Phil Hayes didn't look like a business mogul.

He looked terrified.

His knee hadn't stopped bouncing since uniforms led him to the interrogation room. He alternated between pacing and rubbing at his face. Maybe a little more and a genie might just pop out his ears.

Phil's nerves worsened at Mario's entrance and I thoroughly enjoyed it from my view through the two-way mirror.

The image my mind decided to paint after knowing his background did not agree with his actual appearance. Short and stocky. He wore an oversized polo shirt that did not conceal a beer belly. Blond hair he swept downward then to the side that did not do his round face any favors.

He didn't look to be the type to use illegal substance or sell it.

I had to keep looking at Phil Hayes – dismantle him and his looks – to keep myself from falling into the yawning abyss of guilt that was screaming my name. It got too loud after my call with Camila. I wanted to throw my phone against the mirror separating him and I.

I didn't. I tucked it away in my back pocket.

Jacobs entered, stripped of his usual flair. He was no doubt feeling responsible for how the operations unfolded. In his hands were two to-go cups of coffee, one he handed to me. I took a sip, having little faith it would jumpstart my exhausted body.

"Thanks."

"The crates have no labels or any usable serial numbers. They're checking them for traces of drugs and prints as we speak. But nobody's optimistic about the prints," he rattled off as he stood next to me and I nodded in acknowledgment. "Weren't you supposed to be out of here hours ago?"

"I was making a report about yesterday. And then Mario told me about this." I jerked my head towards the mirror. "I had to see it."

"I thought Lieberman would volunteer to do that." He let out a silent laugh. Joshua might just write a superhero comic about yesterday featuring him as the hero. "Did you go to the warehouse?"

"This morning, yeah. CSU wanted to know where exactly I was when I shot Widow Maker and where on her body I thought the bullet landed. Angle and direction, blood splatter or something." I felt a little lightheaded as I considered what kind of evidence they might uncover through my help.

"I just got back from there. They haven't found any blood."

My head snapped towards him. I hoped I didn't gasp. I couldn't remember if I did. But there was nothing to be done about the brows raised up my forehead and my eyes blown in shock.

"That's impossible." Please be possible.

Jacobs stood with his free hand on his hip, head bowed with disappointment. What he hoped to be his redemption was Camila's freedom.

I was still too cautious to hope. I couldn't remember breathing until he spoke.

"They've tried everything. All the foot traffic messed with evidence they could have used," he explained. "CCTVs haven't been working for weeks, too."

"Anything else?" I asked like my knees weren't going weak, overcome with relief.

Jacobs hesitated. His eyes scanned the four corners of the small room. I could almost see him shrinking as he faced me again.

He inhaled, shaking his head. "I can't find Stew, Serge."

Thank God!

I hated how good a news that was to me. My body could not process conflict because that was not good news for my unit. That was the worst. I ignored the blade piercing my pride. Things would have been much different had the case not involved my wife.

This nightmare haunting my days had never loomed this close before.

Jacobs flinched at the sound of the door opening. I pretended not to see it and nodded towards Mario.

"He's hiding something. I don't think he's directly involved with drug trade but there's something we're missing." He stared at the cup Jacobs was handing over to him. He eventually took it and it was not without suspicion written all over his face. "Thank you."

"I filed for a search warrant on their computer data and phone records this morning." I told them. One of the numerous things I was expected to do with every other case. Unlike every other case, I had significant conflict of interest on this one.

Mario nodded to me and then looked to Jacobs asking, "Anything on the crates?"

Jacobs repeated what he just told me, disclosing that he'd asked Mole to dig up anything about his missing informant and who he'd been rubbing elbows with. Lots of criminals, I imagined.

My phone vibrated as we moved to Phil Hayes and his company and found Camila's name across the screen. I almost didn't answer it. And I would have regretted it if I didn't.

I hadn't even managed to utter the usual "hello" when his familiar voice surfaced where her should have.

"Lauren, it's Fausto. There's been an accident. Camila slipped and cut her arm. We're at the ER at Presbyterian."

"Yeah, I'll be there soon." I dropped the call then and shoved the coffee back to Jacobs' hands. "Fuck. I have to go. Camila had an accident at work. They took her to the hospital."

"Need a ride?" Mario dangled the keys to his motorcycle, his eyes held a promise.

Mario might have broken several traffic laws and I took off as he stopped it right at the entrance. I might have abused authority when I waved my badge at the nurse at the ER to let me in. I couldn't feel my legs as adrenaline had effectively numbed them and my fingertips.

Fuck it all. Camila had never been in as much trouble as she was in the last twenty-four hours than the eleven years we've known each other.

A flurry of words steadily pooled in my head and my tongue was ready to launch with each decisive step that took me closer to the Scalawag.

How anyone would actively choose to work amongst the screaming, crying and whining is beyond me. Not to mention the urgency of having to sew human skin.

And all that blood.

"Stay still!" I heard a familiar voice behind the drapes I was told Camila was in. All doubts disappeared as I heard her disgruntled response.

"I would if it didn't hurt."

"I gave you enough anesthetic to numb your whole arm. If you didn't drink your weight in alcohol last night and this morning, we wouldn't have this problem."

I entered the room with four sets of eyes at me, all with varying emotions. Fausto stood out amongst them, his eagle eyes communicated a quiet threat better than anyone I knew could. In an instant, his guard was up and bolstered. I had no doubts he'd have had me on the ground had I posed any threat.

Exasperation riddled Danny's glare, like he was at his wits end with his sister, my darling wife, who was sitting like a scolded child, impatient and in pain. The spark of excitement that burst in Camila's eyes was at seeing me was quickly suppressed by trepidation knowing her injury.

A wave of nausea slammed into me as I took a closer inspection at her gaping cut. If I had to estimate it was nearly four inches. I didn't even want to think about its depth. The jagged flesh had my own skin tingling.

I've seen gory images of crime and accident but watching someone sew human skin with pure intent did things to my stomach. I had to look away.

I barely acknowledged the nurse in dark blue scrubs who stared at me with a troubled expression until she said, "You shouldn't be here, Ma'am."

"It's okay. She's my sister-in-law. Hi Lauren," Danny forced a smile. He shared similar distaste with the Pinstripe as I did.

"Danny," I said in lieu of a greeting. Unaware what to do with myself, my hands found my hair. "What did you do?" I finally looked at Camila in the eyes, seeking answers to questions I have not asked. I couldn't help the suspicion that surfaced.

It was the same arm. The very one that my bullet scrape. I often wondered what life in the Pinstripe was like and to realized how unprepared I was with just a glimpse was another blow to my pride.

"You know what? I don't want to hear it." I shook my head as Camila tried to get a word in. I sat next to her and allowed my love for her to take over. My hand reached for hers and squeezed.

For better or worse.

This was it.

Camila was hurt but she was otherwise fine. I should be grateful. I despised how my mind was quick to search for someone to blame. Squint. Danny. Camila. But then there was Fausto. I couldn't help but ask if he could have just taken over. I had no doubt he was capable.

And I wouldn't have taken it easy on him.

I stared at him with avid interest. He sat almost slouching by the entrance of the curtained room. The way he had his hands clasped together, shoulders slacked, he looked harmless and fatherly. He looked almost shy. On his feet, he wasn't even that tall. He didn't tower over anyone nor did he ever look capable of such atrocities.

Had I met him on the street, I'd never guess he was part of the Pinstripe. I had never seen his hair down like it was yesterday. He always wore it in a pony.

I couldn't help but think how many people that man had deceived. I had never even seen him the way he was yesterday. It was almost as if I was staring at a different person.

Long agonizing minutes later, Danny was finally bandaging my wife. I stepped out of the curtained cubicle armed with Camila's prescription.

Footsteps followed behind. They sounded steady and resolute, the sound only one person could make. I stopped in the hallway just outside the ER. He stopped.

I could sense him behind me. He didn't loom. He just stood like he owned the earth beneath his feet. I turned and the close proximity allowed me to see a scar conveniently concealed by his laugh line. His left brow had a thin strip as well, and one more one more by his hairline.

I caught his gaze, refusing to lift my head. I hoisted an impatient brow instead.

Power play was stupid but necessary.

I had to remind myself he cared for the most important person in my life.

"She was unpacking the crate of wines she brought from Georgia. She miscalculated the height and banged one of the bottles against the glass shelf. She turned and sliced her arm against it," he explained.

I wondered if he had just made up a story for my conscience to cling to or to afford Camila another witness if we ever link anything to her—to them.

I nodded but didn't say anything to regard what he said.

Instead, I said, "thank you."

For everything.

-

I refused to acknowledge Camila on the drive home. There was a distance between us where there was none. Fausto sat in the front seat.

She didn't pester me like she usually did. Something was different and we both knew that.

I hated myself for the charade I put on display for Henry the nightguard as we entered the building. Bile rose to my throat as I felt Camila stiffen as I pulled her closer by the waist. Henry stood taller as he spotted us, already tipping his head to our direction.

"Good evening, love birds," he said, his friendly light blue eyes gleaming with mischief. His smile dropped at the sight of Camila's injury.

"I had a little accident at work," Camila supplied before he could articulate a question. "I'll be fine."

"It's a good thing you have Miss Jauregui here to take care of you." There was no mistaking the insinuation in his words and the old man couldn't have been happier. Camila smiled at him, shaking her head as if disappointed.

"Yep. I'm very lucky to have her," she said.

And unlike any other times, she didn't glance at me. Worse, I couldn't tell if she meant it.

"I bet you're glad she's back." Henry looked at me and winked.

He had no idea how confused his comment made me.

The walk to the elevator felt longer than usual with the possibility of Henry following us with his eyes. I'd hate to break the man's heart over our troubles. Camila didn't distance herself from me until we were securely boxed in.

Her eyes were downcast, avoiding my reflection. In silence we ascended the floor to ours and in the same manner, took off our jackets and shoes, and left keys by the door.

It was making me itch. My hair. Collar bone. Temple. My back.

I made my way to the kitchen and arranged her set of medicines to a pill organizer to keep me sane. That way I could check if she took them. She joined me a little later, grabbing herself a glass of water.

"Take these," I took her hand and placed pills on it. "I arranged the rest in organizer. You'll need to take them three times in a day. I'll remind you everyday until your next appointment with Danny."

She acquiesced. She tilted her head back, throwing the pills in her mouth.

I knew it was hurting her – not touching me. Camila loved with touch. So did I. It was killing me to stay away.

I watched her look around the fridge. Camila liked to snack on something to unwind, especially after a long, hectic day.

I usually joined her.

"What?" I Jumped at the sound of her voice. The irritation I could detect lit a fuse to my temper. "We're alone. Say whatever it is you've been dying to say."

"I don't want to argue with you, Camila." I tried to appease the situation before it got out of hand—before I lost control of my anger.

"Then, what? You hold this in until it becomes too big to suppress and it just bursts? What happens then?"

"What I have to say will not solve this."

"Just say it, Lauren! Yell at me! Throw that thing—" she pointed at a vase one of our friends gave us as a housewarming present "—hell, throw anything!"

How dare she be angry at me for being angry at our situation.

We stared at each other and I was transfixed at the rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes ablaze. I couldn't recall a time Camila actively engaged in a fight with me. She'd always been the one to put a brake on an argument.

Fuck! She was hot when she was angry.

It was playing my emotions. Regardless of the Pinstripe, of her being who she was, I loved the hell out of her and I should have been taking care of her. And there I was, arguing with her.

The rubble of the past twenty-four hours were steadily burying me alive and I couldn't breathe.

"I'm going to bed." Against every intuition, I turned my back on her.

I didn't see her face but I could sense her disappointment, hear it through her heavy exhale.

I took a long, hot shower to silence my mind but there wasn't such a thing as peace when I didn't have her next to me. I waited in vain for an hour. And I feared she eventually found the strength to sleep without me.

Another hour passed until I heard the shower run. It was after the next that she finally joined me in bed and the relief I felt nearly rendered me to tears.

I couldn't help myself. I crawled to her and kissed her good night.

She didn't try to prolong it. I didn't know what to feel.