I grab her hand in the hallway, just outside the door to the kitchen pulling us both to a standstill and let my head fall forward mutely into the soft part of her neck and keep it there, my eyes closed. 

"This is going to be bad," I whisper and feel a kiss skim awkwardly across the side of my face and ear. 

"Undoubtedly," she agrees. 

"Oh please, no, don't console me," I mutter, lifting my head and for a second we just stand there grinning at each other. 

I get another kiss, this time on my forehead. 

"You'll get through it.  That's the only thing I'm positive about. " 

I hook my fingers in the belt loops of her jeans and tug her up against me.

"The only thing?  Just that one thing?"

The corners of her mouth twist upwards in a delighted grin. 

"Okay, well, maybe the only other thing I'm positive about."

We're still kissing when the door opens.   I'm the lucky one who catches the edge of it on the back of my head.  As if there were not enough going on in there already due to tequila. 

At least it's just McCafferty standing there, eyeing us skeptically, head to one side.

"Feel free to join us any time," she says sardonically, arching a brow and glaring meaningfully at Jinny.

The door thumps shut behind her as she spins and lets it swing closed.  I address myself to the white wood, waving a hand in airy reassurance.

"Oh no, I'm fine.  Mild concussion, if anything at all.  Please, please don't trouble yoursel~~"

"I'm not!" McCafferty snaps on the other side of it and I grimace and slowly turn to peer at Jinny.

"Oops," I whisper and we clutch one another in hysteria, giggling.

"I think we're going to get detention," Jinny chokes out, face pink in her effort to keep her laughter subdued. 

"She won't let us go to the prom!" I wail in quiet mock horror, clutching my throat and then jump startled when there's the distinct thunk! of a mug being slapped down on a hard surface which combined with the simultaneous stern male growling indicates Sarge is fast losing patience waiting on me.

And can hear us.

I look at Jinny and gulp audibly. 

"Shouldn't I get a blindfold or a last meal?" I whisper.

"Oh ye of little faith," she retorts, stunning me with a wink as she leans past me to shove the door open.

The folder's lying there on McCafferty's gleaming table top. 

It's less than three inches from Sarge's robin's egg blue coffee mug and at right angles from the precisely placed yellow checkered napkin once again graced by full cutlery; apparently McCafferty has deemed Sarge responsible enough to be allowed fork and knife.

He looks up when we enter but thoughtfully diverts his gaze to his mug long enough for a brief little hand clutch between Jinny and I; she's immediately then summoned by McCafferty's crooked finger into the garage area.

"Help yourself to more coffee or another danish, Karl."

She pauses in the doorway to tell him this and I sit, noting the sudden flush of color to his cheeks and the nervous dart of his eyes up to mine as he blinks.

My gaze is riveted to the folder there.  It is, thankfully, closed, but the agony of those photographs spilling out onto the carpet is still too fresh for me to eye it with anything but revulsion.

"Look at me, Coop."

It's the second or third time I've heard the phrase in the last hour.  This time, however, I don't hesitate because as excruciating as this is, this is my immediate supervisor and there is the little thread of 'don't fuck with me' laced through the calm resignation of his tone. 

He looks tired.  His uniform is spotless and starched of course.  The sharp line of his collar looks as if it could slice marble with relative ease and I take silent note of the commendation and award pins he displays in neat symmetrical rows above his left breast pocket.  Full dress uniform; reserved for meetings and examination boards and ceremonies. 

Like terminations.

Oddly enough it's he who looks away, clearing his throat uneasily.  I frown and sigh, leaning forward in the chair and take pity on him, saying it for him.

"It's okay.  I know.  I get it. I know there'll have to be the formal thing back home~~"

"Cooper," he interrupts me and I stop, eyeing the folder warily as he one hands it across the table top towards me. 

"Those," he says, "are the photographs Miss Chandler had in her purse last night."

He pauses, looking at me and I resist the very distinct, yet self-destructive urge to respond with a sarcastic "duh" and frown as he bends slightly and extracts a manila envelope from his briefcase.  It's closed, tabs spread wide and taped down.  He places it gently on top of the folder, face up so that I see his name written there in cursive penmanship so gracefully, bombastically tortured it could only be Sylvie's.

I look up from it to his face, blankly, waiting.

"That," he tells me, "Are the copies she had already mailed to me in Austin."

I blink, wondering if I'm going to vomit, decide I'm not and nod. 

"Overnight air," he puts in, the tone sardonic and so Sarge-like I catch myself smirking right back at him. 

"Same..." I drift off, unable to say the word 'pictures' aloud and he nods. 

"Yeah.  The same." 

"Anyone~~" I skim a shaking hand over the envelope and folder and he shakes his head, brows puckered briefly in some emotion I vaguely recognize as indignation. 

"Of course not.  I wouldn't do that to you.  I came out to give you a chance to explain, to tell me..." he pauses to wave formless, yet meaningful circles in the empty air above the table and ends it by glaring at me pointedly. 

"Ahh," I say helpfully. 

"Yeah.  How many times did I ask you there at Dr. Weaver's?  How many opportunities did I give you to broach the subject of a... thing between you and Inspector Exstead?" 

I shrug, sliding down in the chair. 

"But did you?  No."

"Why didn't you just tell me she'd sent them to you?" I ask wearily.  "Why didn't you just tell me I was busted on it?"

"Well, that would involve me acknowledging receipt of them, wouldn't it?" he snaps furiously, still glaring at me before leaning forward and slamming a hand down on top of the two items in question.  "Until I saw them in front of witnesses it was between the two of us.  If  you had trusted me enough to allow it to be between the two of us."

"You signed for it, Sarge." 

"I signed for something, yes.  I signed for something which came to me from California along with a lot of other items which came to me from California via the postal service.  No one had to know what exactly I signed for though."

I shift uneasily in the chair, fidgeting, fingers drumming nervously on the wood in front of me. 

"You wouldn't have done that," I say finally and blink when he rears back almost violently.

"I already had done that.  I hoped you'd tell me about her and we could discuss damage control in reference to it and you and the Department.  But you didn't.  And now if forced before a review board or if asked by Internal I have no choice but to acknowledge seeing what I saw because I was forced to see it in front of witnesses.  Why do you think I was reaching around you trying to take it away from her? The minute I saw it was a folder I knew what it was and what she was going to do." 

I freeze, gazing at him blankly, stunned as I play the moment over in my head.

He'd said my name and reached around me, tried to bump me out of the way to get to it first. 

Everything from that moment on could have been avoided if I'd trusted either one of us enough to be honest.  The urge to lean far forward and slam my head into the table's top is almost irresistible. 

"So what I'm going to do now," Sarge says, voice quiet, "is get a judge out here to issue a search warrant on Miss Chandler's current residence and the pent~~"

"No."  My voice is shrill with alarm and he frowns at me thoughtfully. 

"We'll still be working on the angle of proving the men on that tape are Chandler and Massey, Coop.  But we have to get hold of whatever else they might have, at least know what it is so you and I can work on damage control."

"Damage control," I repeat, wounded brain cells struggling with tequila poisoning. 

A search warrant would spook even Massey.  Even if McCafferty could somehow convince a judge a residential search on a high ranking police official was warranted, he owns too many people within the Department, has too many 'friends' within the system to ever have something of that magnitude be kept a secret until execution.  Sylvie's stayed overnight at his residence, has at the very least been there.  A search warrant issued on her would set off bells.  He'd destroy evidence, would no doubt be ordered by Chandler to destroy anything he might have. The data could probably be pulled back up by an expert, it's doubtful Massey is very well versed in technology, but there's a slim margin of time to work within & S'Phear's public records plan is already in motion. Without Massey's sheer brazen and arrogant confidence in being untouchable ensuring his computer is loaded with the same data we plan to put out, we've got nothing more than voices on a tape.  The information has to go out, the computer seized, the data intact.  Any slip in that timing and we're all screwed. 

"You discuss this with McCafferty?  The search warrant?"

Blue eyes flit over my face as he frowns before sighing.  "No.  Want to tell me what else you're keeping from me, Coop?"

I shake my head, swallowing, hands beating a rapid little cadence on the folder's surface as I think. It's highly and completely illegal.  If Sarge knows he will be forced to take action to prevent it; everything Jinny's endured will be for nothing, it'll be two jobs, two cops ruined. 

"I can't.  But we can't execute a search warrant."

He clears his throat.  "You realize then that whatever they have on you..." 

His voice is low, calm and in direct contrast to the jerky little spasm of movement I make with my head as I nod and the shaky sound of my rather hoarse reply. 

"Yeah.  That's~~"  I shrug helplessly, making myself meet his gaze.  "I know." 

He nods, slowly and sighs out, "Okay, then." 

He hesitates a second, thoughts turned inward and stands, making his way to the coffee machine on McCafferty's counter where he carefully refills his mug, then stands sipping it, staring out McCafferty's window into her back yard. 

"You've got something else cooking, is that it?" 

I blink realizing he's turned and is looking at me, waiting. 

"Just give me a yes or no," he tells me when I'm silent and I nod, a motion he repeats, expression thoughtful. 

"Is it worth throwing your career away over?" He asks me after several moments of silence and I don't have to even hesitate this time. 

"Absolutely." 

He nods again before taking another sip. 

"And is there anything I can do?"

I'm on my feet so fast my head swims sickeningly. 

"You give me a ride to my lap top?"

END OF SIXTY EIGHT