Chapter 4
Watson had always been active. Since her days of ballet and dance theatre as a little girl discovered her love of running and joined the track team. She had a year of success, until her father's substance abuse began to interfere with not only his life but also the lives of his children, and when faced with the Ngice of extracurricular activities or making sure none of her brothers end up at the hospital. Natalie didn't think twice about protecting her family.
She quit track and never ran again.
Yet on this particular day, the senior agent woke up restless a half hour before her alarm. On what would likely be a very warm day in Sacramento, decided to give her neglected sneakers a good exercise.
She grabbed her ipod, changed into workout clothes, and took off in the direction of the river. Invariably, her thoughts turned to the advisor who was slowly but surely making his way into her personal life. Just thinking about Turner, the way he smiled at her, his blue eyes displaying just a hint of mirth paired with male appreciation sent shivers down her spine even when she was sweating from exertion.
She knew nothing good could come out of getting involved with a man who had the kind of baggage and dark side that Eric Turner has, but around him, she seemed to lose all sense of selfpreservation and common sense. It wasn’t just his smile, she reasoned, it was his entire demeanor when he was around her.
On several occasions, he had proven that her well-being matters to him. He prided himself on being detached and aloof, but Watson knew deep down that he cares. On what level she isn't sure, but it was enough to keep her interested. Watson knew from experience that a woman should never invest in changing a man. Hell, she made that mistake herself several times and it caused her more heartache than necessary, but she also could't help herself around him.
At work, she could handle him. She could hide behind her professional front, roll her eyes when appropriate, smile nonchalantly at his witty comments, and reciprocate his banter. However, when they were alone, and all her work armor was gone, she found that Natalie Watson the woman had a hard time resisting Eric Turner's charms, despite how rational she might be.
He stripped her defenses without trying and it frightened her, but it also made her more attracted to him. It had been a long time since someone lit the spark inside her the way Turner did, leaving her body and mind reeling just from a touch on her cheek or a curious glance that promised so much more.
Everything was more complicated, because despite his obvious attraction to her, Natalie couldn't figure out what exactly Turner wanted, if he wanted anything at all. With him everything was a game and although she was a willing competitor, she wasn’t sure of the rules. Thoughts of the enigmatic man distracted her for a while, but when she stopped to tie her shoe, a wretched scream broke through the music blaring in her ears. She ripped out the headphones and sprinted toward the direction of the noise, already in work mode before she even knew what was happening.
The scene she came upon would make an average jogger run far away and purge their breakfast, but Natalie didn’t even flinch when she saw the dead body. No more than the dog sniffing the unnaturally twisted leg as his owner tried unsuccessfully to contain her nausea.
"My dog...he...oh god, he just led me here." The woman tried to explain as Natalie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, ma'am. I'm with the police department, everything will be okay."
The lady nodded while Watson pulled out her cell phone and gave her coordinates and badge number to Dispatch. She also requested back up, pulling out her headphones completely and stuffing the ipod in the pocket of her shorts.
The woman who found the body looked positively green, but before Watson could calm her down and ask the initial questions, she speed dialed a familiar number. There was one more call left to be made.
A murder had occurred in the last twenty-four hours and there was a dead body within a few feet of him, but all Turner could focus on were legs.
Particularly, a certain supervising detective's legs, toned, tanned, and completely exposed to the ogling eyes of every single male in the vicinity. Suppressing a twinge of possessiveness, Turner tried to tear his eyes away from Watson, but was impossible.bShe looked positively radiant and unapologetically feminine.
If he thought seeing her in just a jersey was bad, this was so much worse. The blue track shorts should be illegal, exposing as much skin as they did. That tiny, white tank should be deemed as indecent as beachwear, because it did nothing but fuel his fantasies of what was underneath.
The advisor didn’t even realize he is staring until Ng breezed by him casually and murmured under his breath, "Why don’t you take a picture, Turner." Eric snapped out of his reverie, finally moving his attention to the twisted and bloodied body of a woman propped up against a tree.
He didn’t even blink an eye as he approached the scene, surveying the vicinity for anything that might be useful. The intent to search for clues was so consuming, Turner didn’t even feel her approach until she spoke, "So, see anything you like?" Watson peered over his shoulder and he turned around, giving her an unabashed once over.
"Hi." He said softly, in that low voice of his that made goosebumps spread all over her body.
When he looked at her up close, he really thought she was trying to kill him. There was a faint blush on her cheeks from the morning run and her hair was pulled up haphazardly, giving her the disheveled look Turner secretly preferred on her.
Instead of looking put together, Watson was absolutely glowing in disarray and he wanted nothing more than to go back to that night a few days ago at her apartment and kiss her senselessly. Screw propriety and rationality.
"Sorry, it's pretty early to call you in-..."
"Nonsense, you know I like a good challenge in the morning." He waved her off, turning his attention back to the mangled woman. "Anything you could tell me, besides the obvious?" Watson pressed on, crouching over the body on the other side, facing Turner now.
He smiled at her, thinking how typical it was for her to keep a high degree of professionalism while wearing gym clothing, at six thirty in the morning, and especially on her day off.
It was cases like those that got under his skin and leave a bitter aftertaste. When there seemed to be no explanation and no motive for the brutal taking of a life, that's when it hit Turner even more that people like Red River Killer existed in numbers far greater than he would like.
They are even more dangerous than his personal nemesis, because they're inconspicuous. They are usually average people who don't plan to commit murder let alone a series of them, but when they do strike, driven by uncontrolled and irrational emotion, they become the most dangerous of killers.
People guided by feelings and obsessions, manipulated by illogical thoughts, are the worst.
Although Turner prided himself on being fueled by vengeance, during cases like this, deep inside he was terrified of becoming as cold blooded and ruthless as the man who spent more time fixated on Cranston's cleavage than his written confession.
He had been Priscilla Host’s roommate's boyfriend in college, but they never kept ·in touch, until an accidental meeting in a coffee shop two weeks ago brought back what the team realized to be an unhealthy obsession Victor Reeve had with the victim.
He had no trouble confessing to the murder and when asked why he did it, the dark haired man just shrugged and replied, his eyes trained on Grace, "I remembered how beautiful she was, then saw the ring on her finger, and realized she was taken. I couldn't really let her get away with that, could I?"
Reeve described how he had followed the former track star on her morning jog, gave her a chance to redeem herself by telling him she loved him, and then bashed her skull into the nearest tree after she refused. Turner decided he had no more sympathy for that man then he would for Red River Killer when he caught him.
Now, as Turner lay on the couch in the bullpen, carefully listening to everyone's movements with his arm thrown over his eyes, his mind fixated on what bothered him the most about this case. Watson.
Initially, she began the investigation with her usual air of calm and deduction; however, as more facts began to accumulate, Watson retreated more and more into herself, internalizing emotions that would usually be written all over her face.
Turner could see through her powerful attempts at concealin how much the case affected her. For the life of him he could not pinpoint exactly why the death of Priscilla Host extracted such a powerful reaction from her.
Sure, Priscilla and she had a lot in common, background wise. They were both Berkeley graduates, both came from single-parent homes, and the oldest of their siblings. Beyond that, Turner could not figure out why Watson seemed so unlike herself.
Every time they were alone, he could almost feel the words at the tip of her tongue, but they were constantly interrupted, with the team working around the clock to put together enough evidence to isolate the killer.
Despite any personal issues she may have been struggling with, as soon as Reeve was taken into custody and the rest of the team went home, Watson made herself a cup of herbal tea and settled in her office for some paperwork. Mindful of her goals, Turner gave her an hour before he got up to head to her office.
The senior detective surprised him when she walked out into the bullpen, purse and jacket in tow, shutting the lights off just as he stood up. She gave him a brief glance, before pulling on her coat and turning around, "Good night, Turner.'' Watson mumbled, "it’ll see you tomorrow.”
She walked away then, but Turner didn’t let her get very far, "Watson, wait." He caught up with her at the elevator and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. He frowned when she stiffened under his touch, but didn’t pay much attention to it. Her side-glance told him everything.
She was beyond exhausted, pulling all-nighters would do that you, but there was something more in her eyes. She wanted him to stay, she wanted to tell him what's wrong, but she didn’t know how. She was so out of practice with opening up to anyone, telling anyone how she felt, that seeing his concerned eyes, his body so warm and protective besides her, made Watson want to burst into tears.
Yet, she said nothing, not in the elevator ride, and not when they approached their cars, parked side by side in the virtually empty garage.
"Thanks for walking me out." She said uncertainly, looking down at the ground, afraid that if she looked him in the eye the emotions she was fighting so hard to keep in check would overpower her and the flood gates would open. This was the first time since her fabricated "breakdown" that she truly felt close to losing it.
“Natalie.”
Her head snapped up at the mention of her name and she knew from the unexpected look in his blue eyes that he could see the film of unshed tears blurring her vision. He was there for her when she needed him during the set up and he was here now. It didn’t escape her that of all the people in her life, Eric Turner was the only one who she wanted beside her while she's like this.
She wanted his hand on her shoulder and his worried gaze sent chills down her spine, but most importantly, she wanted him. Just the way he was. The complicated, stubborn, childish, unruly, sarcastic, and most perceptive man she had ever met.
It didn’t hurt that he looked like a God carved out of ivory, punctuated by piercing blue eyes and a masculinity that had her thinking indecently in spite of herself.
"I know you're not okay." Turner said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, "but you will be. All you need is a good night's sleep, okay?"
"I don't want to go home."
Their eyes meet in the gloominess of the faintly lit garage, but he could tell the myriad of emotions ready to burst any second. He also saw danger in her green eyes, a look of desperation that shouldn't be there.
"Where do you want to go then?" He asked, silently promising to take her wherever she wants as long as he could keep the look of despair off her face. "Anywhere," Watson murmured, stuffing her keys into his palm, "Just drive."