bmblbee (bmblbee) wrote in bloodclaim,
bmblbee
bmblbee
bloodclaim

Broken Circle

TITLE: Broken Circle
17/42
AUTHOR: BmblBee
PARING: S/X
RATING: Adult for language and content
DISCLAIMER: The Bee has no rights or claim on any
of the characters or products named in this story and makes
no profit from them.
SUMMARY: This is the third story in the Rosebud/verse.
Tara has been abducted and the police rush to find her.
The other members of the Circle decide that they can do
a better job and begin their own investigation.
Who will find her first and will it be in time?




Praise and thanks to the wonderful Petxnd for the amazing banner


The Corvette turned on to the street that was the unofficial
beginning of the off campus housing area. The apartments
were rented monthly rather than with leases as most students
moved around regularly as their finances dictated.

Spike watched the house numbers for the one Faith had
given him and hoped Stella Sullivan still lived in her
registered flat.

Pulling up to the curb behind a small Mazda pick up, Spike
spotted the bicycle chained to a cement post out front.
"Looks like this is the right place. They said she rode a bike
to class."

Faith agreed and they rang the bell. Within seconds, the door was
jerked open. The man that stood inside was unshaven, smelled
of alcohol, and was clearly NOT in the mood for company.
"What ever the fuck you're sellin', we ain't buying so fuck off."

Spike was mildly amused and completely unfazed by the resident's
attempt to intimidate.
"Not selling anything mate. Just need a few minutes. Stella here?"
Spike and Faith both produced their badges and the mood shifted

Suddenly, the arrogant superiority was replaced with shocked
outrage and guilt. Before they had the chance to step up, the door
was immediately slammed in their faces.

Chaos erupted inside as the detectives could hear him shouting.
"You called the fucking cops? You fucking BITCH! You're
gonna be sorry. You stupid fucking CUNT!"

When her response was a scream, Spike and Faith forced their
way in just in time to see him running out the back door, and
Stella crumpled on the couch, sobbing, her face already turning
black and blue.

Spike rushed through the small kitchen to the back door but his
suspect had disappeared into the darkness. Faith sat down beside
the distraught Stella. Both detectives felt very confident they now
had a strong lead.

Faith put her arm around the tearful young woman.
"You're Stella, aren't you?"

Stella sniffled and nodded so Faith continued.

"Stella, we know what he did. You can't cover for him over something
this serious. Now we need his name, how we can find him."

With no hesitation, Stella started talking. Unfortunately, the beans
she was spilling had nothing to do with Tara. Apparently, Stella's
boyfriend, Michael Mead was attending college, majoring in the
supplying of weed with a minor in slapping around his girlfriend.

Seriously disappointed, Faith, none the less, took down all the
information and after stepping outside, called it in along with a
description of the suspect and the fact that he could probably be
found down at a dump on Canal street known as Whitey's where
he did most of his business.

Torn between resuming their search and knowing that until
Mead was caught, Stella was not safe, Spike sat down with her.
"Look, Pet, we can't just leave you here. Can we drop you
some where? You got a friend or someone?"

Stella blew her nose and gently touched her fingertips to the
puffy bruise on the side of her face.
"Patty lives around the corner. Can you take me there?"
"Patty Paris?"
"Yeah, you know her?"

Spike wasted no time in his explanation. He quickly shuffled
her out the door and around the corner. When they finally
woke Patty, Spike and Faith sat the girls down and went
through their whole line of questioning.

When they finished, Spike wanted to scream in frustration.
"That was a waste of fucking time. Neither of them knew
shit and now we are bogged down in a drug investigation."

"No we aren't."
Faith smiled as they climbed into the car.
"I called in and guess who is working the detective desk on
midnights this week? Liam Fuckin' O'Conner. I told him
we had a tip that there was drug dealing going on at Whitey's
and that he should sneak down there, low key, and see what
he could find out."

Spike beamed at his partner's brilliance.
"Perfect. He catches Mead, Stella is safe, Whitey's gets shut
down and Angel gets his mind off being dumped by Max.
You, my darling Faith, are a genius!"

Faith sat back in the passenger's seat and puffed out her
small breasts.
"What can I say? You're right. Now, back to business.
So far I don't see any real strong suspects. We may have to
concede that it was a total stranger that has her and tip our
investigation in another direction. Speaking of which, I don't
know about you but I think we need to head for the mansion."

Spike shifted gears and stomped the gas.
"That's exactly where we are going."


Angel was thrilled!
He had been mopping for months and this was exactly what
he needed. A big case. He would have preferred a serial
killer but, hey, beggars can't be choosers.

He was stunned when Max e-mailed him. Short and sweet.
"Had fun. Will miss you. Don't take any wooden nickles.
Ha Ha. Max"

Angel had been crushed, his confidence seriously shaken.
Someone had told him that if you are riding a newsman and get
thrown off, the best thing to do is climb right back in the saddle.

That was easier said than done. Instead, he had decided to
concentrate on his career. Nope, he vowed, no more men. From
now all he was interested in would be police work. Purely
professional. The city could sleep easy, Detective O'Conner was
on the job.

'Hmmm.' He thought as he tapped his finger on his chin.
'Under cover, huh. Well.....' He looked down at his suite and tie.
'Can't go in like this. What should I......AHA!'

The idea hit him like a thunder bolt and he headed for the locker
room. Digging through his locker, Angel pulled out an old t-shirt
and jogging pants that he kept for use in the police department
work out room. Torn, stained and smelly, they were perfect for
a place like Whitey's.
Hell, they were probably TOO good for Whitey's.

Happily, Angel changed. He hid his off duty weapon on an ankle
holster and his badge in his wallet. He tied the laces of his sneakers
and checked himself in the mirror proud that Max was no longer
important to him.

"Ha! Now when I make this big bust, I will NOT give any interviews
to a certain reporter from FSTV. Let him watch me on Good Morning
America like everyone else."

Angel stared at himself in the mirror. Something was not quite right.
He then realized that his hair, although perfectly fluffed for police
work, needed rescrunched and totally reconfigured for a stake out.

Quickly he grabbed his spritz and went to work. When he was finally
satisfied, he smiled, nodded to his reflection, and headed out the door.
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