Twisted (Burbank and Parker 1)

“Thanks for bailing me out,” Sloane murmured to Elliot as he wolfed down his food. “I owe you one.”

“So does Luke,” he muttered back. “The poor guy was way out of his league, and he had no idea why. He just knew that Derek was about to deck him. Oh, and FYI—in case you’re as clueless as Luke, let me spell it out for you. Derek is crazy about you.”

“More like crazy.”

“Okay, both.”

Sloane and Elliot were laughing when Luke walked back over, carrying a glass of water and a plate of food.

“Did I miss something?” he asked.

“Only my making fun of Elliot’s eating habits,” Sloane hedged quickly. “The way he stuck his head in his plate, he looked like a horse devouring its oats.”

This time, they all laughed.

“So what have you been up to, stranger?” Lillian asked Elliot, after dutifully taking the medication her son gave her and swallowing it down with some water. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“The usual. Slaving over my computer.” Elliot grinned. “Although thanks to my high school buddy here, I’m getting the chance I always wanted. I’m turning my new computer system loose to help capture bad guys. It’s a real rush.” He winked at Lillian. “I’d love to share the details, but they’re classified. Now, how cool is that to be able to say. I feel like a guest star on Criminal Minds.”

Lillian’s eyes widened. “Are you working on Cynthia Alexander’s kidnapping case? Because everything I read suggests it’s not an isolated abduction.”

Elliot caught Derek’s scowl. “No comment,” he answered quickly. “When it comes to what the FBI deems ‘classified,’ if you talk, they have to kill you.”

A chuckle escaped Lillian’s lips. “I can’t let that happen. You’re way too valuable. But I wish you luck.” Her attention was captured by someone across the room, and surprised pleasure flashed across her face. “Speaking of law enforcement, there’s Detective O’Donnelly. What a kind gesture on his part, coming to my party. He retired from the NYPD years ago. I’m sure he has better things to do than spend an evening with a bunch of academics.”

“He’s very fond of you, Lillian,” Sloane said. “Remember the debate you had after our last workshop? He probably came to finish it.” Sloane turned to Derek. “Jimmy O’Donnelly was with the SVU.”

“We know each other,” Derek replied, swallowing an hors d’oeuvre in two bites.

“Ah. Well, that saves me an introduction, then.”

“Luke, I’d like to say hello. Would that be okay?” Lillian turned to gaze up at her son.

“No problem. I’ll take your plate and your glass, and we’ll cruise on over there.”

“Thank you.” She handed both items to him. “Will you excuse us?” she asked the rest of the group.

“By all means,” Sloane answered for everyone. “We’ve already monopolized enough of your time.”

“I appreciate that.” Lillian waited while Luke slid her stemmed water glass into the mesh compartment of the seatback bag attached to her wheelchair. It was a wobbly fit, but it was anchored well enough for the short distance across the room. That done, he balanced her plate of uneaten food in his left hand and used his left forearm and right hand to steer the chair toward Detective O’Donnelly.

The water glass survived the trip.

The china plate did not.

Halfway across the room, a member of the catering staff blew by, jostling Luke’s arm just enough to upset his balance.

The china plate toppled from his hand, spilling its contents, and striking the steel frame of the wheelchair as it fell.

The plate shattered into a half-dozen pieces, all of which flew out in different directions around the wheelchair. Luke grabbed for the broken pieces, deflecting them away from his mother. He actually caught two of the larger chunks in his hand, then rapidly dropped them as the jagged edges sliced his palm.

“Damn,” he muttered as blood began oozing from the resulting lacerations.

“Luke?” Lillian realized for the first time what had happened, and she pivoted around, her face white with distress.

“It’s okay, Mother. They’re just superficial.” Instinctively, he calmed her, at the same time scanning the deep slices in his palm to see if any fragments of china had broken off and were lodged in his hand.

“What can I do?” Sloane asked quietly, walking over, and desperately trying not to lose it at the sense of déjà vu that came over her as she stared at his lacerated palm.