Innocent by Raine Wynd
[Reviews - 0] Printer

- Text Size +
Author's Notes:
One of the results of my "I'm bored, send me a prompt, and I'll write fic" challenge.

"Darling, I was nowhere near the Fine Arts Museum in Rome on January 10th. Nick and I were in Barcelona."

The French Interpol detective didn't look amused, and watching the proceedings, Nick felt genuinely sorry for the pockmarked, stocky, older gentleman. He knew precisely how the cop felt; he'd been in his shoes -- but Amanda had too much of a history of being a thief to be seen as anything but probably guilty. Problem was, Nick knew exactly where Amanda had been on the night in question. He knew, too, that telling the detective she'd been in the middle of a particularly nasty sword fight would only lead to more questions...questions neither Nick nor Amanda wanted to answer.

The Interpol detective swung his gaze to Nick, who'd been quietly polishing the bar. "You are Monsieur Nick Wolfe?" His voice sneered over the courtesy address, and Nick knew instantly what was coming next.

Nick bit back the sigh at finding yet another cop who seemed to think he'd turned traitor. Still, he wasn't about to deny his relationship with Amanda -- not after the effort it had taken to come to an understanding that he could love her and be an immortal playing the Game. Taking his cue, Nick moved to stand next to Amanda, sliding an arm around her waist. "I'm Wolfe."

The detective's eyes narrowed at the way Amanda leaned back into Nick's embrace, taking the comfort he offered. "So the rumors are true. You are her...partner." His tone made the word a vulgar insult.

"And you are a poor example of reserving judgment," Nick shot back. "You can check our flights. We were booked on Lufthansa. Ate at an overrated restaurant -- what was the name of that place, Amanda?"

"Neichel."

Nick grimaced. "Yeah, that place. Horrible service and even worse food. We put it on a credit card -- I'd be happy to show you the statement."

"It doesn't take much to fly to Rome from Spain."

Amanda stiffened at the insinuation. "That may be, but unless you have a warrant, Detective, I suggest you leave my club. You can speak to my lawyer in the future."

The detective stared at them, his gaze full of contempt. Dropping a business card on the bar, he said, "We'll be in touch." He stormed out, his attempt at slamming the door thwarted by the fact it was too heavy to be slammed without hurting himself.

Nick chuckled at the detective's attempt, then sobered. "He's not going to give this one up, especially once he sees we put that trip on the club's corporate card."

"No," Amanda said with a sigh. "Too bad he'll lose; he's probably gambling on making a name for himself."

Nick studied her a moment. "You worried?"

Amanda smiled. "Better men than he have tried to keep me caged," she said lightly. "You're the only cop who ever caught me."

Nick chuckled. "Darling," he told her, mimicking her tone, "you forget I've met that fine, upstanding, immortal FBI agent named Matthew, who had a few tales to tell about you."

"Lies," Amanda said instantly. "Whatever he told you, they're lies."

Nick just laughed, shaking his head at her automatic denials. She'd lived too long to not have been caught more than once. This time, though, Nick knew she was innocent -- and he quietly determined he was going to make sure the law knew it.