Chapter Text
On the front stoop of an elegant brownstone in the nicest part of town, a man in his early twenties rocked onto the balls of his feet. He was dressed in plainclothes—jeans, tee, and a sport coat, all black—but a badge hung around his neck and a gun at his hip. His unmarked car blocked a hydrant a few feet away. Perks of being a detective. A six year old boy stood in the doorway in front of him, one hand still wrapped around the doorknob.
This was the home of Agatha Harkness, international criminal mastermind. She was suspected in very nearly every interesting case of grand larceny across nearly every continent in the last five years. For all her infamy, she had seldom been successfully charged and never convicted. Rumor had it she had ties to every subversive or shady power on the planet: the mob, cartels, even autocrats.
But those were rumors. An absolute, certified fact?
She had an adorable kid.
“Mama!” called the boy over his shoulder, “Billy’s here.”
“Well, invite him in, darling,” a voice called back from within the townhouse.
“Not today, Agatha,” Billy said, projecting his voice. “Official business. I’m not staying long. If we could stop shouting…?” He put his hands on his knees and smiled at the little boy. “So, how’s it going, Nicky? Are you being good?”
“Yep! We won our game last week!” Nicky said proudly, puffing out his chest.
Billy held out his hand for a high five. “Nice!”
“What are you here for?”
“Oh, you know,” Billy said, “the usual. Say, has your mom picked up any new art recently?”
Nicky scrunched up his face and squinted at the lanky cop on the stoop. “What is art?”
“You are funny.”
“Now, what’s this about?” asked a middle aged woman as elegant as the brownstone itself, gliding into the doorway. She ruffled Nicky’s hair and pulled him into her side. With her heeled boots on, she was Billy’s height—reasonably tall for a woman. She had her coffee brown hair in a messy bun and her crisp, white shirt buttoned almost all the way to the collar. “Teen! Here without backup?”
“Boss didn’t think I needed any. I’m just here to ask you a few questions.”
“That seems pretty sloppy of the good ol’ Boston PD. It’s dangerous out on the streets.”
“It’s Beacon Hill, Agatha.”
“Still. Alice shouldn’t be sending you out on your own. Aren’t you supposed to be a junior detective?”
Billy rolled his eyes. “And aren’t you supposed to be a harmless, law-abiding soccer mom?”
“You know perfectly well Nicky doesn’t play soccer,” said Agatha with a smirk. “And I do believe, by your account, I am an alleged criminal mastermind.”
“Alleged international criminal mastermind,” said Nicky.
“This is going to ruin the world tour,” said Agatha.
A cool September breeze lifted Billy’s dark curls off his forehead. “Come on, Agatha. It’s just a few questions.”
“Much as I enjoy our witty repartee, now is…not a great time. Let’s skip ahead. Give me the window and I’ll provide my alibi.”
Billy sighed. Nine times out of ten, Agatha would be reasonably cooperative, if entirely enigmatic. The tenth usually happened when a certain federal agent hadn’t been by in a while. He could tell which way this was headed. “If I do that, you’re just going to tell me you were standing in the street, throwing rocks at Rio’s window, and I’m going to have to take you in, and you’re going to give us your actual alibi, which will check out like always, and we’ll have wasted everyone’s time.”
“Our little field trips are a waste of time? You wound me.”
“She’s done that once,” said a small voice. Agatha and Billy both looked down at Nicky. He smiled cherubically. “Thrown rocks at Rio’s window. She brought me.”
“You little snitch,” Agatha grumbled, hip-checking him affectionately.
Billy snickered. “One day, you’re going to actually be with Rio when a major crime takes place, and she’s not going to corroborate your alibi on principle.”
“Sorry,” said Agatha, “I stopped listening after you said one day I’m going to be with Rio. Do you promise?”
“You already know I’m kind of rooting for you.”
“What is it you want to take me in for this time, boytshik?”
“Private art theft,” Billy said unthinkingly. Then he backpedaled. “We just have questions. That can be answered here.”
“Art theft?” Agatha looked surprised. She was very, very good at that. When they’d first met, she’d almost convinced Billy that she really was an innocent soccer mom. And then she’d say things like… “My specialty. Allegedly. I see why you’ve darkened my door. Was it anything good? Last time you came to see me, it was about one of those godawful modern pieces.”
“That one was worth four times my annual pay,” Billy said with a little too much whine in his voice.
“They should pay you more.”
“They should. For dealing with you alone.”
Agatha cackled. “I have a genius suggestion to resolve that.”
“They specifically sent me because Mo—Mayor Maximoff wanted Rio’s help on something else.”
“And I specifically am too busy for this right now, nepo baby.”
One of the things Billy liked about Agatha was that she didn’t actually seem to think less of him because his mother was the mayor. She teased, but it lacked bite. In fact, she was weirdly complimentary of the whole precinct. They all had a hard time mustering up the disdain appropriate for an alleged international criminal when said criminal brought them back trinkets every time she traveled. Which was why he caved too easily.
“If I get Rio to do the interview, will you answer the questions?”
Agatha grinned. “I live to accommodate, Teen.”
“Can I come?” Nicky asked.
“Not today, buddy.” Billy looked at Agatha. “Is Mrs. Davis home?”
“Sharon!” Agatha shouted, doing her best Ozzy Osborne impression.
An older woman popped her head out the window of the townhouse next door. “Oh, hi, Detective Maximoff! That time again? Where’s the little angel? Send him over,” she said, smiling cheerily.
“Shouldn’t be long,” Billy assured her.
“Say hi to Rio for me,” said Nicky as he scurried down his own steps and up Mrs. Davis’s.
“Will do,” said Agatha and Billy simultaneously.
Agatha glared at Billy. Then, she said graciously, “You’re a doll, Mrs. Hart.”
“That’s not my name.”
“You really should stop changing it, then. How am I supposed to remember?”
Mrs. Davis grumbled, but Agatha was already gone, sliding into the passenger seat of Billy’s car. Billy clambered in, too, and shot off a quick text while Agatha examined herself in the mirror and unbuttoned enough of her shirt that Billy averted his eyes and said, “Jesus, Agatha.”
“Too much?” she asked.
“I don’t think she needs to see your entire bra.”
“I disagree. It’s kind of my goal that she does.”
“Not in the middle of the day, in the middle of the precinct,” said Billy, still looking away as he started the car. “Sheesh, woman, a mack truck doesn’t come on as strong. You walk in like that and you’re going to be arrested for solicitation. Or indecent exposure.”
“Fine,” Agatha said, fingers moving nimbly up her buttons, redoing them until the lacy edge of her bra only showed if she twisted just so.
Billy flicked his blinker on and asked, “Have you considered green?”
Agatha stopped fussing with her cleavage and looked at him.
“Like, I know purple is your thing, but Rio is really into green, right?”
He could feel Agatha’s stare burning into the side of his head. “Are you suggesting I buy lingerie in Rio’s favorite color to seduce her? No, wait, let me put this more into perspective. Are you letting a suspect sit in the passenger seat and giving her advice on how to seduce your coworker while driving her to the police station for questioning?”
“Point taken. My life is so weird.”
“Oh, but you’ve grown so much in the last—how long have I been here?”
“Eleven months.”
“You’ve grown so much in the last eleven months.”
When they walked into the station, Alice was waiting for them. Sergeant Alice Wu-Gulliver was Billy’s boss. Her Doc Martens pushed her over five feet tall, she had a mullet, and Billy feared and idolized her in equal parts. Alice’s mom had been a mega famous rockstar in, like, the eighties, so she kind of understood what it was like to live in your mom’s shadow. Together with Jennifer Kale in Forensics and Lilia Calderu in Intel, they made up the Grand Larceny unit the BPD had cobbled together about a year ago. Eleven months, to be exact.
“Maximoff, the whole point was not to bring her in.”
“Yeah, well,” Billy shrugged. “This was the only way to get anything out of her.”
Agatha had already made a beeline for the desk by the far window where Rio was hunched over her laptop.
Special Agent Rio Vidal was on loan from the feds. When Agatha Harkness moved to Boston, so too did Rio. The FBI deposited her in their midst at BPD, and the Grand Larceny unit was stood up specifically to support her. She was the tall, dark, and mysterious sort and damn gorgeous enough that no one questioned why a notorious (alleged!) criminal was enthusiastically pursuing the law enforcement officer whose sole purpose was to gather enough evidence to put her away. Agatha and Rio had been playing cat and mouse for years. Though sometimes it wasn’t clear who was the cat and who the mouse.
“Sitting like that is terrible for your back, my love,” said Agatha.
Rio jerked upright, gaze stuttering briefly over the cleavage suddenly six inches from her face, and then sighed. “Agatha,” she said warily.
“You look like you’ve been working too hard,” said Agatha, perching on the edge of Rio’s desk. “Luckily, I give great massages.”
“She’s busy today,” said Alice. “That’s why you got Billy.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Agatha huffed disapprovingly. “About that. You shouldn’t be sending your detectives out without backup.”
“Detective. Singular. Team’s a little thin, as you know. And what were you going to do, shoot him?”
“Me?” Agatha touched her hand to her sternum daintily, feigning shock. “I’m an upstanding citizen with no reason to antagonize law enforcement. And, apparently, I care more about my boys in blue than their own sergeant.” She turned back to Rio. “And you let this happen?”
Rio shrugged. “Not my jurisdiction.”
“Right,” said Agatha, grinning. “Because your jurisdiction is…”
“You.”
“Me.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Rio groused, rolling her shoulders as if she could shake Agatha off.
Agatha merely bent her face closer to Rio’s and replied, “I just love it when you admit that your life revolves around me.”
“Around putting you in prison.”
“If you want me in handcuffs so bad, angel, all you have to do is ask.”
Heels clicked on the tile floor, and Billy turned to see Jen.
Jennifer Kale had a shaved head but was the least punk of the Grand Larceny unit. She was also the most fashionable, but only because Agatha technically didn’t count as part of the team. If she thought she could get away with running around the forensics lab in a dress, she probably would have. Instead, she owned a pastel blouse in every shade imaginable. That day’s was a silk, lavender button-up. It matched her sterile gloves.
“Oh, look,” said Jen flatly, “it’s white Carmen Sandiego.”
Agatha laughed. “What are you doing above ground, boho Severus Snape? Love the attempt to make latex gloves chic.”
“Alright,” said Rio, before things could devolve further. She heaved herself out of her chair with a grunt and tapped Agatha’s hip. “Up.”
Looking like the cat who’d caught the canary, Agatha slid off the desk and smiled innocently.
“What about the stuff for the Mayor?” asked Alice.
“It’ll get done. But Agatha is my primary responsibility, so she comes first.”
Agatha’s eyes lit up with mischief.
“Not a word,” Rio said sharply and turned to Billy. “I’m going to need the file, kid.”
“It’s on my desk.”
Rio looked at Alice. “Bring her to one. Might as well get this on tape.”
Pouting and batting her eyelashes, Agatha smoothed Rio’s open collar and purred, “I can think of much more interesting tapes we could make, stud.”
“That one’s getting old, babe,” Rio shot back, striding off in the direction of Billy’s desk.
Billy scrambled to keep up, and Jen trailed after them. “Nicky says hi,” he said, weaving through the cluttered field of desks that made up the BPD office floor.
“How is he?” asked Rio. “Not growing horns like his mother?”
“He won his baseball game.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“He invited me.”
Billy tripped over Wade from Homocide’s trash can. “You guys are weird,” he said, shaking his foot free of the can.
Rio scanned the files on his desk and plucked the top one off the pile. After skimming it quickly, she snapped it closed and waved it at Billy. “Thanks, Kill Bill,” she said and strode off towards interrogation.
Jen patted Billy’s shoulder. He gave her latex gloves a peeved look and she quickly peeled them off. “Kid,” she said, “you need to stop letting people push you around.”
“I don’t let people push me around!”
“Look, we all like Agatha more than we probably should, but you’re almost as bad as Rio. Worse, arguably.”
“I’m so not.”
“How hard did Agatha have to try to get you to bring her in even though you weren’t going to? Cause Rio didn’t even have to try to get you to hand over your hard work.”
“We’re a team.”
“We’re a team. Rio’s the feds. And it’s not just Rio and Agatha you let walk all over you. It’s ok to take control sometimes, Billy. Your mom is actually a pretty good mayor. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to be compared to her.”
“Whatever,” Billy said, flopping into his chair and pulling his laptop towards him. “Are you gonna help me with my paperwork or not?”
When Rio returned thirty minutes later, she brought Alice, who was obviously exasperated.
“Clean alibi,” Rio said, dropping the file on top of Billy’s keyboard.
“Okay, guess I’m done typing,” said Billy.
“But we’re watching private auctions in Connecticut for the next six months,” Rio continued as if he hadn’t said anything. She had a faint, red smear on her cheek, like a lipstick mark that had been only halfheartedly wiped away.
“Oh, come on,” Billy said to Jen, gesturing at the mark. “You cannot think I’m worse than that.”
Jen scoffed. “In a different way, obviously,” she said. “Let’s be real. She’s got a hell of a lot of willpower—”
“She is right here,” said Rio tersely.
“Exactly,” said Jen. “A weaker woman would’ve followed that MILF home.”
“Ew,” said Billy.
“What’s really impressive,” said Alice, “is Agatha’s persistence. One rejection and I never want to show my face in public again. But Rio’s given her nothing for, like, five years and she’s still trying.”
Rio looked away conspicuously.
“Hold on,” said Jen, a grin spreading across her face. “That face says not nothing.”
“She went to Nicky’s baseball game,” Billy reminded her.
“That is not it. Spill, Tree Paine.”
Around them, the station was starting to clear out as the clock ticked towards five. Rio growled and rolled her eyes. Then, she said, “Nicky got sick when he was little.”
“He’s still little,” interrupted Alice.
Rio glared. “When Nicky was two,” she said, “he got really sick. Fussy, fever, that horrible, rattling cough…” She shivered. “It’s terrifying to hear your kid cough like that. Agatha freaked.
“We were living in Lucerne, and they didn’t really like her there. She got all panicky and paranoid thinking the doctors might refuse to treat the child of an alleged criminal. So, I went with them to the hospital, flashed my badge, let the staff think they were treating a cop’s kid, because that made Agatha feel better. And then…” Rio shrugged. “…we waited. Three days of “here comes the airplane” with hospital food and talking to doctors and sharing a tiny cot until he was discharged.”
“I’m sure it meant a lot to both of them,” said Billy, remembering how, at thirteen, he’d shouted at his own mother to leave when he’d woken up to find her asleep in the rickety lounger by his hospital bed.
“The home office liked it, too,” said Rio derisively. “I gave my update as usual, and the Director called me to personally commend me for the way I won Agatha’s trust, as if that’s why I did it.”
“Back up,” said Jen, raising an eyebrow. “I think we sort of glossed over the part where you slept together.”
“In a twin sized cot,” said Rio defensively.
“Cozy.”
“With our clothes on.”
Jen raised her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, I can see why Agatha is so ready to play happy families.”
Groaning, Rio slumped into Wade’s abandoned chair.
Billy tilted his head thoughtfully. “Do you go to all of Nicky’s stuff?”
“Not all—I’ve missed things. Not a lot of things, but… Look, I’ve known that kid practically his whole life.”
“Dude, respectfully, that kid is your kid.”
“He’s not. Give it a rest,” said Rio. “Don’t we have an actual case to talk about?”
Picking up the file Rio had returned, Billy flipped through it to scan her notes from the interview with Agatha. Rio had said the alibi was solid, which meant all they had left was paperwork and another cold case. It could be someone else, Alice insisted, but it was so clearly Agatha’s style: the theft of a prized display piece, a wealthy target known for being kind of an asshole, especially to women, exploitation of a fatal flaw in the security system.
Of course, this led to the inevitable argument of whether they could really claim to characterize Agatha’s MO at all, given that she’d never been convicted. Really, they were just assuming that the cases she’d been suspected in were truly her crimes. And, more than that, was it Agatha’s style that gave these cases their commonalities, or was it the commonalities that led detectives over the years to assume the same culprit and name Agatha the suspect, thereby reinforcing the supposed MO?
This was usually the point where Rio would grumble that, unlike the rest of them, she knew what she was talking about when it came to Agatha Harkness. Except Rio’s phone rang, and she excused herself to answer it.
-
Before Rio even said hello, her phone buzzed against her ear. With her nomadic lifestyle and disinterest in making friends, she didn’t get a lot of calls or texts, and certainly not multiple at once, except maybe in the middle of an especially energetic case. Given that her current team was fifty yards away talking about how cold their case was getting by the minute, it wasn’t that.
“Vidal,” she said, pulling the phone away from her ear enough to see that the text was from the same unknown number as the call. An unknown number rarely warranted a second look. Rio only had four numbers saved in her phone, and two of them were Harknesses.
“Hello,” said a crisp, rich voice with one of those vaguely New England accents.
She tapped the message notification, keeping the phone close enough to her head to hear him.
“Ah, how convenient, Agent Vidal, that you have read receipts on, so I can be sure you’ve seen the picture I just sent before you hear what I have to say.”
Rio had read receipts on to ensure that Agatha knew when she was being ignored, which was almost always, unless it concerned Nicky. The years of utility and satisfaction that had given her were not worth the abject horror of looking down at a photo of Nicky on the playground.
“Special Agent Vidal,” said Rio firmly, pressing the phone to her ear. “Which roughly translates to: there’s not a rock on this damn planet you’ll be able to hide under if you touch a hair on his head.”