Chapter Text
Karen Vick woke up to her phone going off. Groggily, she rolled over in bed, feeling her husband shift beside her. Dammit , she thought, this is supposed to be my night off . Still, in her position, she truly was always on call. But tonight had been going so well – she’d gotten off before dark, helped her husband cook dinner, actually read Iris a bedtime story, and then, to top it all off, she’d gotten to take a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a book she’d been trying to read for the past three months – and there had been no calls. Nothing from the station. Nothing from her detectives. Nothing from her consultants.
No interruptions. Actual time with her family. Actual time for herself. She loved her job, but this… this was all she’d wanted for a very, very long time.
It was also too good to be true.
Clearing the cobwebs of sleep from her mind, she readied herself mentally for what was likely to be a long, sleepless night at the station. Heaving a sigh as she grabbed her phone from her nightstand, she saw a combination that sent a shiver down her spine – it was much later than she’d thought, past four in the morning, and it wasn’t the station calling her. This call was coming from her head detective’s personal cell.
Stomach tightening in dread, she planted her bare feet on the cold hardwood floor as she answered. Although she often got called for emergencies fairly regularly, she’d very rarely been called in the wee hours of the morning. And never had her head detective called her this late. Something was very wrong.
Still, professionalism was her middle name, so she answered briskly, none of her exhaustion or concern making its way into her voice. “This is Vick.” Determined not to ruin Richard’s sleep, she slipped soundlessly out of their bedroom.
“Chief? It’s Lassiter.”
“What’s going on, Detective?”
A brief pause. “Sorry to bother you so late, Chief, but we’ve got a situation.”
The dread in her gut twisted itself into a tight, leaden ball of fear. Her detective’s voice sounded tense and slightly irritable, which wasn’t at all unusual. The grim weight behind his words, coupled with the tinge of poorly veiled concern, however, was reserved only for cases that hit close to home. She couldn’t help herself – “O’Hara?”
“She’s fine. She’s here with us.”
“Us?” Frustration flared up alongside her anxiety. “What exactly is going on, Carlton?”
A pause, then Lassiter spoke again, this time his voice muffled and indistinct. “Dammit. Who called him here? O’Hara, can you take care of this? I’m trying to bring the chief up to speed.” She heard the sound of feet crunching on gravel, then the detective’s voice spoke directly into the phone again. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “I don’t know who the hell called Henry Spencer to the crime scene, but–”
“Henry Spencer?” Suddenly, it all made sense. “What has Shawn done this time?”
She wasn’t entirely sure what answer she expected to get. With Shawn Spencer, one never quite knew what kind of trouble would arise. Hopefully whatever he’d gotten into, wherever he’d trespassed, whoever he was harassing or had pissed off, she would be able to smooth it over fairly quickly. She really did like Shawn, chaotic as he may be, and he definitely had a success rate worth risking whatever trouble he brought with him, but this was getting ridiculous. Despite her irritation at the psychic, a dark suspicion nagged at her. Something was still off . Even Lassiter wouldn’t call her to tattle on Shawn at four in the morning.
Then again...
Lassiter’s response attached a ten-pound weight to her heart and pulled it right down to her feet. “What has Spencer done? Damn it all if he didn’t get himself shot and dragged away in a trunk.”
“Oh, God , no.” Horror rushed through her bloodstream and she felt her pulse quicken, even as she hurried back into her bedroom and began dressing as quickly as she could in the dark. Richard muttered and rolled over restlessly but didn’t wake. Her voice a harsh whisper, she asked a burning question: “If he’s missing, how do you know–”
“It’s a long story.”
As much as she wanted the whole story now, she knew that her detective had more important things to do than to play storyteller. Still, she had to know: “Do you have confirmation of life?”
Lassiter didn’t speak for a moment. In the background, she could hear several voices, all charged in a frenzy of anxiety and a panicked need to do something while being utterly helpless that she understood all too well. Lassiter heaved a great sigh. “Guster has a text from his phone, utter gibberish, some kind of message. A few minutes later, he received another text which indicates that Shawn’s been shot. The blood trail we found at the scene corroborates the text.”
“Did he say–”
Lassiter had always been good at predicting the direction of a conversation. This could be annoying during normal situations, as he would sometimes cut in with an answer before the question had been finished, but in high-stakes situations such as these, it was a valuable time-saver. “No other information. We don’t know where he was shot or how bad the wound is. All we know is that there is a substantial trail of blood leading to tire tracks. It’s not enough for blood loss to have killed him outright, but it’s definitely concerning.” He chuckled humorlessly and acknowledged the elephant in the room that neither of them really wanted to face. “Hell, we can’t even know for sure that it was Spencer who sent that text, though with the level of absurdity and terrible grammar, it’s a safe bet it was.”
“Yes, well, until we know otherwise, we will operate under the assumption that it was,” Karen said firmly as she scrawled a hasty note to her husband, pinning it to the fridge with a pineapple magnet. “We can’t afford to take any chances.” She slid her shoes on and opened the front door. “I’m heading to the station first to coordinate there. I’ll need someone to fill me in on all details. I assume you’ve already got some cars there, working the scene?”
“I do. We’re finishing up here. Since Henry’s already here and refusing to budge, I’ll take him with me and have O’Hara go with Guster to retrace the breadcrumbs of whatever ridiculous investigation Shawn got himself into. I’ll have McNab meet you at the station and catch you up.”
“Good. I want you to take the lead on this, and I’m going to have every available officer working this, too, so you just let me know who you need and where you need them. And any new leads you have need to be passed on to me immediately .”
“Will do.”
As she started her car, Karen allowed the smallest bit of controlled emotion into her voice as she allowed her guard to drop for the briefest of moments. “As unorthodox as his methods may be, Shawn Spencer is one of us, Carlton. This is personal. Until we find him, it’s all hands on deck, every available resource poured into the search.”
Carlton was quiet for a moment, and his tone was as serious as it had ever been as he acknowledged, “Copy that, Chief.”
The fact that Lassiter didn’t protest Shawn being one of them spoke to just how dire of a turn this night had taken. She took a deep breath, shoved every ounce of worry deep inside of her, and disconnected the call.
Her night off be damned. She’d meant what she’d said to Lassiter; Shawn Spencer was unpredictable, chaotic, and irreverent, but he was a damn good detective, and more than that, he was part of the SBPD family. He was one of them, and he was in trouble.
And until he was safe, that was all that mattered to any of them.
Even, she knew, to Lassiter.