about you. If you think that I kissed you out of some faternal sense of duty, either you’re nuts or I’ve completely lost my touch.”

Donnelly shrugged her shoulders skeptically as she leaned back on the desk meeting his stare.

“Until I have more evidence to the contray, I’m going to assert that my sanity is in tact.”

Cragen eyes widened.

“You know how office romances can go - this really could turn into a frecking mess, Liz. Are you saying you’re willing to risk it?”

Donnelly looked down at the floor as she shiffled her bare feet.

“Are you saying you wouldn't be interested, if I was,”she asked coyly.

Cragen rolled his eyes in dismay as he lifted her chin.

“Geez, Liz if you think that, you really are nuts.”

With that, he found her lips once more, leaving no doubt in her mind of his answer.

Part 2 of: Alex We Hardly Knew Ye

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 23:10:12 GMT

Donnelly nodded at the bartender as he set down a fresh martini. After methodically swirling the thin red stick enough to saturate the large green olive with alcohol, she placed it in her mouth. After pulling the olive into her mouth, she set the stick beside its three twins.

The funeral had gone much as she had expected it to. The usual flowers from the usual branches of city and state government arrived. The usual things were said about justice, bravery, and honor by the usual people. The family expressed the usual amount of gratitude - for the kindness and patience expressed by the usual people and disbelief - at being in a situation that required the kindness and patience of those same people.

God, how she hated to be one of the ‘usual’ people.

When her turn had come to speak, Donnelly felt as if she were having an out of body experience. As she talked about the skill and dedication Alexandra Cabot had in her work with the Special Victims Unit and the countless lives she’d touched, Donnelly’s mind flashed back to the many times the pair had disagreed and how stupid and pointless those disagreements seemed now.

“…one month unpaid suspension and you can consider that a gift,” Donnelly had told her without looking up from her calendar.” so you can save your arguments.”
“I have no argument,” Cabot had said, her tone betraying her relief.

Cabot had known she had done wrong when she manipulated the Cavanaugh boys mother into testifying against his abuser by indirectly threatening her with legal action if she didn’t comply. Donnelly had known her motives, had seen it coming before Cabot herself had. She knew it was a lesson Cabot would have to learn the hard way.

Donnelly remembered how smugly she’d called Cabot on her motives for setting civil liberties back by centuries.

“…making Linda Cavanaugh choose between her right to privacy and putting her sons molester in prison, setting civil liberties back two hundred years.”
“I take full responsibility for my actions,” was Cabot’s unapologetic response.
“Of course you do,” Donnelly had countered with quiet outrage, refusing to let her young subordinate take the easy way out.

Seeing too many shades of another ADA she’d working with years before. Shades of arrogance, an indifference to the boundaries the law set. She knew those shades would eventually lead to a belief that passionate self righteousness was an excuse to believe the ends justified the means.

“You did it for the greater good, the safety of society - bull - you did it for yourself.”

Donnelly could still see the look of realization on Cabot’s face after the deeper meaning of her words sunk in. The disillusionment, the guilt, the regret…

“Since when did you trade in scotch for vodka?”

“Since I stopped living with a man that kept Dewar’s in his desk drawer,” she replied dryly as she removed her suit jacket and carefully hung on the back of her chair. “Someone needs to tell the bartender to turn the heat down.”

Cragen noted the pile of swizzle sticks as he sat down beside her.

“I don’t think that would help. Perrier on the rocks,” he said to the bartender, handing him the sticks. “a liquid dinner isn’t going to bring her back, Liz.”

“I can assure you I’ve had more than that. I’m considering becoming a vegetarian.”

“Olives don’t count as one of the four food groups,” Cragen countered as he reached across her to pick up the small leather bound menu.

“No wonder they made you a captain,” she said smugly as she reached for the glass.

“If they thought I was really on the ball, they’d of made me a division chief by now,” he said modestly.

Donnelly chuckled while she watched him empty the green bottle into the high ball glass filled with ice.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Donnie. They keep the smart ones on the front line, to make them look good enough to keep themselves off the front lines,” she said draining the glass, as she motioned to the bartender. “I thought the wake was going to be at Flannery‘s. What brings a Midtown teetotaler like you into a Westside a bar and grill?

Donni
“
“’We‘?”
“Most of the squad left with me. Even some of the DA’s had enough. When I noticed you weren’t around, I figured you might need a friend. You seemed pretty shaken up at the service.”
Donnelly stared up at him, obviously puzzled.
“So you began a random search of the gin joints within walking distance of the St. Marks?”
“Something else for you sir,” the bartender inquired as he picked up the empty bottle.
“Yeah. Liz, you willing to split an order of the seafood sampler,” he asked waiting for the reluctant nod before continuing. “ Good. And some more ice.”
“Another martini, madam?”
Donnelly ignored Cragen’s slight shake of the head.
“One more for the road. Now, we were discussing your search for incompetent bureau chiefs in the greater downtown area.”
“Luckily, McCoy was on his way out when I got to the door. He told me I might find you here.”
“Ah,” she said making an effort not to slur her words. “If Jack McCoy still knows where to find me twenty - four seven, I’m clearly in need of a change.”
Cragen let the remark slide, more interested in something she had said previously.
“Liz, I’ve heard you called a lot of things over the years. Incompetent isn’t one of them. Losing Alex hit all of us hard, but-”
“You don’t understand, Don. Alex going up against someone so dangerous. She was a sex crimes prosecutor, this case should have gone up to the Organized Crime Bureau.”
“Liz, this started out as a rape/homicide. We caught the case,” Cragen said, having a hunch as to were she was going. “It made sense for us to see it though.”
Donnelly shook her head vigorously.
“You don’t understand. When we found out Zapata was involved, Arthur wanted to hand it off to the OCB. I wouldn’t hear of it. I told him this began as an SVU case, and by God it should finish as an SVU case,” she said slamming her fist down on the bar hard enough that he bartender turning, looking cautiously at Cragen.
“And you were right, Liz,” Cragen said firmly, as he eased the martini glass away from her line of fire, nodding at the bartender. “If OCB had taken the case the rape victim would have been forgotten in order to use Zapata to fry bigger fish. At least with Alex handling the case we had a chance-”
“Alex never should have been running that case,” she hissed. “I worked in the OCB for four years - you served on the OC task force. We both know what those people are about. I should have taken the lead and had Alex second chair.”
“And Alex herself never would have forgiven you if you’d done that.”
Donnelly turned to see the face behind the voice, nearly falling off the bar stool.
Instinctively, a hand reached out. One arm going around Donnelly’s shoulders, the other grabbing her by the waist.
“Nice catch, counselor ” Cragen said approvingly.
Donnelly’s face reddened as she extracted herself from Jack McCoy’s grasp, desperately trying to compose herself.
And they say New York City is a cold, impersonal place,
Donnelly thought bitterly. Shows what they know. A person can’t even get quietly drunk without the whole world-
“Liz, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Olivia Bensen interjected uncomfortably, as she accepted the seat Cragen offered her.
“I’m fine,” Donnelly said carefully sitting back down. “I just didn’t expect to see either of you here tonight.”
“Detective Bensen and I ended up sharing a cab after the wake,” McCoy explained. “When the captain asked about you, the detective heard me mention you used to like the martini’s at Baxter’s. Apparently, Detective Bensen is a fan of the red chowder, here as well. We decided to stop by and see if we could get a table for dinner.”
Donnelly tried not to blanch at the mention of food. Although she was willing to pacify Cragen by agreeing to eat a few shrimp, the idea of anything warm wasn’t sitting well with her liquid dinner.
“I could see how awful you felt at the memorial service,” Bensen continued. “We all know Alex made her own decisions. This case was no exception. She could have asked to be reassigned after she had that confrontation with Zapata during the meeting with his lawyer. She didn’t.”
“What can I get the two of you this evening,” the bartender asked while he sat the sampler platter down.
Bensen ordered a glass of merlot and listened as the bartender and McCoy discussed scotch and appetizers.
She turned her gaze away from Donnelly, afraid the woman would see the guilt in her eyes.
It had been difficult enough for her and Elliot Stabler to keep up the charade all afternoon, with Cabot’s family and friends. The wake had been even worse.
It was one thing to lie to people who had never met you, who would have no way of reading your body language. It was entirely another to lie to people that had become closer than family, to some that had, on more than one occasion, saved your own life.
When Bensen had hailed that cab, her only desire had been to go home and get quietly drunk in the privacy of her apartment, where she could justify the fact that she had lied to protect not only Cabot’s mother, but Alexandra Cabot herself.
She knew Cabot had taken a huge risk forcing the feds to let Bensen and Stabler in on the fact she was very much alive and in the hands of federal agents. Bensen had been relieved and touched when Cabot had revealed herself to them. Cabot knew the pair would blame themselves for her death, for being unable to protect her, when they were just feet away from her when the shots rang out. The fact Cabot once again put her safety at risk, after such a close brush with death just to ease their minds, amazed the detective. She was determined not to let Cabot down by betraying that trust.
Then she’d heard the end of a conversation between McCoy and Cragen while she was flagging a cab down.
Both men had noticed how solemn Donnelly had been at the service. Bensen had noticed as well. She’d also noticed Donnelly’s absence at the wake that followed.
When Cragen told McCoy he thought Donnelly was holding herself responsible, Bensen had felt a strong pang of guilt resurface. After the cab stopped and McCoy opened the door for her, asking her if she would mind sharing a cab up town, she took to opportunity to press him further about Donnelly.
He had agreed with Cragen, seeming to have some insight into the bureau chief. He himself had lost an assistant years ago, he had told Bensen. Although the circumstances were different, he sympathized with Donnelly’s concerns.
It was that concern that made Bensen not only accept the dinner invitation the well known prosecutor extended, but also made her suggest going to Baxter’s for the meal.
“Olivia, the calamari’s excellent. You should try it,” Donnelly was saying. “I remember how much you and Alex enjoyed it that time you two pulled that all nighter trying to get all the ducks in a row on the Mallory case.”
Bensen smiled at the memory, as she took a piece from the platter.
“I remember…I figured we’d order Chinese or deli and Alex insisted on all that all night sushi place in Queens. Sweet talked the manager into sending the delivery kid out to Hogan Place.”
Donnelly nodded.
“Alex had prosecuted the guy that raped the manager’s niece,” Donnelly explained. “It was one of her first cases after I took over the bureau. I remember how she impulsively promised the man she’d get justice for his niece. Forget the fact the forensic evidence was almost non existent. Boy, did I put her through the paces for that one…,”Donnelly said thoughtfully, she voice faltering, as she impatiently wiped her eyes.
“I remember that case,” Cragen remarked. “In the eleventh hour Munch and Finn turned up a witness…”
“Excuse me,” Donnelly mumbled as she abruptly strode towards the ladies room.
Before the two men could respond, Bensen was right behind her.
“So, ah Jack,” Cragen said seizing the opportunity to speak to the EADA privately. “is there any real chance of getting Zapata back here for trial?”
McCoy set his drink down as he shook his head.
“It’s not often that Arthur Branch says something is out of his hands, captain. When he says it, he means it.”
Cragen nodded, as the other man continued.
“About Liz…how much has she had to drink?”
Cragen frowned, unsure as to the wisdom in answering the question honestly.
“As much as you’d expect in her present state of mind. Where are you going with this counselor?”
“I asked the matre de for a table for four, figuring between the three of us, we could get Liz to at least consider dinner,” he said bluntly. “But, judging from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure she get through the appetizer without passing out.”
e, he thought as he chuckled. Yeah, even if she can still reason, she's still three sheets to the wind. The lady needs to eat.When Branch started his fourth toast in fifteen minutes, the we decided it was time to bail.”

Overdue Cragen Piece

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 22:26:48 GMT

Title: Alex, We Hardly Knew Ye (part 1 of 3)
Flavor: Mothership / SVU crossover (Cragen, Branch, Donnelly, Bensen, McCoy, and discussion of Alex Cabot).
Time Period: Shortly after the 'death' of ADA Alexandra Cabot.
Length: Appx. 6000 words complete
Notes: Long overdue answer on a request for a Cragen drabble. Our hero's are on their way to Cabot's memorial service. I have taken a few minor liberties with canon ( I confess I know Zapata had Alex 'killed', but I can't remember when the Feds take him). There are some references to the SVU ep. 'Juvenile' - if I am off the mark PLEASE correct me!

In all my stories you have to buy into the 'fact' Donnelly has been married to a certain EADA - but that is NOT the focus of the story.

"…after the service, be sure to have Serena,” Arthur Branch began as the driver opened the passengers side door for Branch and his senior EADA.

“Arthur, wait!”

Branch stood up right, both men staring at the tall blonde dashing towards them.

“Elizabeth, I thought you wanted to meet us at the church after you -”

“He’s gone. That son of a bitch is…,” she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “I just called Zapata’s lawyer. He told me-”

Branch stepped aside, motioning for McCoy to enter the vehicle.

“I know. I got the call from justice right before we left the office. Get in and I’ll explain on the way.”

Donnelly gave him a look as she complied, finding herself sitting between the two most powerful men in the New York county District Attorney’s office.

“I’m so sorry Liz, ”McCoy said, as he made room for the woman dressed in a black Chanel suit and matching silk blouse. He knew what was coming wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Thank you Jack,“ she said turning her attention to Branch as the door closed. “All right, Arthur. We’re off the street. No nosy reporter can hear any of this,” she said accusingly. “What song and dance did the justice department give you to convince you, to let them take the killer of one of your ADA’s out of your jurisdiction?”

“Liz, I know you’re upset. Alexandra’s death hit all of us hard-”

“It wasn’t just a 'death' Arthur, it was an assassination. On a New York street. Ordered by a two bit drug lord that didn’t like the fact a woman was going get justice for the mistress he murdered, because she took issue with his performance in bed,” Donnelly snapped.

“How Liz-”

“Don’t patronize me Arthur. The hit took place in New York county. The victim was a New York county Assistant District Attorney. It’s only decent to prosecute the case in your jurisdiction. It’s only fitting that another woman is lead prosecutor on the case that gets Zapata the needle.”

Branch shook his head, looking away from the eyes of the Bureau Chief for the sex crimes unit of the New York county DA’s office.

“It’s out of my hands, Liz. The attorney general himself called,” Branch replied. “Huerta can lead them to some of the main suppliers of cocaine in this country-”

“At the expense of justice for a murder victim - no make that two murder victims, that we know of,” she said coldly. “If Zapata had hit a federal prosecutor, justice would change their tune in a heart beat.”

“You’re probably right,” Branch admitted. “But it wasn’t a federal prosecutor. Even if we can’t prosecute him for Alex’s murder, Huerta will be off the streets. His drug cartel shut down. The feds know how to do their jobs. Your forgetting the man had a federal agent killed, as well. They will prosecute him just as well as if we-”

“No one at justice would handle this case as well as I would have,” Donnelly countered coldy.

McCoy looked sharply at his colleague.

“Liz, even if Zapata stayed our jurisdiction, you can’t seriously think Arthur would have let you handle the case? Alex Cabot was one of your top prosecutors. You’re too close-”

Donnelly sneered at him as she replied condescendingly. “As if you’d have it any other way, if one of your ADA’ s was murdered in cold blood. Please Jack, save your hypocrisy for someone that doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” he said stiffly. “It’s concern.”

Donnelly started to snap back a reply stopping suddenly, as she saw the look of genuine caring, in the dark eyes.

“Listen, we can debate this into next week,” Branch said as the car slowed. “Right now we have a funeral to attend and a grieving family to think about.”

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

As the trio walked up the steps to St. Marks chapel, the press bombarded Branch with questions. Donnelly kept her eyes on the door of the chapel and her mind on what she would say when she met Alex Cabot’s mother face to face.

They had spoken on the phone several times in the last few days, Gwen Cabot turning to Donnelly for practical help with finding a funeral home in Manhattan, getting an obituary into the Times, and finding a priest to perform a service she never dreamed she’d have to plan.

Before she realized it, Donnelly had lost McCoy and Branch. The reporters had both men involved in a discussion about the change of venue for the case. Donnelly looked around in confusion, tempted to go back down and give her take on the change to the reporters.

“Liz, over here!”

Donnelly turned back to the door of the chapel. She nodded at the middle aged man who stood in the door way. As distraught as he was, Captain Donald Cragen looked surprisingly dashing in his NYPD dress uniform. She followed him into the chapel and squeezed his hand.

“How are you holding up, Don?”

The tall man shrugged his shoulders.

“In AA they say take it one day at a time. Right now, I’m taking it one second at a time.”

Donnelly nodded as she scanned the crowd outside the doors leading to the chapel.

“Have you spoken to her mother yet?”

“A few minutes ago. She’s holding on, seems to be in shock. Elliot and Olivia are with her now. How did Zapata’s arraignment go?”

Donnelly looked down at the floor as she answered.

“The feds took him before I could get him in front of a judge.”

“What,” Cragen said loud enough to cause heads to turn towards them. He took Donnelly by the arm and moved to a corner. “How did that happen, Liz? I thought Branch of all people would want this case prosecuted here?”

As Donnelly relied the explanation Branch had given her, McCoy and Branch joined them.

“So this is the thanks that one of your own gets,” Cragen began angrily.

“The decision was out of my hands,” Branch began.

“Since when is a murder not two blocks from a precinct house ‘out of ’ the DA’s hands,” Cragen countered. “If we can’t hold on to a guy that has our freakin’ DA murdered, who can we hold on to?”

Branches met Cragen’s condemning gaze without wavering.

“Captain, I understand your frustration. But now is not the time or the place-”

“It never is,” Cragen snapped as he left the group to find a seat in the chapel.

Branch turned to Donnelly who turned on her heel to follow Cragen, refusing to meet Branch’s gaze .

“I guess someone has to be the bad guy in situation like this one.”

“We all agree on who the bad guy is, Arthur,” McCoy interjected. “We just don’t agree on how to make him pay for what he’s done.”

Something for you, Clearbell

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 00:06:39 GMT

He looked across the bar, again. There was an awkwardness in her manner that he found charming. As if she were unaware of the beauty she possessed.

She couldn’t be more than twenty - six. Stone flushed with embarrassment at the ungentlemanly thoughts that came to mind as he thought of her curvy figure.

Stone was no Jack McCoy. Women weren’t disposal pleasures. But, there was something about the quiet brunette….something that made him uncharacteristically bold when the blue eyes - clear as a bell - looked up from her writing, questioning his gaze.

“Another drink?”

She smiled, nodding tentively.

“I’m Ben .”

“I’m Lisa.”

Just Sealin' the Deal!

Sun, 29 Jul 2007 22:11:00 GMT

I am posting this because I answered this in another persons journal and postingit is part of the deal. If there's something anyone would like from me, I am game. As you all know I write for L & O the Motherhip for the most part, but I will write fro any L & O fandom if requested.

Every person on your flist gets to request a drabble (real drabble: 100 words exactly) from you. In return, they have to post this in their journal and write a drabble for you. Post all fandoms you're willing to write.

Your friends can pick a relationship, a story arc, a missing scene, or pretty much anything they want, unless the author has previously mentioned that they will not write it. They comment with what they want, and you write drabbles and post it in your LiveJournal

Motherships EADA for new Season

Thu, 19 Jul 2007 00:40:43 GMT

http://www.620ktar.com/?nid=45&sid=543630

Haven't been around much lately, so I wasn't sure if anyone had posted the information about the new EADA.
Actor Linus Roach is going to be played a as of yet unnamed EADA when Jack becomes DA in the new season.

PM:Chapter 33

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 01:04:00 GMT

“I see your gun turned up,” McCoy said, his eyes on the barrel of the Smith and Wesson .38 as his shirt dropped to the floor.

“I said ‘sit down'. There on the bed,"Weaver demanded, waiting until McCoy complied.

“Planning to add another count of murder to the indictment?”

“Afraid so, Jack.”

“Killing me won’t make the charges disappear..”

“No, but it will buy me time. Conspiracy and the lesser counts - Tepper can deal those down, in time. As for the murder charges, a dead District Attorney will be focus of your office. Who ever replaces you will make finding your killer their top priority, not the killer of a former ADA gone bad and a corrupt corporate lawyer. Besides,” she added coldly, “after all the trouble you’ve been, I'll enjoy putting a bullet in that thick head of yours, much more than I enjoyed sleeping with you.”

"Who do you think the police will suspect, if you kill me? We just met at the court-"

"I 've read most of your cases, Jack. I'm not the only person you've prosecuted that would like to see you dead. Given my accquittal, I'm sure I'm way down on your list of enemies."

McCoy tried to remain calm. To slow the pounding of his heart. His mind flashed to another gun...a shooting...the courthouse steps...Leland Barnes...

“Any troubles you have, Ms. Weaver you brought on yourself.”

“’Ms. Weaver’? Given all we’ve been through together you can call me Samantha, Jack, ”she said with a joyless laugh. “As for my troubles, they began with a murder conviction based on dislike and ignorance. Thanks to a prosecutor that was too driven to worry about hard evidence.”

McCoy let her talk, trying to buy time. Trying to think of a weapon, a way to distract her …trying to keep her talking until he could think of something.

“Just because I didn’t have a smoking gun, doesn’t mean you didn’t have Charles Dillon killed,” he countered. “You did have him killed didn’t you? When you decided to punish your unfaithful lover?”

Weaver ‘s eyes widened in surprise.

“So you finally figured it out, Jack. Too bad you didn’t connect the dots during my trial - my conviction might not have been overturned and you wouldn’t be about to die for the sloppy job you did.”

McCoy half listened as Weaver recounted the murder. He thought about grabbing for the gun, but she was keeping her distance.

“I put you in jail, so I deserve to die? What about Diana? She was your partner. Your friend. Why did you kill her?”

“My friend,” she said scornfully. ”The woman that manipulated me into being recorded having sex? With you? Like a common whore? Then it takes her less than twenty four hours to get caught ? I gave up what was left of my self respect for nothing…the worst part is, when I confronted her…told her it was time to cut our losses, she wouldn’t let it go. You think I wanted to punish my lover, Jack? If you only knew how badly Diana wanted to destroy you…”

McCoy glanced at the clock by the bed. He’d kept her talking almost an hour. He could see her hand was getting tired of holding the heavy metal. He’d mentally rejected every option that had come to mind. He knew it was either rush her and die or wait for her to execute him. Either way, he didn’t see himself getting out alive.

When the doorbell rang, both of them jumped. McCoy moved forward, but Weaver held the gun up. She put a finger to her lips.

The bell rang several more times. Finally an feminine voice called out.

“Jack, it’s Brooke. We need to talk….“ Pause. Then a more pressing, irritated, “Open the damned door, Jack. I have your fax and the money I owe you.”

McCoy tried to keep his face expressionless, praying Prescott would go before Weaver thought about using her: Either to toy with him or deciding one more murder count wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference if she got caught. Weaver motioned for him to move into the living room and McCoy felt his stomach lurch.

Grow up, McCoy. Prescott thought as she stuffed the fax and a wad of paper bills into McCoy’s mail box. Is this high school?….The bike is on the damn driveway. It’s obvious he’s here…Fine. I can tell Jake I tried. It’s over. Done. The end.

As she turned from the porch, Prescott unconsciously looked up at the security camera. She stopped suddenly. Prescott glanced at the front door again and started quickly towards her car.

“Well, it looks like it’s Mrs. Prescott’s is a lucky lady,” Weaver said keeping the gun on McCoy as she watched Prescott’s car disappear down the street.

Weaver silently looked at McCoy for several minutes, as if she were comtemplating something. McCoy knew Diana Hawthorne had been killed with a blow to the head, in a struggle. Charles Dillon had taken a bullet, but not by Weaver's hand. What had Julia Veloso said at trial? Samantha didn't have the courage to take care of the problem herself...

“Tell me something, Jack," she said finally. "Was I right? Are you and the formidable Mrs. Prescott paramours?”

“I know Brooke through her late husband. We‘re colleagues, nothing more,” he said carefully, relieved to know Prescott wouldn’t be dragged into this nightmare.

“I'm surprised,” she said thoughtfully as she moved away from the window. “You both have the same self righteous arrogance-”

“How could I even think about another woman after having you,” he said snidely.

As Weaver replied, McCoy thought he heard what sounded like a lock, the bolt softly sliding back. The sound came from the kitchen. Weaver heard it as well, her gaze shifting towards the sound. McCoy lunged for the gun, Weaver firing into the air as she went backwards.

McCoy fell with her, grabbing at the gun as he heard another gun cock behind him.

“Drop it or your dead,” Prescott commanded as she pointed her revolver at Weaver, trying to get a clean shot. “Drop the gun, Samantha!”

Weaver looked at the other woman, then back at McCoy. In a sudden burst of strength Weaver wrestled free from McCoy. She staggered, raising her gun towards McCoy.

Prescott fired until her gun was empty, the first shot sending Weaver back against the front window, blood oozing from what was left of her left temple.

McCoy sat froze for what seemed like an eternity, staring at the gun in Prescott’s hand until it slipped from her grasp. His ears ringing from the soundof gunfire. His horrified gaze shifted. Prescott’s face was drained of color, her eyes saucerlike, as she stared at Weaver’s lifeless body.

McCoy struggled to get up, reaching Prescott in time to for her to crumple into his arms.

PM: Chapter 32

Fri, 06 Jul 2007 01:00:58 GMT

“I don’t know whether I should be impressed or appalled,” McCoy said resting his suit jacket on the chairback and loosening his tie.

Prescott raised her glass in a mock salute. By the time McCoy and Prescott had left the criminal courts building both, were ready for lunch. Although Teller's Chophouse was a five minute walk from the building, the early afternoon heat coupled with the traditional summer humidity, that had left them both damp and parged.

“Whatever you decide, I found out what I wanted to know,” she said draining most of the ice tea from her glass.

“You mean besides the fact there's a snowball chance Weaver will plead out?”

“Did you see the look in her eyes when I brought up her girlfriend,” Prescott said intently. “I've read the transcript of the Dillon trial, Jack. All that talk about Veloso and Weaver having a ‘functional’ relationship - that it was just sex? It's a crock - I know what I saw today. There’s more to it than that. If I were you, I’d take another look at the Dillon case.”

McCoy nodded.

“Even with the evidence against Brock Stoddard, Weaver walking on the Dillon murder hasn’t felt right from the start.”

“Connie and I have been emailing information to each other on both my charges and the Hawthorne murder. We were hoping we could get all of the pieces to fit together. The evidence against Stoddard indicates an affair with Veloso. My bet is that Weaver found out about the affair and decided to make Veloso and Stoddard pay-”

“by having Veloso eliminate Dillon,” McCoy added. “Convince Julia to do the dirty work and eliminate Weaver’s blackmailer, then pin the crime on Veloso and Stoddard. Maybe. But what about Diana’s letter? It implicates Stoddard in the murder?”

Prescott shrugged her shoulders.

“Who knows. Maybe Weaver lied to Hawthorne. Planted evidence? Maybe Stoddard did plan to kill Dillon and Weaver just had the same thing in mind - it is Weaver's .38 that’s missing. Your friends at the 2 7 can fill in the blanks.”

McCoy pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and began scanning the menu.

“I’ll give Green a call after lunch. I’m still not sure letting things get personal was wise.”

“I just gave you your theory of the crime for the Dillon case and you’re saying I acted unprofessionally,” Prescott asked in disbelief.

“Brooke, all I’m saying is she baited you-”

“and you think I swallowed the bait,” she said shortly.

McCoy snorted, setting the menu down.

“Brooke you put me off last night because you didn’t think you could question Samantha Weaver appropriately if we -”

"Did it occur to you hearing ‘no’ once in awhile might do you some good,” Prescott said tossing her napkin on the table. “Is this is a preview of the ‘real bastard’ you can be when you don’t get what you want?”

“Your words or Ben Stone’s,” McCoy asked hotly.

“Accurate no doubt, whoever the source,” she said standing. “I’ll have Green's report messengered to your place.”

“Oh Brooke, don‘t be dramatic,” he said arrogantly.

Prescott picked up her water glass and held it ominously before swallowing it’s contents.

“Don’t tempt me to show you what dramatic is counselor,” she said before storming off.

“Oh Christ,” McCoy muttered as he signaled for the waiter.

By the time she slammed her office door, Prescott was dripping with perspiration. She unbuttoned the suit jacket stripping it off. She was rummaging through her desk drawer when her door opened.

“If you’re here to apologize -,” she snapped as she pulled a bottle of water from the drawer.

“Actually, I thought I'd save my groveling for Monday morning.”

“Jake,” she sputtered as she dropped into her chair. “Why are you back?”

Jake Cohen took a seat across from her.

“Forgot the Ryerson deposition - wanted to look it over again before Monday’s motion hearing. I didn't expect to find you lurking. Figured you’d be long gone with your Manhattan Maverick.”

“Ya know what Jake, the next time you want to play matchmaker pick on my brother,” she said patting the holstered revolver, “or suffer the consequences.”

Cohen sighed.

“You‘ve had you first spat,” he said teasingly. “At least you’ll have fun making up.”

“You have no idea,” she said defiantly. “The man is an idiot.”

“Enlighten me,” he said putting his feet up on the desk.

“Well, did you,” Cohen asked as Prescott concluded her account.

“What? You know me better than that. The fact the woman is a vindictive opportunist that used her body to extract revenge and then had the nerve to question my professional ethics had nothing to do with it,” she said obstinately, as she tossed the empty plastic bottle in the trash can. “I handed the man motive and a solid theory of the crime. He had no business questioning my judgment.”

“Right - nothing to do with it,” he said sarcastically as he shook his head. “Alright - let’s say you were the essence of professionalism - McCoy’s actually worked a case with you for what - thirty seconds before this confrontation? He doesn’t know your style. Obviously, the man made an honest mistake. You being, the gracious and forgiving woman that you are, should be able to see your way to taking the high road - if that’s what this is about.”

“Don’t start with me Jake,” she warned as she pushed his feet off the desk top. “I’ve got work to do, let me do it in peace.”

“Brooke, you forced me back into the world after Allen died. Kept me from me wallowing in grief until I was ready to accept that there was life without him. If you hadn't hounded me so relentlessly... it’s time for me to return the favor,” he said quietly.

“Jake, it wasn't a favor - you know I loved Allen. I love you. I just did what a friend does. You have stood by me unwavering the last five years. When Sam died…you've gone above and beyond for me more times than I can count, ”she said reaching across the desk and taking his hand. “But this...it’s not like I've locked myself away since-”

“Really, Brooke. You’ve gone through the motions and dated - what half a dozen men - that were totally wrong for you. Non threatening, very safe. Easy to keep at arms length.”

“Why won’t you let this drop,” she said exasperated. “Why are you so intent on Jack McCoy? If you think he’s so fabulous, you pursue him!”

Cohen grinned.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t if I thought for a moment, I had a chance with him. Come on Brooke - the man’s been married twice, he's diificult, flawed - just like you. But, he’s smart and funny and he’s as taken with you as you are with him. I haven’t seen you as animated and alive since before Sam died. Even if this is just a passing fancy, you need to experience it.”

McCoy spent most of the ferry ride back to Ocean Beach and all of the short motorcycle ride back from the dock to his house muttering. He was still talking to himself as he unlocked the front door, hurriedly punching his alarm code, unsuccessfully trying to reach the phone before it stopped ringing.

He cursed softly as he picked up the receiver, hearing only a dial tone. McCoy punched the play button on the machine on the counter that separated the kitchen and living room. Tossing his tie and suit jacket on a bar stool, placing the helmet on the counter, he walked into the kitchen. Picking up a glass from the counter he reached for the Dewar’s bottle beside the phone.

“When are you going to learn,” he muttered as the machine played.

“You have five new messages,” the mechanical voice announced. He listened as he drank. One message from his daughter about their plans for the following weekend, next a call from Green retelling the information Prescott had passed on, a call from Arthur Branch reminding him of a charity dinner McCoy would be replacing Branch at, a call from Jeffries - Fontana Investigations stating the alarm system seemed to be down and that the repairman would be out Sunday morning, finally a call from Prescott notifying him the lab work was back and on its way to him. McCoy played the last message back twice, listening carefully as he tried to read Prescott's tone.

He swore again, annoyed with himself. He thought about calling Prescott's office then discounted the idea, figuing once the fax came in, she would have left the office for home. Damned if he’d call Prescott at home. At least, not right away.

“Relationships…what the hell was I thinking,” he said out load as he took his drink and moved towards the bedroom.

As he walked he began unbuttoning the dress shirt, as he considered a shower. He stripped the shirt off as he walked through the bedroom door, stopping in his tracks.

“Sit down and keep your hands where I can see them.”

PM: Chapter 31

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 02:36:24 GMT

When McCoy and Prescott walked into the conference room Tepper introduced the two women. As she shook Samantha Weaver’s hand, Prescott couldn’t help but scrutinize the other woman. With or without her clothes on, Samantha Weaver exuded a command presence. Cool, detached, a woman obviously comfortable under pressure. A woman who in fact, thrived on pressure.

“I’m surprised to see that you’re still her, Jack,” Weaver said. “You don’t honestly plan to pursue this ridiculous theory that I killed Diana Hawthorne?”

“We have you on tape. We have your fingerprints at the crime scene. What’s ridiculous is this fiction that you ‘lost’ the trunk you removed the body in.”

“As my attorney already explained, I lost my luggage on the bus to Montana. I’ve filed a claim with the bus company. As for killing Diana, I went to see her that night to collect my personal effects. We spoke for approximately a half hour. She told me about her arrest . When she told me she had you and I video taped, in order to gain some sort of revenge on you…well, I was horrified ,” Weaver said evenly. “I had no idea she had been in a relationship with you. I was appalled and I made that clear. I had no intention of involving myself in anything that could send me back to prison. As I’ve said before, I’m pragmatic not vindictive.”

The two prosecutors eyes met each of them amused.

“Well done, Ms. Weaver,” Prescott said turning her attention to the defendant. “How do you explain your presence at Mr. McCoy’s residence, as well as your meeting with Ms. Hawthorne immediately after leaving said residence?”

Weaver sat back in her chair, appraising Prescott before responding.

“You’ve seen what is on this disc, Miss Prescott?”

“It’s Mrs. And yes, I’ve seen the disc.”

“Hummm,” Weaver said her gaze dropping briefly to Prescott’s bare ring finger. ”Then it should be obvious why I was at Mr. McCoy’s residence. Mr. McCoy took me to dinner and invited me to spend the night with him.”

Prescott nodded as she slipped her glasses on, skimming a page in the legal file in front of her.

“According to the matre de at McGuire’s restaurant in Ocean Beach, the reservation was in your name. Witnesses in the dining room that night have stated you, not Mr. McCoy appeared to be the aggressor in as far as physical contact being initiated -”

“And I have a witness that will state that he saw Mr. McCoy take Ms. Weaver’s hand in the restaurant. Another that saw Mr. McCoy pull Ms. Weaver to him outside the restaurant. Mrs. Prescott, I don’t see what difference-” Tepper began impatiently.

“The difference is, Ms. Weaver has stated Mr. McCoy initiated this - encounter. The bartender at the Island Mermaid will testify when Ms. Weaver approached Mr. McCoy at the bar he returned her drink and walked out - wouldn’t even speak to her. Doesn’t sound like the beginnings of the romantic rendezvous Ms. Weaver pretends it to be.”

“Really, Mrs. Prescott,” Weaver said smoothly, ”When Diana was working on my defense for the Dillon murder, she filled me in on Mr. McCoy’s history. Andrew here, tells me the criminal justice system is a hot bed of office gossip - I’m sure you are well acquainted with Jack’s track record with subordinates. Is it really so hard to believe he would make the leap from sleeping with assistants to pursuing a former defendant?”

“One he convicted of murder,” Prescott countered skeptically. “Yeah - it’s quite a leap - or should I say load?”

“The relevant point here being,” Tepper added firmly, “is that my client was an invited guest that night that had no knowledge of any recording devices being planted in Mr. McCoy’s residence.”

“How far do you plan to take this farce,” McCoy demanded.

“To an acquittal,” Weaver replied bluntly.

“An acquittal,” Prescott said with amazement, closing her file. “Mr. Tepper, why are you wasting my time? I came here to review the charges with your client in the hopes of negotiating a plea - if not obtain a confession-”

“A confession,” Weaver exclaimed, exchanging her cool facade for condescension. “Your chances of hearing a confession from me, are about as good as you confessing the true nature of your involvement with ‘Mr. McCoy’.”

“Samantha, as your attorney -,” Tepper began sharply.

“If you want to continue being my attorney, you‘ll keep quiet,” Weaver snapped.

“We’re done,” McCoy announced brusquely as he stood.

“Meaning?” Prescott unflinchingly pressed, keeping hers eyes locked on the other woman.

“Did you start sleeping with him before or after you viewed that disc?”

“Is that what you did before you slept with Julia Veloso,”Prescott asked cordiality, leaning forward putting herself close enough to Weaver to feel the other woman’s breath. “Did you view a video of her ‘work’ before you decided she was worth ten grand a month to fuck on demand?”

Weaver ‘s eyes flashed with fury before she leaned back in her chair and laughed.

“Maybe if I had done my homework where Julia was concerned, she wouldn’t have been able to set me up for Dillon’s murder.”

Prosecutorial Misconduct: Chapter 30

Thu, 05 Jul 2007 02:30:27 GMT

Excuse my ignorance in any facts regarding the procedures of the courts - I watch L and O, but I don't live it. All legal mombo jumbo is pretend... that's why we call it fiction, right??

Jack McCoy knotted his blue and white stripe tie as he walked towards the institutional pink brick building that housed the Islip branch of the Suffolk county criminal courts. Being that McCoy was a brief ferry ride from the court, he had elected to attend the arraignment, rather than ask ADA Rubirosa to drive in for the proceedings from Manhattan.

A pleasant gust of cool air hit him as he stopped at the directory across from the double glass doors. As he scanned the board he heard the doors open behind him.

“Grey? Isn’t that the same suit and tie you wore the last time we were in court,” Samantha Weaver said extending her hand as McCoy swung around. “You really should read my book, Jack. You should be delegating something as mundane as my arraignment to an under link, like Ms. Rubirosa. Especially now that your the District Attorney.”

McCoy ignored the hand, addressing his comments to the man who stood beside her.

“Mr. Tepper. I assume Mrs. Prescott’s office has advised you that although Ms. Weaver is being arraigned solely on charges stemming from her indictment in Suffolk county, a Grand Jury in New York county will be convening Monday morning with reference to the Murder One charge.”

Tepper nodded, handing McCoy a thick packet of papers.

“My motion for a change of venue on the Murder One charge,” he said as McCoy began reviewing the packet. “Given the connection between the crimes she’s charged with, there’s no reason my client should have to endure two separate trials - in addition to conflict of interest on the part of the New York County DA’s office.”

“Conflict of interest,” McCoy repeated uncomprehending.

“You and the defendant had an intimate relationship,” Tepper said bluntly. ”in addition to the fact, you were lead prosecutor in a trial that resulted in Ms. Weaver's wrongful conviction.”

McCoy ached an eyebrow.

“Relationship? That’s an interesting word for it.”

“You’ll be receiving notice of my civil suit against your office, as well as my suit against you personally, early next week,” Weaver added confidently.

“Why am I not surprised,” he sighed as they moved down the hall towards the open door at the end of the hall.

“Don’t take it personally.I make decisions based on profit and loss - the bottom line,” Weaver said positioning herself between the two men. “While sales of Making it in the Corner Office sky rocketed after my conviction, the loss of my income as from my employment as CEO of Hailgen-Webb has tied my hands financially.”

McCoy shrugged his shoulders as he waved dismissively at Weaver, who was clad in three thousand dollar Chanel pantsuit. McCoy remembered Rubirosa pointing out the suit just days before in a store window, as they returned from a lunch meeting across town.

"I can see you're in dire straits," he said drily. "You won't need designer pantsuits in prison, though.”

Before Weaver could respond, Jake Cohen appeared in the doorway moving towards the group.

“Ms. Weaver, Mr. Tepper I‘m ADA Cohen. Judge Ellis's clerk has asked that we take our seats.The judge will be ready to begin momentarily.”

As the group entered the courtroom McCoy tapped Cohen on the shoulder.

“I don’t see your boss,” he asked glancing around the room.

“She’ll meet us in the conference room after the Judge rules on bail.”

“Tepper just handed me a change in venue motion,” he said handing Cohen the paperwork. “Brooke didn’t say anything about this last night.”

“It’s news to me,” Cohen said as the pair moved towards the prosecutors table. “But, we anticipated something like this - Brooke already has spoken to DA Jackowicz. If push comes to shove, your Murder One charge trumps our conspiracy charge. We will support a change of venue for all charges to be tried in Manhattan, if we have to.”

McCoy gave Cohen a satisfied nod as they sat .

“Have you spoken to Prescott this morning?’

Cohen gave the other man a wily glance.

“I make it a point not to poke the bear until she’s cooled off or until there are witnesses present.”

McCoy chuckled quietly as he leaned over, as he pulled something out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Ah, the bear said to give you this.”

Cohen glanced down, his face taking on the shade of a mild sunburn, as he read the words inscribed on the photo of McCoy.

“I guess this is just the start of pay back.”

“What were you thinking last night?”

Cohen met McCoy eyes and replied with surprising candor, ”One day you’ll buy me a $25.00 shot of vodka, and I’ll fill in the blanks on Brooke and myself. Sufficed to say, I liked what I saw when you two were together.”

“All rise,” the judges clerk announced."Court is now is session, the Honroable Judge Harold Ellis presiding."

The urbane man wearing a black robe, open in the front exposing a yellow polo shirt and navy Bermuda shorts took his seat behind the bench, motioning for court to be seated.

Judge Harry Ellis looked the file in front of him over briefly before turning his attention to the court.

“Good morning Ms. Weaver. Welcome back to Suffolk county. I trust you flight was a pleasant one?”

Weaver smiled uncertainly replying in the affirmative.

The judge gave her a frosty smile.

“Normally, this court wouldn’t give a defendant who fled this jurisdiction the courtesy of a Saturday bail hearing. However, your attorneys brief has outlined the extraordinary circumstances that caused said flight. That, coupled with your willingness to voluntarily return to this jurisdiction, gives me cause to give you the benefit of the doubt, and hear your request for bail this morning.”

“Thank you, your honor,” Weaver said contritely.

“Mr. Cohen. People’s recommendation for bail in this matter?”

“Your honor,” Cohen said as he stood. “While the People respect the court’s desire to avoid the mistakes previously made in New York county regarding Ms. Weaver, the People believe Ms. Weaver returned to this jurisdiction, not out of her desire to ‘clear her name and see justice done',” he said reading from his legal pad. “But because the defendant was well aware the Helena’s Sheriff’s office was in route serve her with an extradition warrant, to answer charges in New York county-”

“Which were dropped when it was discovered Ms. Weaver had been wrongfully accused of the murder of Charles Dillon,” Tepper countered. “You ‘re honor, the Manhattan DA ‘s office has charged Brock Stoddard in the murder of Charles Dillon. Both Mr. Cohen and Mr. McCoy know that currently, there are no charges against my client in New York county, thus making their extradition warrant invalid.“

Judge Ellis motioned to McCoy who stood.

“What about it Mr. McCoy? What interest does New York county have at this time, in the defendant?”

“Your honor,” McCoy began as he removed a file from his satchel handing it to the clerk. ”at this time, Mr. Tepper is correct. However. Monday morning my office will be seeking an indictment for Murder One for Ms. Weaver. It is due to the defendant’s history and her access to considerable funds that make flight a very real risk, New York county urges the court to remand Ms. Weaver without bail.”

“Your, honor Mr. McCoy’s request is outrageous,” Tepper said heatedly, as he handed the clerk another file.“ Your court isn’t a branch of the NYPD…your county jail is not a gulag, if you will, to keep defendants until the state can concoct evidence to charge my client. Citing Draper, Critter, and most recently Ali, the law is clear. Bail should be decided solely on the charges before your honor his morning.”

“Your honor, -” McCoy began.

Ellis impatiently waved at McCoy as he pulled glasses from his shirt pocket and opened the files.

“Thank you Mr. McCoy, you may be seated. Just a moment,” Ellis said exchanged one file for another. “Mr. Cohen, I am correct in assuming the indictment has been amended to include a count of stalking a public official and illegal wiretapping, in addition to the conspiracy charge?’

“Grand Jury amended yesterday, your honor.”

The judge nodded looking back up from the files.

“Mr. McCoy, I believe your concerns regarding a former defendant seeking you out, by your account without solicitation by yourself are valid. I symapthize, as any one serving public office would given these troubling times - but, I do agree with Mr. Tepper. The Suffolk county charges are serious, but not serious enough to warrant holding this defendant without bail. Be-”

“Your honor-”

“Mr. Cohen, you know better,” Ellis said sharply. “I can only rule on bail based on the charges before me, not charges that may or not be made by another body at sometime in the future. Defendant is subject to one million dollars bail, cash or bond-”

“On a conspiracy count-”Tepper began stunned.

“Mr. Tepper, in this court then I’m speaking counsel on both sides of the aisle remains silent. Ms. Weaver is accused of stalking a public official- I take that charge very seriously. One million, passport to be surrendered and a restraining order is to be issued.,” Ellis said turning his attention to Weaver. "Ms. Weaver, if you come within five hundred feet of Mr. McCoy for purposes that are not related to your trial or future charges in New York county, you will be in violation of the TRO. Your bail will be forfeited and you will be arrested - stay away from Mr. McCoy am I clear?”

Brooke Prescott was speaking on the phone when her office door opened. She motioned for the two men to come in as she furiously wrote on the yellow legal pad beside her. McCoy took a seat on the edge of her desk, faintly smiling at the organized clutter reminiscent of his own desk.

“Coffee,” Cohen asked as he loosened his tie, tossing his blue suit jacket on the coat rack by the door.

McCoy shook his head. As Cohen busied himself with the coffee maker on the other side of the room, McCoy dropped his satchel on the nearest chair in front of the desk and discreetly watched Prescott as she continued her phone conversation. His irritation with Judge Ellis's ruling temporarily forgotten, as he took notice of how desirable she looked with her hair in an up do, the pomegranate colored suit jacket open revealing a light tan shell.

“…right. Got it. You’ve got my fax number?…Good - yes, he’s right here….I’ll tell him. Thank you again Detective Green,” Prescott said smiling up at McCoy, as she placed the receiver in its cradle. ”Good news. Your homicide detectives found the trunk Weaver took with her the night Hawthorne died.”

“It’s been in Manhattan the whole time? How long before they have a forensics report,” McCoy asked intently.

“Detective Green put a rush on it with your lab. Apparently, it was up further down the shore from where Hawthorne's body was found. Wound up in a homeless camp under the George Washington bridge. Green’ll call you as soon as he hears anything. How’d it go in court?”

Cohen joined the pair and summarized the proceedings.

“I assume that’s where Weaver is now - posting bail?”

Cohen nodded.

“It shouldn’t take long. The clerk will call you when they’re done.”

“Unless Jack has an objection, why don’t you head out Jake? I can go through the questioning on my own - go enjoy what’s left of your Saturday.”

“Jack?”

“We’ve got it covered,” McCoy said reaching out to the coat rack and tossing Cohen his jacket. “I’ll fill Brooke in on the change of venue motion.”

McCoy extended his hand.

“Good luck with your Grand Jury Monday, “ Cohen said grasping the hand firmly. “A pleasure working with you Jack - I hope we’ll see more of you in the future?”

Prescott shook her head as she took a discarded piece of paper off of her desk crumpling then, playfully launching it at the departing attorney.

“I’ll be calling you this evening, regarding our unfinished business,” she said menacingly as the door closed.

“You have no business looking so beautiful, when you expect me to me to be on my best behavior,” McCoy said leaning across the desk to kiss Prescott chastely on the cheek.

“If Tepper was successful in gaining a change of venue to your side of the bridge, perhaps my expectations regarding your behavior will change,” Prescott said with a grin.

“Come on Brooke, you know you want it -"McCoy joked. He paused laughing at the expression on Prescott's face. "Meaning the chance to prosecute Weaver for crimes committed in your jurisdiction, of course.We lost on bail, but Ellis was firm on jurisdiction - crimes committed in Suffolk county will be tried in Suffolk county - Tepper’s argument about future charges cut both ways with Ellis.”

“I’m not surprised,” Prescott said somberly, “and you're right - I do want jurisdiction over crimes committed in my backyard. At least old Harry didn't buckle on that. How’d it go with you and Weaver?”

McCoy shrugged.

“Pretty much the way I expected it would. I guess my dealings with Diana have left me pretty jaded,” McCoy replied frankly. “Samantha Weaver and I had sex, but we weren’t intimate. Can you understand that, Brooke?”

Before she could respond the phone rang.

“Major Crimes, Prescott… thanks,” Prescott looked up at McCoy. “Time to go. Oh Jack - about that trunk - since that evidence has absolutely no bearing on current charges and Mr. Tepper’s made it clear were he's only intererested ‘current charges’today, I assume were in agreement the trunk is a need to know topic? No reason to get Tepper's boxers in a knot until you have those lab results, right?”

McCoy smiled in understanding as he grabbed his satchel.

“No reason what so ever. Maybe over lunch we could discuss your views on 'exculpatory evidence', as well?”

Return to Top

PM: Chp.29

Mon, 02 Jul 2007 07:47:47 GMT

Thanks to SugarKane & Giwu for their reassurances and advice as I tried to pull the final draft together for this chapter. Hope you all find it worth the wait!

McCoy could see his earlier prediction was accurate - the crowd at Flynn’s had already begun to spill out on to the deck, the bar floor packed with not only the usual the boisterous crowd that flocked to Ocean Beach’s largest bar on the weekend, but with vacationers in for the Fourth of July weekend. As the hip hop music of The Diplomats Ground Zero assaulted his senses, he gave serious thought to returning back to the lot where his motorcycle was waiting. He still couldn’t believe he’d let Jake Cohen talk him in to meeting.

McCoy had been deep in thought, mystified by his earlier conversation with Brooke Prescott when Cohen joined him on the bench.

“I was offered a bribe not to watch,” McCoy had replied when Cohen invited him to join a group of Prescott’s colleagues, who were waiting with great anticipation to witness Prescott’s performance.

“That’s just Brooke’s stage fright talking,” Cohen said laughing off McCoy remark. “Sure she’s starts off petrified, but it’ll take all of ten seconds before she’s hamming it up worse than Lindsay is. Trust me, McCoy - this is going to be priceless.”

McCoy knew Prescott’s manner suggested more than stage fright and eventually said as much when Cohen good naturedly pressed him. Cohen seemed as mystified as McCoy was. The two men had stood and were about to part ways, when Cohen reminded McCoy that Samantha Weaver was being arraigned the next morning.

“I’ll be handling the arraignment, Brooke will step in when we’re ready to question Weaver,” the younger man explained. “I know Brooke’s been keeping you appraised via email and your assistant, but I’d feel better if you and I sat down and smoothed over any rough spots. Any chance I could buy you a drink later this evening?”

It wasn’t like McCoy didn’t know exactly what Cohen was doing - it was obvious he and Prescott were more than colleagues.What wasn't obvious was why he was doing it. But, McCoy did have some questions that had been left unanswered when Prescott cut their conversation short. Against his is better judgment he agreed a drink.

As he slowly made his way through the crowd, he spotted Cohen and Prescott at the bar. McCoy swore silently, his suspicions confirmed. The pair were in the middle of a heated conversation - a tumbler and dice in front of Prescott, as well as an empty shot glass. McCoy stopped, watching the exchange. Cohen acknowledging him with a slight nod.

“Damn you Cohen,” Prescott said, her back to McCoy. “This is crap - you know I’ve got court in the morning. You know I can‘t down a twenty four ounce-”

“Then you know what that alternative is. Quit stalling,” he man said triumphantly as he pressed something that looked like a cocktail napkin into her hand. “You know the rules.”

McCoy watched as Prescott stood, picking up her bag and turning slightly.

“When I figure out how you loaded those dice there will be serious pay back.”

“You know better than to make accusations you can’t back up with hard evidence, counselor,” Cohen said glibly.

She shot the man a dagger look, and began moving in the other direction.

“I don’t appreciate being manipulated, Mr. Cohen,” McCoy snapped as he replaced Prescott on the stool beside Cohen.

The other man shrugged his shoulders.

“No manipulation here, counselor. I said I wanted to discuss the case. I do. I said I wanted to buy you a drink. I plan to. What you and Brooke decide to do is up to you two. I hear you’re a Scotch drinker, any particular brand you favor?”

“Fine,” McCoy said indifferently, scanning the shelves behind the bar. ”Chivas Regal, Royal Salute. Make it a double.”

Cohen did a double take, then smiled at the obvious comeuppance in ordering the most expensive scotch in the house.

McCoy savored the $25.00 a shot scotch, as Cohen reviewed the itinerary for the morning. Baring any unforeseen delays, Weaver would arrive from Montana at eight thirty, figuring another hour to get from the airport to the criminal courts building, the arraignment should start at no later than ten o’clock. Cohen anticipated Weaver’s lawyer would seek bail - claiming Weaver had voluntarily surrendered herself, hench proving her desire to cooperate and remain in the jurisdiction.

The two men were discussing strategy to discredit that notion, when the barrage of hip hop stopped and the D J asked for quiet.

“Alright Ocean Beach,” shouted a man who looked to be younger than McCoy daughter, although with the spiked electric blue hair and what looked to be gothic make up it was hard for McCoy to be sure. “Are you having a good time,” he asked pausing to gage the crowds response. “Let’s try that again - let them hear it in Manhattan if you think Flynn’s rocks,” pleased with the deafening cheers he proceeded. “Those of you that are regulars know Friday night is traditionally oldies night. Before we begin our set of Sounds from the Sixties, we have a debt to settle at the bar.

“As we all know, gambling for money in Suffolk county is illegal and Flynn’s is all about keeping it legal, right? Especially when members of Suffolk County’s District Attorney’s office are in the house. I welcome Suffolk County Assistant District Attorney Brooke Prescott to the stage to perform a Flynn’s tradition. Come on up Brooke and settle your debt. What’s your pleasure: ‘Drink your Debt Away’ or ‘Buy it for a Song?’”

McCoy watched as Prescott stepped on stage, laughing at her observable displeasure. Cohen leaned over, explaining that the house rules required the loser to either sing the song of the winners choice, or down the houses infamous ‘Ice Tea’ concoction.

“I’ll Buy it for a Song.”

“Alright, let’s go! Read your dedication and we’ll get started.”

McCoy could see her eyes roll as she began reading from the cocktail napkin in her hand.

“This song-”

“Mr. Cohen, as amusing as this is - and I will admit this is amusing - I really don’t-,”McCoy protested.

“-is dedicated to the hottest man in New York county-,”he heard Prescott say hurriedly, her eyes wide as she self consciously read from the napkin.

“ …a man with a long history of being a heart breaker. Jack, you have met you match - hit me with your best shot,” she exclaimed as the music for the rock and roll classic Hit me With Your Best Shot began.

Wide eyed, slack jawed McCoy began to sit back. Cohen tapped him on the shoulder, motioning McCoy to follow the him towards the stage. As they moved through the crowd McCoy could see Cohen had been right earlier. Hips grinding provocatively, body moving with the beat, Prescott immediately was into what she was doing.

Cohen reached the stage before McCoy did. Prescott was unabashedly belting out the familiar Pat Benatar tune, most of the audience swaying and singing as well. Cohen made eye contact with her, a sly grin on his face.

McCoy stood behind Cohen, Prescott completely oblivious to his presence. Her eyes closed momentarily as she danced during the brief guitar solo. Cohen took the opportunity to step back leaving McCoy in his place, saying a hurried ‘goodnight’ and disappearing into the crowd.

Prescott picked up the lyrics without missing a beat, opening her eyes as she bent down to where she expected Cohen to be.

When she found herself face to face with McCoy Prescott muttered an automatic death threat with Jake Cohen's name on it in place of the lyrics, much to McCoy's amusement. Prescott continued, trying desparately to put aside her mortified shock long enough to finish the song.

“Where the hell is he,” Prescott demanded the moment the music stopped, her body shaking with fury. McCoy helped her down from the stage, handing her her purse.

“I think the execution is going to have to wait until morning,” he said as they moved towards the deck. “He was out of here two verses ago. Don’t be too hard on him Brooke - you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You sounded great - I especially enjoyed the dedication.”

McCoy waved at a waitress, laughing at the multiple shades of red that brought out the blue in her eyes.

“Yeah, well I should explain that-”she began, interrupted by the arrival of an inquiring cocktail waitress.

“What can I bring you two?”

McCoy ordered his usual brand of scotch, while Prescott asked for a shot of Cuervo Gold and a lime. The pair stood silently looking at one another as the waitress departed .

“How’d he get you down here,” she asked.

Listening, she quietly nodding as McCoy explained.

“Jack, I don’t know what to say. You must think my office is run by a group of real incompetents with nothing better to do than-”

McCoy shook his head.

“Brooke, I won’t say I understand Cohen’s persistence tonight, but it’s clear the man cares about you. I can’t fault him for that. Besides, may be now you’re ready to tell me what the real problem is between us.”

She looked out past the deck at the fireworks that were brightening the night sky.

The minute she had turned down his dinner invitation, Prescott had felt like an utter fool. He was right, her explanation had been total crap. How could she make him understand while she wasn’t in the least intimidated by the press, she had no desire to deal with Samantha Weaver as Jack McCoy’s lover.

If she told him, she was sure he‘d turn the tables on her and make the conversation about trust. ‘Don’t you think we can have dinner, without me trying to get you into bed‘…or words to that effect. Benign on the surface, but underneath an unspoken challenge. As if there was a chance in hell that dinner at his place wasn’t a sexual time bomb waiting to go off.

How could she tell him without sounding like an sex starved nymphomaniac, it wasn’t his actions that she was worried about?

There’s a reason a series of his assistants have been his lovers. There’s a reason Ben Stone has sent you half a dozen emails ‘ just to see how you’re doing’ in the last two weeks. There’s a reason that conniving bitch looks like she’s having the time of her life in that damned sex disc… It’s the same reason you can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at you, the way he touched you…how good it felt when-

“Brooke,” he said his frustration apparent. “Obviously, you’re not interested more than a professional relationship - at least with me. I get that, inspite of what just happened.”

Prescott stared at him thoughtfully turning his words over as the waitress returned with their drinks.

“What do you mean ‘at least not with you’,”she asked slipping the waitress a twenty before McCoy could object.

McCoy looked at her indifferently.

“I think it’s obvious. Listen Brooke, we’re not children. I really don’t see any benefit to be laboring the point-”

“Humor me,” she said, sensing something uncomprehendable.

“Look,” he said his tone leaving indifference and merging with annoyed. “I’ve been involved with enough assistants to know-”

Prescott’s eyes widen as she started to laugh.

“Assistants…you think.. me and Jake? Are you insane ,” she said gasping. “If anything, Jake is infatuated with you, not with me!”

“What the hell are you saying,” McCoy sputtered, completely lost.

“Jack, the man is my best friend. He’s also gay. Jake wrote that wiseass dedication -another part of the house rules, by the way. He did that, no doubt to…”

“To what,” he said when Prescott became suddenly silent.

Prescott downed the shot she’d been holding and met his puzzled stare.

“No doubt to ensure this conversation would happen,” she said with a sigh. “Jack, you have no idea how out of practice I am at… after the other night….God, the more I talk the worse this gets,” she said exasperated.

“I would think the events of the other night would assure you I’m not some animal with plans to at-”

Before McCoy could finish his remark Prescott slammed the empty shot glass down on the rail and kissed him full on the lips. McCoy recovered quickly from his utter shock. His arms went around her, dipping her body back, as she parted her lips. He kissed her with intensity that made her knees weak with desire. Prescott clung to him lost in the taste of his mouth, the scent of his cologne, the feel of his hands on her body, until the sound of applause startled her into opening her eyes.

McCoy brought her back to a standing position, both of them smiling at each other unembarrassed by the attention they had drawn from their fellow patrons.

"Maybe we should take this someplace more private,"Prescott suggested,blushing at the self assured smile forming on McCoy's lips.

Grabbing his hand she lead him away from the bar and towards the docks.

"I can see I've alleviated any doubts you had about my interest in a less than professional relationship with you."

“Completely,” he said as he stopped her, pulling her to him and reclaiming her lips. The tenderness of the previous evening still evident in the way he began the kiss once againwaiting for her lips to part before he replaced tenderness with carnal desire.

“I can think of a more private place to take this than the dock,” he whispered as he ran his hands over her shoulder and down her back.

She shook her head chuckling as she looked up at him.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t be thinking of your place by any chance,” she said as she continued to lead him towards the docks.

“Given that your place is forty minutes away by ferry, my place does make the most sense,” he said matter of factly.

“Listen,” she said stopping and facing him.” I’m not trying to play the untouched virgin here. But I can’t walk into a meeting with Andrew Tepper and Samantha Weaver tomorrow morning with you and do my job the way it needs to be done if we sleep together tonight. It’s not that I don’t want to, Jack. I’m just old enough to know better-”

“You’re over thinking this-”

“Jack, I’m not some naive twenty something ADA, just out of law school. I know what this is and what it's not. I know myself-”

“Brooke, we’ve both done this job long enough to know the press-”

She shook her head putting a finger to his lips.

“Jack, if it was about the press, I wouldn’t have just stood on the Flynn’s deckand kissed you in front of the whole damned township. It was bad enough preparing for this case when you were just a colleague,” she said softly,” but watching that disc … dealing with Weaver after we sleep together… no, it can’t happen tonight.”

McCoy started to say something, then stopped shifting his gaze from Prescott downward.

“You know the next ferry out isn’t for another forty five minutes,” he said an amused smile on his face. “any ideas on how you’d like to pass the time?”

Prescott gave him a wicked grin and took his hand.

“You see that bench,” she whispered in his ear, pointing.” the one at the end of the dock? It’s very secluded down there - very private.”

McCoy’s nodded taking her in his arms again.

“Good. There won't be any interruptions.” she said her lips brushing against his cheek. “It’s the perfect spot for us to sit down and strategize for tomorrow.”

PM: Chapter 28

Fri, 29 Jun 2007 14:42:47 GMT

I swear this story just takes on a life of it's own! I blame my reviewers, who keep feeding my ego AND giving me more ideas to play with (this is NOT a complaint - it's actually an acknowledgement of how much I appreciate the support you all have given me). FYI I don't live anywhere near NYC, so I've been doing a bit of research on the communities I've been using in this story. The community of Ocean Beach does exist. Not too far from it are the communities of Islip & Cherry Grove. The Invasion of the Pines is a real July 4th celebration. I have summarized some of the history of this event in this chapter, just because I found it kind of neat.

“Geez Branson, what a loser,” Brooke Prescott jeered. “At least when I nailed you for vandalism , you could aim! What happened? That was only what… fifteen years ago? Now, you throw like an old lady!”

The gangly man in his late twenties, grinned back at Prescott as he picked up another softball, this time handing it to the toddler beside him.

“You think so, Prescott? What ‘til you see what my girl can do,” he said bending down until he and the freckled faced girl were eye to eye. “What do you say, Mimi? Do think you can dunk the nasty old D A for Daddy?”

The child looked around uncertainly at the small crowd that had gathered around the booth. The banner in front of the water filled tank read Dunk the DA: Proceeds to Benefit the Suffolk County Center for Victims of Violent Crimes. Prescott smiled down from her perch at the child and pointed at the metal release bar.

“Come on Mimi, you almost had me last time.”

“No, Daddy do it,” she said solemnly handing the ball back to her father.

“Yeah Daddy, do it,” Prescott taunted, as the ball sailed once again over the lever and to the ground.

“Damn Brooke. Almost three hours and not a single dunk,” Jake Cohen said standing next to the tank. ”Last year, I was going under every fifteen minutes.”

“It’s not as easy as it looks - you gotta really give the ball some play to make that gate go. The easier it looks the more people try, the more dough we raise. Although with the humidity, I wouldn’t mind a good dunking right about now,” Prescott said waving as the father and daughter left the booth. “One of these days we need to gang up on Jackowicz - the sign says dunk the DA, not the ADA.”

“You know what he’ll say. He’s doing his part being Honorary Grand Marshall for the Invasion of the Pines. 'The office has a whole needs to be part of community outreach.' Hey, speaking of reaching out, how’d it go when you called your friend in Manhattan,” Cohen asked while he absentmindedly retrieved and tossed the softballs from the ground into the box behind the table at the front of the booth.

“I emailed Rubirosa ,” she said smugly. “The ADA handling the Hawthorne case. Sent her a summary of our meeting with Tepper. Forwarded a copy to McCoy.”

Cohen shook his head.

“I don’t believe you. You hijack the man's case -”

“I didn’t hijack anything. The case was in our jurisdiction, end of story. I’ll talk to McCoy after he’s had a chance to cool off,” Prescott said grinning as she looked at the redhead with a ball in hand. ”Lindsay! Oh, no…not fair! She’s a ringer Andrew - you know she was voted MVP on her baseball team at school.”

The man beside the girl smiled back.

“Hey it’s for a good cause Sis, so buck up and get ready to get wet.”

“Yeah Aunt Brooke, get ready,” the girl said throwing her braids back behind her shoulders, a gleam in the cornflower colored eyes, as she threw the ball.

Prescott watched with exaggerated anxiety, as the balls came. Each ball hitting the bar, but without enough force to bring her down.

“Thatta girl Lindsay,” she shouted. “Keep ‘em coming. By the time you get me in the water, your Dad will have the center running in the black for the rest of the year. ”

“A small price to pay. At least this way, I know where you are. For the moment, anyway” the burly man, wearing a tee shirt with Suffolk county Fire Fighters scrolled across the chest, replied.

Prescott rolled her eyes.

“Give me a break, Andy - aren’t you the one that said I needed to get out of the office more?”

“I meant go home at a decent hour, let me set you up on a blind date once in a while- not go MIA on me when you go over the bridge” Andy Malinowski replied pensively.

“Geez, get a life all ready. As a fire fighter you spend more time away from home than I ever do,” she said with a touch of annoyance. “Besides Andy, you have a thirteen year old - play sex police with Lindsay, not me.”

“Brooke!”

“God Aunt Brooke, I‘m not the one that didn’t come home. Don’t sick Dad on me,” Lindsay said mortified. ”What’s up with that bar? Aunt Brooke, I think you rigged it to stay up.”

Prescott laughed.

“What happened to good sportsman ship young lady,” Prescott said smug distain. ”Is it my fault no one here has enough skill to hit a metal bar? Looks to me like someone needs to work on her pitching arm. Looks mighty weak, from where I sit.”

“Looks to me like someone needs to be brought down a peg or two,” a raspy voice countered.

The group followed Prescott’s gaze to the figure dressed in jeans and a light blue dress shirt standing behind Lindsay. The man with salt and pepper hair causally tossed a softball up in the air, catching it without breaking eye contact with Prescott.

Prescott ran a hand through her hair, feeling her face flush. Flushing in part out of embarrassment at being caught off guard wearing only her purple bikini. She also flushed at her own pleasure in catching McCoy’s brief but clearly approving, appraisal of her in said attire.

Cohen snickered as he looked up at Prescott.

“Oh, this is going to be good.”

“Jack. I didn’t figure you for a festival enthusiast."

“Brooke, didn’t figure you to be one to run from a fight,” McCoy countered."Why haven't you returned my calls?"

“I’ve been busy,” she said vaguely. “I suppose you know the roots of the Invasion? Started in 1977 to commemorate the community outcry when Terry Warren was refused service in a Cherry Grove restaurant, based solely on sexual orientation. Kind of a mix of gay pride and community barbarque.”

“I’m familiar with the history. You remember Serena Southerlyn, from your visit to my office? She’s one of the organizers. She mentioned your office always has a booth. Figured it was a safe bet I‘d find you down here,” he said as he pulled his arm back, eyes narrowed. “We need to talk. After we’re finished here.”

“Yikes,” Cohen said, moving to where Prescott’s niece and brother stood as the ball whirled past him and into the center of the metal lever, sending Prescott into the tank.

“The wet look suits you, counselor,” McCoy said grinning as he picked up another ball, ignoring the defiant look Prescott shot him.

“You‘re a friend of Brooke‘s?”

“Andy, this is Jack McCoy,” Cohen said turning to McCoy. “Mr. McCoy, I’m Jake Cohen.”

“Mr. Cohen - you work with Mrs. Prescott?”

Cohen nodded, as he extended his hand.

“I’m Brooke’s assistant. I know your former assistant. Serena and I have been on the organizing committee together several times. She speaks highly of you,“ Cohen said turning Malinowski, “This is Andrew Malinowski - Brooke’s brother - and his daughter, Lindsay.”

McCoy shook hands with the two men. Lindsay looked him up and down, hands on her hips.

“You’re the guy that kept my aunt out all night?”

“Guilty as charged. And you‘re the ring tone girl? I am Woman…a good choice for your Aunt,” he said his gaze moving from Lindsay to Andy Malinowski. “Brooke’s very much her own woman. I respect that.”

"That she is Mr. McCoy," Malinowski said, as he gave McCoy the once over himself.

“Hey Cohen if you want to keep your job, nix the impromptu interrogation over there,” Prescott said as she sat back on the perch. “As for you McCoy - I wouldn’t get too cocky, if I were you. Anyone can have a lucky shot.”

“You think so,” McCoy shot back. “You want put your money where your mouth is, counselor?”

“You’re on. The price is $5.00’s a ball. Let’s say for every throw that lands me in the water, I owe you another $5.00. For every throw you miss, you owe the booth another $5.00?”

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

“You don’t intimidate me, McCoy,” Prescott said ignoring Cohen’s urgent head shaking. “I know how you Irishmen operate.”

McCoy picked up another ball and menacingly turned his attention to Prescott.

“Meaning?”

“A lot of blarney. All talk, but no action.”

McCoy laughed softly, giving her a look that had ‘sucker’ written all over it.

“You make taking your money a real pleasure, Brooke.”

Forty minutes later, Cohen handed his boss a towel as Prescott climbed down the ladder.

“ ‘A lucky shot’ ? When are you going to learn I’m more than just a pretty face? Serena Southerlyn has played darts with the man - McCoy's a pro! I tried to warn you - what were you thinking?”

“It’s called buying time, Cohen,” she said as she dried herself off. “Here he comes - maybe you want to ask for that autograph now?”

“I think I'll pass,” Cohen said as he stripped off his shirt. He hugged her, giving her a peck on the cheek before starting up the latter. “Expect a phone call Saturday morning - I want details, Brooke.”

“I hope you have your checkbook with you,” McCoy inquired smugly. “Cooled off yet?”

“I was going to ask you the same question Jack,” she said as she grabbed the tote bag from behind the tank.

“I'm sure you realize if I wanted to, I could go over Jackowicz’s head - take the matter to a judge.”

“If you wanted to,” she said as she smoothed the lavender sundress down over her bikini. “But you won’t.”

McCoy looked down at her amused.

“Now whose being cocky? If you’re so sure of yourself, why have you been using Connie as a buffer and dodging my calls?”

“You know I’m more of a email gal Jack," she hedged. “ Besides, I’ve been in court most of the week. I haven’t had time to battle it out with you over Weaver.”

“About that - what is this crap Tepper handed you today? We’ve been trying to locate Weaver for weeks and now she suddenly contacts her attorney from Montana - what the hell is that?”

“According to Tepper after meeting with Hawthorne to hand off the disc, Weaver went to Hawthorne’s place. Supposedly Hawthorne had her personal effects and was supposed to connect with Weaver that evening.”

“Explaining why Weaver’s prints were found at Diana’s place,” McCoy said as the pair moved through the crowd toward a block benches past a variety of food stands.

“Right. When Hawthorne never showed, Weaver tried her cell phone. She was afraid to leave a voice message - she didn’t want to risk leaving a trail. Weaver says she fell asleep at Hawthorne’s. When she read the morning paper, she realized what had happened. She left and made arrangements to take a private plane out of Jersey to her father’s place in Montana.

“She was getting ready to get on a bus to Jersey, when Hawthorne called her after her arraignment. Now this is where it gets interesting,” Prescott said sitting on an empty bench. “Jack, Weaver’s claiming she is the woman in the surveillance photos - that she disguised herself out of fear of going back to prison on the conspiracy charge - not because she killed Hawthorne. She claims Hawthorne was alive when she left.”

“What about the trunk?”

“Weaver says it was full of her personal effects.”

“Please,” McCoy sputtered. “That trunk was big enough to hold a body.”

“It gets better. When I told Tepper to produce the trunk so forensics could go over it, he claimed that it got lost on the bus from Helena out to her Dads cabin.”

“Are you serious? First she claims she threw a gun away at her trial, now were supposed to believe she lost a trunk that can tie her to another murder,” he said incredulously. “The woman ran a Fortune 500 company Brooke - careless is hardly a word that comes to mind when describing Samantha Weaver.”

“Agreed.”

“Really? You’re not one of the growing group of Samantha Weaver supporters?”

Prescott looked up at him, confused.

“The woman is hardly innocent. Maybe she didn’t kill Dillon, but she let herself get blackmailed into a cover up, she allowed herself to be used in a conspiracy to defame you…why would you think-”

“Connie’s been of a different opinion since day one. She never thought we had enough for murder two on the Dillon murder. Now that it’s come out that Weaver was innocent, she feels the woman has suffered enough.”

“Jack, Connie’s sharp. I can see that just from collaborating with her on this case,” Prescott said earnestly. “But she’s young. She hasn’t seen what we’ve seen - or at least not as much of it. You gave me copies of the case files at the start of this. I know what you had at trial - it was thin, but you were trying to get a murderer off the streets. You did what you could with the information you had.”

“Aunt Brooke, it’s almost time.”

Prescott smiled at her niece who was walking toward the bench.

“I haven’t forgotten, Lindsay. Mr. McCoy and I have some business to discuss. When we finish-”

“Dad said you should invite Mr. McCoy to join us,” the teenager said looking at McCoy expectantly. “Dad wants to get to know him better.”

“What do you two have planned,” McCoy asked .

“Aunt Brooke and I doing a song for the karaoke contest.”

“Really,” he said with peaked interest. “and what song might you two be singing?”

Prescott face turned an amusing shade of crimson, as she beat her niece to a response.

“Lindsay, do me a favor. You go put our names on the list. I’ll be right there - five minutes. I promise,” Prescott waited until her niece was out of ear shot before she continued. “Please excuse my family. My brother lost his wife last year. A battle with breast cancer. One of the ways he’s dealing with the loss is to focus on my life, rather than his own.”

“Nothing wrong with having a family that cares about you Brooke. I have a sister back in Chicago I’m quite close to. I’d enjoy watching you and your niece-”

“No. No you wouldn’t. Trust me. I agreed to do it because my sister in law isn’t here to do it with her this year - but it’s bad. Really bad,” she said in a tone that was almost pleading. “I’ll double the money I owe you if you don’t watch. Are you going to be available, say in an hour?”

“I can be. What do you have in mind?”

“Can I meet you at Flynn’s at 9:30? We can take care of unfinished business then?”

“By 9:30 the ferry will be in - Flynn’s will be a zoo on a Friday night. Especially with the fireworks display at ten. Why don’t you come by my place when you’re done here. I can grill some of the salmon I caught last time I was up. I still owe you dinner, since we were interrupted last time.”

Prescott smiled weakly as she looked up at him.

“Brooke. You're not returning my calls and you're evasive. You seem unsure about coming to my place... I wish you‘d just tell me what's on your mind,” he said bluntly. “If being alone with me makes you uncomfortable... if this is about that night at my place-”

“No. No it's not you, Jack," she said apologetically."I’m sorry I gave you that impression. It’s just...I am prosecuting Samantha Weaver. I, I don't... I can't... I wouldn’t want you to be the victim of more bad press. Being seen together could fuel rumors of collusion between our offices-”

“Oh Brooke, that is crap and you know it” he said impatiently. “If I gave a damn about what the people said about me, I would have left the DA’s office years ago.If you care-”

“Aunt Brooke!!! We're next!”

Prescott looked towards her niece and then back at McCoy.

"I've got to go,"Prescott said standing."Jack, I'm sorry. I'll call you."

"Brooke, were not finished here."

Prescott glanced back over she shoulder.

"For the moment, we are finished, Jack."