Chapter Text
“Olivia!” He banged on the door, loud and persistent. “Olivia, I know you’re in there! Open the fucking door.”
He kept banging. Time was, she would’ve answered it immediately. Time was, he would’ve been the first person she ran to instead of the last person she wanted to see. Now, though, she wanted nothing more than escape–to run and hide.
She leaned against the wall, trying to find it in herself to do what he was asking. It was all too much.
“Olivia!” He was banging again, and then stopped. “Olivia . . . please .”
=====//=====
Five Hours Earlier
“Mom,” Noah asked from the seat next to her, his nose buried in his phone, “what’s a MILF?”
“Excuse me?” There was no way her sweet, vivacious, innocent son was asking her what he was obviously asking her.
“Mason texted me,” he explained. “Your picture’s in the paper today and he said you’re a real–”
“Got it,” she cut him off before he could use the acronym again. Then, “My picture’s in the paper?”
Noah was silent, his thumbs dashing across the screen, and then his brow furrowed. “Mom, why’d you let someone take pictures of you in a towel?”
He pushed the phone in her direction, but she waved him off. “Honey, I’m driving.” After a moment, it sank in, and she pulled to the side of the road, flashers on. “Pictures of me in a towel?”
Noah passed her the phone, already open to the messages. It was a photo of the New York Ledger with the screaming headline “CAPTAIN CLEAVAGE.” The accompanying photo was of her–in the towel.
The video had leaked.
The video had leaked, and her son was now asking her what a MILF was.
The video had leaked, and all of New York was going to see her–in that towel–with that insulting headline.
“I think that’s enough screen time for this car ride.” She pocketed his phone.
“But, Mom–” he protested.
“But nothing,” she cut off the protest, and then took a breath. None of this was Noah’s fault, and he didn’t deserve any of her displaced anger. “Honey, this picture came from the motel when we visited the McCanns the first time. It’s part of the evidence in the trial tomorrow.”
He nodded. “The perverts with the cameras . . . this is from that ?” His face was marred by concern, and she hated it for him, for both of them.
“Yes,” she answered, simply. She would never lie to him, but she tried to deliver the truth as simply and gently as possible.
He continued to frown in confusion. “Why would someone put them in the paper?”
She could only sigh and reach out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “That’s what I’m gonna figure out.”
He relaxed a little bit, simple as that. If only there were someone to do the same for her. “Any other questions?” she asked.
“You never did tell me what MILF . . .”
Her phone rang, and she had never been more grateful for an interruption. “Amanda, hi!”
“Is now a bad time?” The other woman’s voice flowed through the car speaker like biscuits and honey, but there was still an edge to it.
“Not at all,” Olivia answered, and then volunteered. “ Noah and I are just on the way to Woodstock. He’s gonna hang out with the McCanns while I attend the Sprague trial.”
“That’s kinda why I’m calling,” Amanda began.
Even without being able to see her, Olivia could imagine the expression on her face, the deliberateness with which she was weighing the words that would follow. “I can imagine–” Olivia let her off the hook. “Noah was getting some rather interesting texts before I confiscated his phone.”
“Oh, God, Liv. Oh, no.”
“It’s fine,” Olivia answered automatically, only to be interrupted with another ringtone. “Damn, Amanda, it’s McGrath. Can I call you back?”
“Of course,” Amanda answered.
Her warm voice was replaced by McGrath’s crushed glass. “Olivia, where the fuck are you?!”
“I’m in the car, Chief, with my son .” She emphasized that last word.
“Well, when you’re done dropping him off, make sure you get your ass down to the station so you can explain to me why the fuck your tits are splashed all over the front page of the Ledger –we’ve got a shitshow on our hands.”
“I’m out this week, Chief,” she reminded him. “The trial in Woodstock. Which,” she added with an overly calm deliberateness, designed to defuse and deflate his bluster, “is probably directly related to the leaked photos.”
“You didn’t tell me there was footage of you in this mess!” Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel in the face of his ongoing ire. He was easier to deal with in person when she could silence him with a single look.
“That ‘footage,’ as you put it, is evidence of a crime, and I included it in the report of off-duty arrest I filed with One PP–a report you were CC’d on.”
He was silent. She knew he'd never apologize, but the lack of argument was enough.
Too soon though, he spoke again. "There’s still going to be a lot of questions about why the head of sex crimes is dancing around in a towel."
"First," she began, one eye on Noah, "I wasn't dancing. Second, in this case, I'm as much a victim as some of the people we work with. I would hope you don’t lose sight of that.”
“Good,” he answered, “That’s good, we can spin this.” She sighed, focusing more on the highway than the politicking.
Highway markers flashed by, and Noah sat stiffly in the seat next to her. She reached out to tousle his hair and rolled her eyes dramatically as McGrath’s voice continued to run through the speakers.
“Understood, Captain?” he finally wrapped up.
“Understood,” she answered, wondering what she’d just agreed to.
“Good,” he answered. “Call me when the trial’s over.”
She pushed the disconnect button and turned her attention back to Noah. “How much money do I need to put in the swear jar for that call?”
“Five,” he answered. “One for you and four for what Chief McGrath said.”
“Let’s make it an even ten,” she started. “And I’ll explain what MILF means and why I don’t ever want to hear you using it.”