Thank you, gentle readers, for your comments about the story so far. It's been a lovely ride, but please remember to keep both arms and legs inside the ride at all times and hang on...

TOC is here .

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From part 14:

Nigel hands Lex a dark object, which he takes in his free hand. Before either Clark or I can react, Lex raises the gun and fires once, hitting Carter in the head. Knowing that my husband is a criminal and a killer is one thing, but seeing him actually murder someone in cold blood is another. I can’t hold back the horrified yelp that escapes my lips.

As the soldier falls to the floor, I cover my mouth with my hand, but the damage is done. I briefly hope that the sound of the gunshot will cover my startled yell, but it’s dashed when Lex and Nigel both turn toward our shadowed hiding place. A second later, several shots splinter the wooden crates around us as Lex and Nigel both fire in our direction. Clark shoves his body in front of me, shielding me with his own and I press into the safety of his body.

The firing stops and my ears ring in tandem with the lingering echo of gunfire. “Clark,” I whisper, softly pleading for him to get us out of there.

He tightens his hold around me. “Tuck your head,” he whispers back. “We’re going to move fast.”

I nod my head against his chest and clench my eyes shut, but my stomach still drops when he whisks us away. We’re back in the relative safety of our hotel room before Lex can reach our former hiding place and realize that we’ve gone.


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Master of Disguise - Part 15
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Clark hands me a glass of water and after a few sips the room stops spinning enough for my hands to start trembling. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in my years as a reporter, but none as brutal as watching my husband calmly shoot someone in the head. I wanted Lex to pay for the bombing of the Planet, to have my chance to take him down for what he did to me and to Perry and the others, but Clark is right; we can’t wait.

I hand my water glass back and before Clark can stand up, I grab the sleeve of his shirt to hold him there. “Let’s take everything to Henderson now,” I say softly. “We need to get Lex behind bars.”

He nods and in the time it takes me to call Henderson and Jimmy, Clark has gathered all of our evidence into neat piles, placing them inside a box for ease of transport. Less than fifteen minutes after the shooting, we arrive at an inconspicuous entrance to the police station and Henderson ushers us into his office before any prying eyes can identify us. I sit down in the chair opposite Henderson’s desk and shift uncomfortably, wishing I’d taken the time to change out of my disguise.

“Did you get him?” I ask.

Henderson shakes his head. “The officers just arrived and the place is empty. No sign of Luthor or a body, although they did see some blood and the bullet holes. Forensics is heading down there now.”

I hand him the tape recording and the camera. “This should help. Lex stayed in the shadows most of the time, but Nigel and Carter were visible.”

Henderson takes the camera with a mordant grin. “Even with your eye-witness testimony, it’ll be difficult to get an arrest warrant without a body. You can be sure that Luthor will have an airtight alibi. Depending on the forensics report and what’s in the pictures, I might be able to bring him in for questioning.”

“What about a search warrant for his office?” Clark asks.

“I’m working on it, but it’s taking time. It seems Judge Winkler may not be as clean as I’d thought.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’ve brought Lex’s office to you then, isn’t it?” I take the box from Clark’s hands and set it down on Henderson’s desk with a flourish. Henderson opens the first file and whistles through his teeth when he realizes what it is.

“You may not be able to arrest Lex for the murder tonight, but how about for smuggling?” I place another folder on top of the file he’s holding in his hands and smile benignly.

“Or money laundering,” Clark lays a third file on top.

“Prostitution,” I add, placing another file on the stack. Clark and I continue to build the heap of evidence, alternately naming the crimes we’ve uncovered until Henderson’s arms start to droop from the weight.

“And bribing city officials,” I say with finality, placing the thickest file on top. Henderson finally drops the heavy stack onto his desktop. He leans over the box and his eyes widen when he realizes there are still folders of evidence in there.

“Lane, this almost makes me want to take back the bad things I’ve said about you.”

I cross my arms and glare at him. “Would it kill you to say thanks just *once*?”

“It might.”

I elbow Clark in the ribs again, but it only encourages his smile into a snicker. I smile unwillingly due to Clark’s amusement. It has been nice to spar with Henderson again, almost like old times, but the situation won’t sustain my levity. My smile slips as I turn back to Henderson.

“He knows someone was there, Bill. It won’t be long before evidence and people start disappearing. How long will it take?”

Henderson looks at his watch. “We need to do everything carefully and by the book. There are only a few officers I trust with this, so it’ll take at least a few hours to get the warrants and paperwork filled out. At the latest, we should be ready to go first thing in the morning.”

A quick knock on the glass causes all three of us turn to see Jimmy through Henderson’s office door. Jimmy waves and then waggles a computer disk in the air, his face shining in triumph. With Henderson’s permission, he enters and hands me the disk.

“I got ‘em,” Jimmy announces.

“Way to go, Jimmy,” I give him a quick hug before taking the disk and turning back to Henderson.

I hold up the disk to Henderson as Clark claps Jimmy on the back. “*This* is a list of Lex’s shell companies, hidden holdings and off-shore bank accounts,” I explain off Henderson’s look. “I’d suggest freezing his funds and assets right away.”

Henderson’s eyes light up, but I snatch the disk back before he can take it.

“Promise me I get to be there,” I demand. “I want to go with you when you arrest him.”

“I’ll agree as long as you don’t try to hug me,” Henderson warns.

“Deal,” I agree quickly and Clark and Jimmy try not to laugh at my wide-eyed, horror-struck expression. I give Henderson the disk. “Oh, and we want the exclusive,” I add.

“Of course you do,” he sighs.

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We give our statements about the shooting to Henderson and then he shows us to a conference room where three officers have started to sort through the piles of evidence we brought. For the next few hours, we guide the team through the intricate warren of Lex’s shady business dealings. There are still hunches and gaps, but there are enough solid links to put Lex away for several lifetimes.

Once we’ve given them the preliminary explanation, Henderson asks us to hide in an unused interrogation room at the station in case they have questions about the evidence we’ve given him. I agree on condition that they give us access to write our story. If this is going down first thing in the morning, I don’t want to lose our exclusive. We’re shown to the interrogation room nearby while Jimmy stays to answer questions about Lex’s accounts.

Having discussed a few angles previously, Clark and I map out the construct of the main article, as well as several companion pieces and sidebars. As a consequence, we end up with a lengthy list of follow-up topics. Once we’ve settled on the content, we get to work. Clark pulls open the laptop Jimmy brought with him and starts typing. I read over his shoulder and before he gets the first sentence written, I start offering suggestions. Five minutes and sixteen interruptions later, Clark chuckles and stands up. He offers me his seat and I smile bashfully.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m so used to being top-banana; it’s hard for me to follow someone else’s lead.”

With the structure for the piece worked out, my hands fly over the keyboard, slowing down only when Clark makes a suggestion on phrasing, reminds me of a salient point or corrects my grammar. I take all of his suggestions and roll my eyes at his anal tendencies. When he starts picking on my spelling, though, my ire flashes and I turn to tell him off. The words stick in my throat when I become conscious of how close he is, bracing his weight over my shoulder with one hand on the arm of my chair.

My heart starts to pound when I get a whiff of his cologne and my eyes are drawn to the line of his jaw until they rest on his neck where I can see his pulse beating out a strong, steady rhythm. When I realize how enthralled I’ve become I close my eyes to break the spell his pulse has me under. Instead, when I open them again, I focus on his mouth, hoping that watching it move will help me concentrate on what the words coming out of it actually mean.

It turns out that looking at his mouth is a bad idea. I’m so attracted to him I can hardly breathe and watching his lips move informs me just how much I’d love to kiss them.

Still consumed with my lustful thoughts, I barely notice when Clark stops talking. Time seems to slow as I watch his mouth close, a tick just below his jaw belying his withheld emotion. My eyes draw up his face to his eyes and I see that he’s looking back at me – to my own lips, to be specific. I lick my suddenly dry lips and my breathing quickens at the rapt expression on his face, his eyes dark.

It both thrills and excites me to see the look on his face, but it doesn’t last. After about two seconds, he remembers who I am and I remember who he is not and the spell is broken. Clark stands up and puts some space between us, his eyes shifting to look out the window. I slide the seat back and spring up like a jack-in-the-box, vacating the seat to get some distance and to cool off.

“Maybe I should ah…” I gesture vaguely in the direction of the hallway, but have no idea how to finish my sentence. I try again. “Why don’t you go ahead and make those changes. I’m just going to go and um…” What? Die of embarrassment? Pray for a different life? Wish that I hadn’t married the biggest crook of our time and that I were single? “Get some coffee,” I finish weakly.

I rush from the room and use the time at the coffee pot to give myself a stern talking to, pacing back and forth as I protest my own actions. Am I ever going to learn that business and romance just don’t mix, particularly not when I’m still tied to my gangster of a husband? I can’t let this happen, especially not with Clark. His friendship means too much for me to ruin it by throwing myself at him.

After a moment, a police officer passes by me with a strange look on his face and I realize I’m standing there in my ‘Angel’ outfit, muttering to myself. I must look like a nut. Blushing, I prepare two cups and head back to join Clark.

By the time I arrive, I’ve gotten myself under control, but Clark is still standing near the window, his head resting against the glass. He rolls his head to look at me and I cringe at his awkward expression. Wanting to get the easy, companionable atmosphere back, I hold up the second cup of coffee.

“Can I interest you in a fully-caffeinated, overly sweet cup of coffee-flavored cream?”

He smiles at my tease and it almost erases the lines of tension from around his eyes. “As long as you’re sure it’s safe,” he answers. “I’ve heard stories about cop-coffee.”

“Well, judging from Henderson, I’d say long term use will destroy your personality, but I think one cup won’t kill you.”

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cup from me. He sips it and chokes a little, making a funny face.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he jokes back and we relax back into our customarily friendly and safely platonic relationship. Clark settles in front of the computer, editing our story and rearranging the lines until the copy sings. I smile as he fixes my typos and grammar mistakes and I clap him on the shoulder.

“Why don’t we just put my name on the story and you can be the copy editor?”

He shows his amusement with an insincere laugh. “Ha, ha. I don’t think so.” He looks at his watch and then shows me the face when I crane my neck around to see the time. Wow, time flies. We’ve been here all night and now it’s quarter past eight in the morning. “Well,” he sighs. “All we need now is Henderson to make the arrest and we can send the story in.”

Before I can respond to his statement, Clark’s head snaps up and he looks off into the distance.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Bank alarm.” He moves toward the door, but pauses at the threshold to look at me. “This shouldn’t take long. Promise you’ll be careful until I get back?”

I give him a reproving glare and gesture expansively at the precinct. “Clark, I’m in the middle of the police station. What could possibly happen to me before you get back?”

He smiles abashedly and then ducks through the doorway and heads for the entrance. I slip into the chair and save our changes, emailing a copy to Clark’s Chronicle account as a precautionary measure. I power down and slip the laptop into my bag before wandering into the conference room Henderson had set up in. He and a couple of his officers have stepped away, but one other and Jimmy are seated at a computer terminal, typing away. I set my bag down next to the evidence strewn across the table and leave the room in search of another cup of coffee when an officer rounds the corner and almost bowls me over.

“Ms. Lane, I’ve been looking for you,” he says before looking around. “Where is your partner?”

“He had to step out for a few minutes.”

“Oh. Well, I need both of you to come with me, but I guess I’ll have to come back for him.”

He motions me ahead of him down a hallway of offices toward the garage entrance. As we walk away from the noise of the station, I start to feel uneasy and I glance back at the policeman behind me. He gives me an encouraging smile and I force myself to smile back. He looks so familiar that I’d assumed he was one of Henderson’s trustworthy cops, but now I’m not so sure. He never did say where he was taking me or why.

Suddenly, leaving without Clark doesn’t seem like such a good idea. My pace slows to a stop as we approach the parking garage door. “You know, maybe you should go ahead without me. I’m going to wait for my partner.”

“That would have been my preference, too, but I’m afraid this just can’t wait.”

It takes me about a millisecond to realize how much trouble I’m in. I open my mouth to scream while dodging to the side in an attempt to cut around the officer, but it doesn’t work. He must have been expecting me to figure him out, because before I can do anything, he wraps one arm around me, pinning my arms to my sides while simultaneously placing a moist cloth over my mouth and nose. I struggle to get away, at least to pull back far enough to call for Clark, but the cop merely tightens his grip.

The darkness starts to close in as he confirms my fears with a nauseatingly predictable statement.

“The Boss wants to talk to you.”

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tbc...