Summary: Steve Rogers is multi-millionaire philanthropist, co-founder of a non-profit that aids and rehabilitates veterans, and the Most Eligible Bachelor in Brooklyn. With the spotlight shining bright overhead, Steve becomes the latest victim of The Brooklyn Bandit; a thief that has made away with almost $5,000,000 in cash and rare jewels..
After dead ends and embarrassing headlines, Sergeant Fury doesn’t think the Bandit case is one that can be solved. Rather than pour any more man hours into it than absolutely necessary, he assigns Y/N Y/L/N – a first year detective – to the case.
Half a million dollars was stolen right out from under everyone’s noses, and there’s not one shred of evidence. With a point to prove and a give ‘em hell attitude, you throw everything you’ve got into solving the case. Too bad you hadn’t prepared yourself for the latest victim’s dazzling smile and generous heart.
Word Count: 1,568
Warnings: Language, acts of thievery, language, angst, maybe some smut, possibly more to come as series continues.
Author’s Note: Thank you @captain-rogers-beard and @climbthatmooselikeatree for your invaluable help with this.
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Wearing a cocky smirk, the man dressed all in black made quick work of shoving stacks of cash into the large duffel. No one would miss it, not really, not considering what he was leaving behind; jewels – both loose and set, stacks of bonds from the 1800’s, rows of antique coins in thick plastic, and many more priceless artifacts. No. Steve Rogers wouldn’t miss a measly $500,000.
He had to be quick, though. There was a party, another one of Steve’s fundraisers, bringing attention to the men and women that protected the nation, to the ones that paid an unbelievable price, and if he didn’t hurry, he might have run the risk of getting caught. Which he couldn’t deny was the main reason he was currently on a burglary streak.
Shaking his head, he secured the bag to his back and easily slipped out the way he had come; through an unmonitored door that hardly anyone knew about. He was behind the wheel of his car, the motor running, pulling out of the parking lot of an abandoned lot several blocks away when the alarm sounded
Champagne glass in hand, Steve approached the podium. “Before everyone goes home tonight, I wanted to give you all the good news,” he announced, silencing the buzz of chatter in the large room. “We not only reached our goal, but we’ve raised three times the original amount!”
The room was filled with shouts and cries of triumph, and there were balloons falling from the ceiling. Several couples hugged and kissed, multiple friends raised their glasses in salute, but none of them really mattered. It wasn’t them he was raising the money for. It was people like his best friend, Bucky, people that had been injured in the war, losing limbs to IED’s, being captured and tortured by radicals. Those were the real heroes. Not Steve, not the million dollar donation by an anonymous donor. None of them knew what is was like to make a sacrifice.
Bucky was at the bar, smirk tugging at his lips, glass of whiskey in his right hand. He raised it in salute and tossed back his head, gulping down the hundred year old amber liquid in one swallow. His wife, Natasha – the leggy redhead that had a penchant for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong – was sipping from a glass of red wine. She arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow at Steve and raised a hand, wiggling her red-tipped fingers at him.
Clint, Steve’s other best friend, and handicapped army veteran, clapped a hand to Steve’s shoulder as he exited the stage. “Don’t know how you do it,” Clint murmured, his other hand fiddling with the new set of hearing aids.
“Doing what I gotta do to help get funding,” Steve admitted.
Truth be told, he hated speaking in front of large crowds, drawing attention to himself, it all made him feel like a dancing monkey, even though it was to raise millions of dollars for the men and women that came home – injured and mutilated – to a country that would inevitably fail them, pretend their injuries weren’t that severe, that all the soldiers needed to do was think happy thoughts.
Steve was tired of seeing the injustice, the barbaric treatment of America’s finest. So, he had a chat with fellow philanthropist and friend, Tony Stark, and together they started a non-profit. All of the money raised went towards the medical treatment of injured veterans, providing them with expensive surgeries, state of the art prosthetics, physical therapy… anything and everything the government failed to provide, at no cost to the veteran.
“We appreciate it, brother. More than you know,” Clint smiled, clapping Steve’s shoulder once more. At the sight of Clint’s wife, Wanda, his entire face lit up. He jogged across the room, his shiny shoes squeaking on the glossy floor.
Steve watched as Clint wrapped his arms around his wife, and spun her around, kissing her heatedly. There was a sting of jealousy at the sight, but he honestly didn’t have the time for it; dating, falling in love, getting married. As if she could hear his inner monologue, Nat was striding purposefully towards the bachelor. Hoping to avoid her, Steve turned to dive into a conversation that Tony was having with Thaddeus Ross, but she was too damn fast, even in her four inch heels.
“Walk with me, Steve,” she purred, her hand sneaking along his side, coming to a stop on the inside of his forearm, pulling him into a slow walk.
With a tight smile, Steve held his arm against his side. “My pleasure, Nat,” he murmured.
It wasn’t that he didn’t get along with his best friend’s wife, he did. She was amazingly loyal, sweet, caring, smart as a whip… almost too smart. While he wanted to keep his private life just that, private, she was set on finding someone for him to go out with, get married, live happily ever after, the life Bucky had, the life Bucky wanted for his friend.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Steve asked, smiling warmly at Rhodey, another injured veteran that had just enrolled for physical therapy.
Natasha barely waited until they were outside. “I’ve got this friend-”
“No, Nat,” Steve snapped, pulling his arm away as if he had been stung.
“Why not?” Natasha asked, eyebrow arched once again.
Steve scraped a hand over his face. “It’s just… it’s not something I want right now.” It was a blatant lie, one he had told himself time and time again in hopes of convincing himself that a wife and kids were not what his heart desired most.
“You gotta get out there, Steve.” Nat dropped a hand to Steve’s and squeezed. “Look, I know Bucky and I give you a lot of shit, but we just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.” And he was. Helping his friends and their friends, their brothers and sisters in arms, it had given Steve a purpose he hadn’t had before. He was doing something meaningful with his life, with his family’s money.
Nat’s lips pulled into a tight smile. “I know you are.” She pushed up and pressed her red lips into Steve’s beard, wiggling her nose as the whiskers scraped her skin.
“You movin’ in on my girl?” Bucky called as he approached.
“Never in a million years,” Steve assured his friend.
Natasha laughed and slapped Steve playfully in the arm. “You couldn’t handle me, Steve.”
Bucky slid his shining prosthetic arm around his wife’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I hope you’re behaving yourself,” he teased Nat.
“When have I ever not behaved myself?” she sighed happily, her hand resting on her husband’s chest, fingers drifting over his black tie. At that comment, both men broke into laughter, not paying any mind to Natasha or the look of faux-offense on her face. Unable to pretend to be upset, Nat joined in, and was clutching her side a moment later.
Tony was jogging towards the trio just as they were composing themselves. “Rogers,” he called. “Might want to answer your phone every now and again.”
“What, why?” he questioned as he dug into his pocket. There was a series of missed calls and voicemails from his cleaning lady, Maria, his building’s security, and Steve’s heart started to race.
“There was a break-in,” Tony answered, glancing over Steve’s shoulder. “I already called for the car.”
With a heaving sigh, you dropped into the chair and kicked your legs up onto the edge of your desk. You had just spent the last fifteen minutes with Sergeant Fury, all but begging for a case, any case, to help out the team. Turned out, the newest cases went to Brooklyn’s finest, and that term only applied to higher ranking detectives, not first year grunts. Since it was your first year as a detective, and you had just begged for a case, you got put on the Bandit case.
Sam Wilson, your partner and good friend, gave a chuckle. “That good, huh?”
“I got us a case,” you admitted, hands folded on your stomach.
“Yeah? Which socialite are we going to rush in and save at the last minute?”
You couldn’t help but snort as you watched him. “Hate to burst your bubble, Sam, but it’s not that kind of case.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “Someone important has been abducted and we have to find out who did it within forty-eight hours.”
Another unladylike snort erupted from your nose. “Not even close.”
“There’s been a series of threats made against the mayor -”
“It’s the Bandit case,” you muttered, cutting off his fantasy-driven tirade.
He was shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Uh-uh,” he argued. “Boss calls it unsolvable.”
Your phone rang just then, three quick chirps in rapid succession. “Y/L/N,” you gruffed, your head lolling back, eyes squeezing closed.
“Seeing as how you have the Bandit case,” Fury said coolly. “Thought you’d want to know there was a break-in at the Rogers residence.”
You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “Rogers, as in Steve Rogers, sir?”
“There’s the ace detective work that’ll get this case solved,” Fury snapped. “Yes, Steve Rogers. Half a mill was lifted earlier.”
“On our way,” you assured your boss. Shoving out of your chair, you threw a pen at Sam. “Come on,” you ordered.
Chapter 2: Small Town Police
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