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Chapter 20: Boss

The first thing Sonny Carisi noticed as consciousness started to return was that his head ached. The second thing was that his shoulders ached. Various smaller discomforts added to the chorus, but his head was clearly the bandleader. And holy shit was it a loud band.

When he tried to lift a hand to cradle his poor head, he found that he couldn't. Because his arms were tied behind his back.

Hence the aching shoulders.

There was also a bag over his head, which explained why it was so dark and everything smelled like dirt, burlap, and potatoes.

But he was alive, so that was something. How the hell did he get here?

He licked his lips with a sandpaper tongue and tried to remember. He recalled having to stay late at work. Texting Olivia to let her know. But he'd gotten out earlier than he thought, and in his haste he'd forgotten to text again to tell her he was leaving.

The kid on the street. On the way to the subway. There'd been blood on his shirt and his lip was split and Sonny had followed him into that alley to try to talk to him.

After that, nothing.

He cursed himself for an idiot: he'd been lured into that alley by a hurt kid. Not a little kid, either; the guy was probably seventeen or eighteen; but he'd been so skinny, with huge eyes in a pale face, and the blood had seemed so goddamn red. He'd looked like a kid who had nobody, and Carisi thought if he could at least get him to a shelter or something…

Olivia was expecting him at her place, and when she couldn't get ahold of him she would know something was wrong. His squad might already be looking for him now.

That was comforting, but only barely. He figured, of course, that whoever had grabbed him was probably the same guy who was stalking Olivia and had murdered her assistant. Why take him? Why not break into his place and kill him the same way he'd killed August?

Whatever, don't look gifthorses in mouths and don't wonder why deranged stalkers decided on kidnapping rather than murder. Whether they were looking for him or not barely mattered anyway, because as of that evening they'd still had no idea where Micah Ramirez was holed up, or if he was even for sure the stalker.

That kid on the street definitely hadn't been Ramirez. Too young. And the sketch they'd gotten from the elevator crew didn't match Ramirez's mugshot.

Okay, so, taking stock:

Hands: tied.

Head: banged and bagged.

Location: unknown.

NYPD: possibly mobilized, but probably clueless.

It didn't take a Magic Eight Ball for Carisi to know that his outlook was not good.

He sighed, and the puff of air only increased the potato smell inside the bag. His nose itched.

Shaking all of that side, Carisi tried to concentrate. Could he smell anything besides dirt? Oil, maybe…or grease.

Could he hear anything? Possibly traffic, but muffled.

There wasn't any light filtering through the burlap, so he didn't think he was in a room with windows. A basement?

"Hello?" he called. "Hey, anyone there?" The sound didn't go anywhere, didn't echo. A basement…which didn't really narrow down anything at all, but it was better than nothing, and concentrating on figuring shit out was helping to keep panic at bay.

Suddenly he heard heavy tread on wooden stairs, and before he could say anything, the bag was ripped off his head and a blinding light shone in his eyes. He winced away from it, screwing his eyelids shut, and he muttered a curse.

"You yellin'?" a rough voice said.

"Just sayin' hey," Carisi mumbled. "Seemed polite."

"Don't get smart with me, asshole. You think I don't know who you are? A goddamn cop. Too busy fuckin' the people you're supposed to be protectin'."

"Just the one," he said. "And she started it."

A huge hand came out of nowhere and backhanded Carisi across the face. Bells clanged, the world spun, and he turned his head to spit blood.

"Ow."

"Watch your mouth, asshole."

"Detective Carisi. My name," he said before spitting again.

"Yeah, I know your name. You got a new name now, and it's asshole."

He cleared his throat and carefully probed the split on his lip with the tip of his tongue. "What should I call you?"

"Boss," the faceless voice grunted.

"Okay, boss. That works. Why'm I here, boss? Why didn't you just kill me? You know you get the needle for killin' a cop, right?"

The man growled. "Ain't gonna kill you, asshole. I just gotta keep you away from her."

"Oh yeah? Why's that? It's not like I'm the only cop camped out at her door…though as far as I know, I'm the only one in her bed. Is that it? You think with me locked in your basement there'll be room for you?" He shrugged. "In my experience women usually like to be wooed a little more gently."

"Wooed?" He laughed, harsh and grating. "You think I wanna woo her? That whore? Please. Bitch needs to pay: pay for ruinin' people's lives. Pay for whorin' her way through life. Pay for gettin' every goddamn thing she's ever wanted by steppin' on anyone in her way. She's a user and a—"

"Whore. Yep, got it. What'd she do to you?" Carisi figured if he could keep the guy talking, he couldn't be out hunting Olivia. And it would buy his squad some time to try to find them. He didn't really trust the word of a lunatic stalker-slash-murderer, so the longer they chatted, the longer Carisi had to live.

"Me?" He snorted. "Not a goddamn thing. Never actually met the bitch. But my baby sister…" He trailed off. "What the fuck you care anyway? I seen you two together. You don't give a fuck about me or my sister. Just that whore."

"Whatever you say, boss. I just—why'd you kill her assistant? He wasn't fuckin' her."

"She's gotta learn," he said. "People get hurt. People die. Actions got consequences."

"Is that what happened to your sister? She got hurt?"

Silence.

"Look, boss, I got three sisters of my own. All older, but still—if somethin' happened to one of 'em, I'd be ready to kill somebody too."

"She—" He broke off, and was quiet for so long Carisi thought he wouldn't continue. Finally, "She killed herself. Took too many pills, bag over her head, slit her wrists. She was—real fuckin' serious about it."

"Jesus," he said with a wince. "Sounds like it. I'm sorry about that, boss. I can't imagine what it musta been like, losin' a sister like that."

"Shut the fuck up. You don't give a shit about me or my sister."

"Yeah, so you said, but here's the thing: I do. I mean, sure, you kidnapped me and hit me and you're stalkin' my girl, but I didn't become a cop for the glamour and the glitz. I care about people. People who're hurtin'. Your sister dyin' like that, that's about as rough as it gets. I don't know what I'd do if I were in your shoes, boss. I really don't."

Part of him meant it, too. What would he do? How would he handle it? His family was everything to him, and if one of his sisters were hurting that bad, was that desperate to end her own life, how would he feel?

Like a goddamn failure. Like a joke of a brother who hadn't given a shit about one of the people who'd mattered most. He shifted in the uncomfortable chair. He didn't really want to identify with this guy, just act like he did.

"But, boss, if I can ask…what does Olivia have to do with it? She didn't put that bag on your sister's head or hold the razor. She didn't shove pills down her throat. So why you blamin' her for it?"

"She knew!" he roared, so loud that Sonny started back and almost tipped the chair. "She knew what that monster was and she didn't tell until she wanted to! She wanted four years. Four years! Until there was somethin' she wanted, somethin' she needed, and in the meantime that fuckin'—that—thing!—was hurtin' other girls. He was hurtin' my sister! So, yeah, I blame her. If she'd told the truth sooner, it never woulda happened. My sister'd still be alive, and that little bitch still could've gotten the money."

"Money? What money?"

"The pageant." He just sounded tired now, as if his outburst had exhausted him. "She sued the pageants and that monster and they settled for some huge amount of money. That's how she affords that fancy apartment she's got, and all those nice clothes and shit. The settlement."

"She sued?" Carisi said. "Or her parents did?"

"The fuck's it matter? Result's the same. That greedy bitch got everything, and Kaley got nothin'. Nothin' but dead."

Olivia hadn't said anything about a civil suit, and their investigation hadn't turned it up. Must've been sealed; that would explain why he didn't know the exact amount. It might not've even been that much. Not that it mattered: a civil suit was par for the course in situations like Olivia's.

"So Bill Peterson abused your sister—Kaley—in between Olivia bein' abused the first time, and her gettin' caught with him?"

"That's right."

Carisi sighed. "Boss, look—she was twelve. She was a victim, too."

"Right. That's why she was caught with her mouth on his cock: the perfect little victim. Look, asshole, I get why you're fuckin' her. She's a hot piece. But I think I'm ready for you to shut the fuck up now. I got shit to do."

He stuffed the bag back over Sonny's head and extinguished the light.

"You know the NYPD's lookin' for you," he said through the burlap. "If you get anywhere near her, you'll have so many cops up your ass you won't know what hit you. Just lemme go. I'll talk to the DA, explain your situation. They'll go easy on you."

"Keep your mouth shut, or I'll tape it shut. You're not goin' anywhere. Not till that bitch is dead."

Sonny heard him moving away, shuffling across what sounded like a dirt floor. "Look, hey, boss, I gotta piss. Could you at least let me—"

"Piss yourself, Detective. I don't give a fuck." He stomped back up the stairs and slammed the door behind him.

"Fuck!" Sonny screamed. He yanked against the bonds holding his wrists. Rocked in the chair and jerked, hoping to break it. All he got for his efforts was an increased pounding in his skull and raw wrists.

He needed to be calm. He needed to think. And he needed to get the fuck out of here before "boss" made good on his promise.

"She's refusing to let us take her into protective custody," Benson said to Barba. "She's insisting on staying here. He knows where she lives, and if he's already been bold enough to snatch a cop off the street—"

"I know, Liv. Trust me, I know. I can try to talk to her, but usually once she's made up her mind, there's no changing it. She's stubborn." He smiled a little. "It must be something about the name Olivia."

"Very clever, Counselor," she said, dryly. "Just see if you can make some headway."

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "Where is she?"

"Bedroom. Not packing."

Barba nodded and headed in that direction. The door was closed, and when he knocked she called for him to come in. She sat slumped in the pink striped chair, head in her hands.

"Whatever you're going to say, don't," she said without looking at him. "I'm not taking protective custody, and I'm not leaving here. Also I want all these cops out! I want the car off my block and the goddamn police out of my building!"

He sighed and pulled her to her feet so he could lead her to the bed. She resisted, but eventually she followed him and they perched on the edge of the mattress together. He hooked a finger under her chin and raised her head. "I know you're upset, querida, but Sonny isn't a puppy who'll find his way home only to be puzzled by an empty apartment."

She scowled and shoved his hand away. "I know that, Rafael! Don't be patronizing! That isn't why."

"Okay," he said, "then explain it to me. Do you want him to find you? Do you want him to hurt you?"

"I don't know!" She pushed to her feet and paced away. "No! Of course not. But all this protection didn't help before, did it? August is dead, Sonny is…god knows where…and the sketch isn't Micah Ramirez, so there isn't even a suspect at this point!"

He crossed his arms over his stomach and watched her restless progress around the room. "Olivia, punishing yourself won't help anything. The police just want to keep you safe. I want you safe!"

"I know. I do. And maybe I'm being selfish, but at this point…I don't feel any safer. I just feel angry! And frustrated. And tired. It's within my rights to refuse their protection, isn't it? I'm not under arrest or suspicion or anything, right?"

"Legally, yes, of course you have the right to say no. But personally…I really wish you wouldn't." He rose and approached her slowly. When she didn't back away he took her arms in his hands and rubbed them gently. "Cariña, please. I love you. I can't bear the thought of you being hurt or in danger."

"I'm not in danger, Rafi; I am danger. You could be next. We thought he wouldn't go after a cop, but look what's happened! You take the police protection and tell them to leave me alone."

He could feel his temper fraying. "Goddammit, Olivia—"

"Don't you dare! You say Sonny isn't a puppy trying to find his way home? Well I'm not a puppy either, Rafael! I don't need to be yelled at or swatted with a newspaper when I don't do what you want!"

"That isn't what I'm doing! I'm worried about you! This isn't a joke, Olivia. This man is a murderer. He's already attacked you once—"

"Yes, and all he did was take some pictures and leave a few bruises. What he did to August proves he could have killed me if he wanted to. Clearly he didn't. It's you I'm worried about, not me."

"You are the single most stubborn, impossible woman I have ever met!"

"Yeah, well, get used to it, because that's pretty much why you love me."

He took a step back, scrubbing a hand over his face, and shook his head. "I want to knock you over the head and carry you off somewhere safe."

She frowned at him. "That wouldn't improve my mood any, and I'm pretty sure that's what my stalker did to Carisi. Minus the safe part."

His eyes were tired as he studied her. "You aren't going to change your mind, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I'm sorry. I don't want you to worry or be upset, but I can't stand being handled."

"Olivia…" He sighed again. "Do you want me to go too?"

She hesitated, the frown deepening. "I…would like for you to stay. If you want. And if you promise not to bug me about the protective detail."

"I don't think you're a puppy," he said. "Less puppy, more angry gatito."

Her lips moved in a weary smile. "You like when I'm your kitten, Papi."

"That's true," he said as he reached for her and pulled her close. "My fierce little kitten."

"I'm not helpless, Rafael."

"I know that." He nuzzled her chin and kissed the pulse in her throat. "You're far from helpless, cariña. You don't have to prove yourself to me or anyone. There's nothing weak about accepting help."

She let her head fall to rest on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair with a gentle hand. "I know. In my brain I know. And it's not even about that! I just—I want my life back. And I'd rather the cops concentrate on finding Sonny. He should be their focus now, not me."

"There's a reason he took him now," Barba said. "He wants your attention, or he wants him out of the way."

"So why Sonny? Why didn't he take you too?" she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"No sé, princesa. Opportunity, maybe? Or maybe since Sonny's the cop, he sees him as the bigger threat."

"Hmmph. He's clearly never seen you in court."

He laughed and kissed her temple. "Clearly." A long sigh, and he held her at arms' length. "You're sure about this? I really can't change your mind?"

"I'm sure," she said. "You really can't."

"Fine," he said, though he clearly wasn't happy about it. "On one condition: tomorrow, you stay with me."

Her face scrunched as she considered it, but finally she nodded. "Deal," she said. "Baloo and I will stay with you until they find Sonny."

His glower lessened only slightly, but he recognized it as a major victory. He didn't think she would back out of it this time, either. "I'll go talk to Liv. She sent me in here to change your mind, you know."

"Of course she did. I hope you set the proper expectations so she won't be too disappointed."

"I did my best, but she's used to me winning things."

"Sorry, baby. Even Perry Mason lost one."

He grumbled something in Spanish and trudged back to the living room to face the other Olivia. Within the hour all the cops were gone from her apartment, and the car was gone from outside. She was relieved, but she could tell Rafael was worried.

She wiggled onto the couch behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle. Rested her chin on his shoulder. "Stay here tonight," she said.

"I thought you wanted some peace and quiet," he said.

"I do. You help with that." She kissed his ear. "Stay, Rafi? Please? I don't want either of us to be alone tonight."

"Of course I'll stay," he said. He took her hands in his and kissed the center of each palm. "I didn't mean—earlier, when I implied that you couldn't take care of yourself, that wasn't my intention. I apologize."

"So formal, Mr. Barba," she said with a soft laugh. "I know you're worried. I don't want you to think I'm an idiot. I fully recognize the danger I'm in, but…what good has having cops hovering around me twenty-four/seven done so far? It's not that I think they're incompetent; I just think this guy has their number."

"It does seem that way." He fell silent for a time, enjoying the feel of her against his back, the scent of her hair and the gentle beat of her heart.

"Tomorrow is August's service," she said. Her voice was soft in the quiet apartment, and he wished he could do something to assuage the sadness there.

"I remember. Would you like me to go with you?"

"Yes, please. That would be nice." She paused. "What have you told Lieutenant Benson about us?"

"Nothing in particular, but she's an excellent detective. She knows we're involved, but I don't think she knows exactly how."

"Hmm."

"I like to keep my private life private, Olivia, and Lieutenant Benson won't pry. Unlike Sonny, I don't work for her."

She shivered at the mention of his name. "Do you think he's dead?" she whispered.

"Don't say that, cariña. If he'd wanted to kill him, he could have done that anywhere. He took him for a reason. Killing a police officer is automatic death penalty if convicted; he'll keep him alive."

She slid off the couch and held out a hand. "Let's go to bed, Rafi. I'm tired."

In the bedroom he undressed her slowly, kissing every inch of her skin and stroking her like she was something priceless and fragile. A few hours ago she couldn't have imagined wanting sex, but now she couldn't imagine not wanting it: she needed him, needed his hands and his mouth, needed to feel alive and on fire.

He lifted her onto the bed, and when he would've gone slow she urged him faster, harder. "Please, Papi," she breathed in his ear. "Fuck me!"

She clung to him, clawing at his back and biting his shoulder, and he gave in to her pleas, fucking her so that she moaned and yelped and shuddered beneath him.

"I love you!" she cried. "Fuck, Rafi, that's so good!"

"Te amo, Olivia," he growled. "Mine. You're mine!"

"Yes, yes, yes oh god!" She came hard, but he didn't let up, instead burying his face in her neck to kiss and bite and suck while he pulled her legs higher to thrust in deeper.

It lasted a long, delicious time, and neither of them had any idea that malevolent eyes watched their every move…and planned.

That is...probably not good.