ACT III

 The initial reaction was claustrophobic. 

 Lindsay felt the world closing in on her, walls shrinking with the pulsing beat of her heart, and as it began to pump faster, the emotions ran higher. Through the bullpen, she felt as if the world was watching her, eyes burning through the leather of her jacket, searing her, making her sweaty.

 As she ascended the steps to Tom’s office, her legs felt weak, like they were made of Jello, as if they would give out at any moment.

 It would have been easier if she were angry. Lindsay hoped like hell the anger would come, because this had hit her in a place she hadn’t prepared for, wounding her to the point where there were tears prickling in her eyes, and GOD, Lindsay was a water faucet around Claire and Jill, but she would NOT cry in front of Tom.

 Not again.

 She got to the closed door, shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe before she offered a tentative knock.

 “Come in.” Tom’s voice was gruff and immediate.

 Lindsay felt the chill of the metal doorknob seep into her as she wrapped fingertips around it and opened the door.  As she entered, Detective Scott immediately got to his feet, extending his hand.

 “I’m so sorry to spring this on you,” he said, as she gripped his hand mechanically. “But we’re on a deadline line and-“

 “And some of us prefer to go over our heads instead of following standard procedure,” snipped Denise. The acting District Attorney sat in one of Tom’s chair, posture stiff.

 Lindsay was uncertain if the obvious tension in the room was real or if she were projecting the emotions tightening her insides at the moment. Lost, she glanced at her boss and ex-husband beseechingly.

 Tom’s collar was ragged and his tie was crooked, a sure sign he had been tugging. His face was mottled with conflict, and that wasn’t good.

 “What,” she said, flat and anxious. “What the hell is this all about?”

 “Again, Inspector. I’m sorry I had to spring this on you-“

“Detective Scott.” Tom’s voice cut through the apology. “Would you please allow me?” There was no kindness – mere politeness. His eyes softened only when they landed on Lindsay.

 Now they were all staring at her, as if she were an animal in a safari – wild and capable of striking. The anger was coming, building in her veins and giving her strength.

 “Tom.”

 “When we visited Pete Raynor this morning, he offered us a deal,” Denise cut in. Lindsay’s eyes flashed to her, and to her credit, she did not shrink away when confronted by the heat in Lindsay’s glare. “He’ll confess to any and all murders he has committed, even those that we aren’t yet aware of. In return, we don’t ask for the death penalty.”

 Lindsay quickly processed the terms of Pete’s deal, instinctively knowing there had to be more, something that included her. “Interesting,” she choked, heart in her throat. “So what the hell does that have to do with me?” Denise glanced at Tom.  “Denise,” she snapped. “Look at me and tell me what the hell this has to do with me.”

 Denise pressed her lips together. “He wants to confess to you. That’s his condition. Just you. Only you.” Denise’s voice faltered. “Always you.”

 It didn’t seem real. The office became terminally smaller as Lindsay tried to comprehend it, suffocating with the impact as the words repeated in her head and became comprehensible.

 “Linz-“

 “Are you ordering me to do this?” Eyes locked with Tom. “Putting me on the table like a poker chip?”

 “That’s not what happened-“

 “Oh, it isn’t?” she whispered, voice like flint, cutting through Detective Scott and shutting him up. “You really think he’s just going to give it all up? He made it so easy, didn’t he? Just handed you this little deal and all you have to do is sign me over – the perfect barter.”

 “Lindsay, enough-“

 “Is this an order, Lieutenant?”

 Her boss, her friend, stared at her with the conflict of affection. Dark brown eyes softened while a mouth hardened, and when he spoke, there was a trace of regret.

 “Do I have to make it one?”

******

 

“I thought Denise was going to let you talk to her first.”

 To Jill, it felt like she had been tripped, steamrolled and left gasping on the pavement.

 With Claire by her side, she leaned against Lindsay’s desk and kept her eyes locked on Tom’s office door, waiting for angry shouts, the sound of things being thrown, anything that would tell her what the hell was going on.

 “She was,” she answered through gritted teeth. “I hadn’t counted on the fact that my boss is a hypocrite and a liar.”

 It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Her heart felt seared in two - one part blazing in conscious worry for Lindsay, the other bruised and bleeding because she had been so idiotic as to believe Denise when she’d been given her word.

 "Maybe there's an explanation," Claire said, voice quiet and compassionate.

 Jill glanced at her, met somber brown eyes - a clear indication that she was letting her anguish show.

 God.

 “Will somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Jacobi appeared beside them, a grim expression on his handsome, weathered face. “She wouldn’t say a word to me, went up there like she was going to her funeral.” The expression hit too close to home. The sick feeling in Jill’s stomach turned sour.

 "Pete Raynor's struck a deal," Claire muttered beside her. "Guess who the party favor is?"

 Jacobi absorbed that and uttered a curse beneath his breath. "You're shitting me."

 "'Fraid not."  

 "That's bullshit." He stared hard at Jill. "You let this happen?"

 She shivered uncontrollably, ready to open her mouth weakly when Maggie appeared as if out of nowhere, with comforting pressure on her bicep, bringing her subtly into her.

 "She didn't have much of a choice." Concerned crystal eyes flickered to her. "You okay?"

 Jill smiled faintly. "I'm not the one we should be worried about."

 As if to remind them, the door above them slammed open, hitting the rail and causing Jill to jump. From Tom's office, Lindsay finally emerged, dark locks bouncing behind her as she clomped down the stairs, heedless of the attention she drew below her.

 "Shit," Jacobi breathed. "What the hell is Tom thinking in letting her do this?"

 "She shouldn't be alone," Jill breathed.

 "I'm on it," Claire breathed, squeezing Jill’s arm and letting go just as quickly to weave through the desks, trailing after the rapidly moving Texan.

 With a dry mouth and insides that tremored, Jill sucked in a shaky breath.

"Do you need to take a walk?" The breath of Maggie's voice wisped against her ear, fingers rubbing along her spine reassuringly.

 Jill's lips pressed together when she glanced helplessly up to Tom's office door and saw Denise Kwon emerge from it.

 "No," she breathed, the anger heating her face and giving her strength. "I'll be fine."

 Without a second glance, she jerked away from Maggie and headed for the stairs.

******

 

“Lindsay!”

 Claire would have had an easy time catching up to her powder-keg of a friend if Lindsay didn’t have those damn supermodel legs that went on for miles. As she jogged after the stalking Texan, she felt absurdly like a Chihuahua chasing a Great Dane.

 “Lindsay!”

 She managed to get within two steps and lurched forward, grabbing hold of a swinging wrist and catching Lindsay mid-step. When her friend whirled, Claire saw only red, moist eyes and an expression lost between terror and fury.

 “Oh, honey-“

 But Lindsay was already shaking her head, stepping away from Claire’s embrace. “I’m sorry,” she choked and swiveled away, moving away from her.

 Claire knew better than to follow. Still, she had made the mistake of allowing Lindsay to brood, to close herself off, one too many times. Instead of merely staring after her retreating friend, Claire squared her shoulders with resolve and pulled out her cell phone.

 Pete Raynor, aka Kiss-Me-Not, had proven phenomenally successful at getting underneath Lindsay Boxer’s skin, digging into her in a way that shut her off to everyone but him.

 He had done it time and time again, but it wasn’t going to happen this time.

 This time, there was somebody who was better at his game – and Claire had said it countless times, prayed it more than once –

 Thank God for Cindy Thomas.

 ******

 

The coffee table of Margaret Tennyson was crowded and cluttered with clippings and pictures of both Christy and Diana, thrown together with both the care and grief of a longtime friend who wanted them to be remembered.

 "I thought you might want to use these. You know, for your article." Margaret Tennyson's smile was devastated and watery, watching Cindy carefully as the reporter leaned over to pick up a picture of Diana on the beach, in short shorts and a sweatshirt, hair wet and eyes sparkling with life. "She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

 "Absolutely."

 Margaret crossed her arms, gnawing at her lip as she glanced toward the closed bedroom door just left of the living room. "God, this is such a nightmare."

 Cindy's smile was sympathetic, but her posture was tight. "How is Anne holding up?"

 Surprised, Margaret looked back at the closed door, and then back to Cindy. Her mouth opened, then closed, and, suddenly, a dry laugh fell from her lips.  "Terrible," she admitted. "God, I guess you reporters really do know everything, don't you?"

 The bitterness with which she said it was alarming. Cindy Thomas fought the urge to wince at her own stupidity.

 ‘Be annoying,’ Lindsay had told her. Not, ‘be an idiot’. Showing every hand in her deck was hardly the way to get a possible character witness to talk.

 With a forced easy smile, and a look that pictured perfect innocence, Cindy shrugged. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I have some friends in the justice system. They want to do everything possible to find Christy and Diana’s killer. You should know that."

 Margaret's moist eyes closed, and she sniffled hard and nodded, rising to her feet. “I don’t know why I believe you. I mean, you’re a reporter and all – shouldn’t you be focusing on ‘just the facts’?”

 “Good reporters tell the stories behind the facts,” Cindy answered softly. “That’s why I wanted to see you. It helps to know who they were.”

 Margaret absorbed the explanation and offered a quiet smile. “Anne said she was working on a list of people that might have wanted to hurt Christy and Diane.”

 “That’s right-“

 “She didn’t have anyone.” Margaret sighed and smoothed her open palms on her thighs. “I guess that doesn’t help, does it?”

 Movement behind them, the snick of a lock and the creak of a door alerted them to a young man, with scruffy brown hair and dark brown eyes, holding a paper bag to his chest.  He eyed them both.

 “What’s all this?” 

 “David, this is Cindy Thomas, from the Register.” Rising to her feet, Margaret immediately moved toward him, smiling reassuringly. “She’s putting together a story on Christy and Diana.”

 “Awesome,” said the man dryly, coming further into the room and kicking the door closed behind him. “Diana always wanted an article written about her, and now it’s when she’s fucking dead.”

 Margaret sucked in her breath in reaction and glanced at Cindy. “David! God!” Her smile trembled. “I’m sorry. David’s my fiancé.”

 “You sure she should be here with Anne like she is?”

 “I promise, I’m just here to get some anecdotes,” Cindy said, interjecting carefully when Margaret eyed her uncertainly. “I can certainly appreciate what Anne’s been through. I wouldn’t dream of harassing her.”

 “Good, because I’d have a problem with that.” It was a warning that seemed almost threatening when the young man stared at her, dark eyes searing her in a way that gave her sudden chills. “Just saying. She’s been through enough.”

 With that, he headed toward the kitchen, loudly opening the refrigerator door and sorting through its contents.

 Glancing away, Cindy licked her lips uncertainly. “I’m glad she has such protective friends.”

 Margaret laughed.

 The odd reaction was almost chilling. “I’m sorry,” she said, eyes moist, wiping away an errant tear. “It’s just… that was Diana and Christy in a nutshell. Protective of everyone. God, they didn’t even want me and David to be together – said he wasn’t ever gonna amount to anything – just two days ago they got into this big fight with him…”

 Cindy slowly stilled, posture stiffening as she glanced back to the kitchen where the telltale clinks and clanks of a beer bottle being opened and gulped down could be heard.

 “Even convinced me to break up with him!” Margaret smiled through her tears. “Funny, isn’t it? When he found out what happened to them, he came over, was so supportive to me and Anne. They never got to see this side of him.”

 An acrid smell suddenly permeated their noses, and Margaret’s lovestruck smile turned into one of disgust.

 “God, David!? Don’t smoke that in here!”

 From the kitchen, David emerged, sucking in a lungful of smoke as the tip of the cigarette he held in his hand burned white hot.

 “Sorry.” He headed for the front door.

 The realization came to Cindy like a punch in the gut – pinpricks of moments of the crime scene flickered into her head, almost as if Claire and Lindsay were in her head, giving her the dots to connect.

 Motive? Check. Cigarette? Check.

 Breathless, and with a dry throat, Cindy struggled to keep calm as her eyes whirled around the apartment.

 “He sounds like a prince,” she managed, eyes frozen on the door.

 “I think your phone is ringing.”

 Cindy blinked, head swiveling to Margaret, the girl coming back into focus. “I’m sorry?”

 Margaret pointed to her purse. “Your phone? It’s ringing.”

 Sure enough, her purse was emitting a tell-tale ring. “God, sorry. I don’t know where my mind went-“ she fumbled for her purse and discovered a missed call from Claire. “You know what? I have to take this.”

 Outside, David was smoking, in the midst of inhaling as he glanced up and caught her in a lazy appraisal. Shifting on the steps, he asked in a way that seemed overly casual, “They any closer to finding the guy that did it?”

 The lump in Cindy’s throat was nearly impossible to swallow. “I’m not sure.” She shrugged flippantly. “Hey, would you mind if I bummed one of those?” she motioned to his cigarette. “I’m all out.”

 ******

 

There was absolutely nothing that was not stupid about this.

 Jill Bernhardt, in her more lucid moments, would argue that charging after Denise Kwon, her boss, like some sort of raging bull would accomplish nothing but getting her fired.

 Logic and reason should have kept her calm, pushed her into her office so she could lock the door and nurse her wounds in private, call Cindy, track down Lindsay, do everything she could to make sure Lindsay was all right.

 Instead, she followed her bruised ego and heart, catching up with Denise just outside of Jill’s own office and latching onto her elbow, startling the other woman so badly Denise nearly tripped as she whirled.

 “Jill! God, you scared me to death! JILL-“ Jill shoved, pushing Denise into her office. “ What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

 “You gave me your word,” she managed, hands against the door as she slammed it closed, eyes burning with emotion and fury. “You PROMISED ME-“

 “I kept it-“

 “Bullshit!” she spit. “You went behind my back the minute you got back here – went to Tom and Scott and for what? To screw me?” Denise actually looked shocked, eyes wide and mouth open, and the fury in Jill fed on it. “You really are a class act bitch, aren’t you?”

 That word finally seemed to grab some sort of reaction. Denise winced as if she had been slapped, before she caught herself, and the expression faded away.

 “That’s what you’d love to think, isn’t it, Bernhardt?” Attempting to regain her dignity, Denise’s shoulders straightened, her eyes narrowed. “That that’s all I am. Just a class act bitch whose life purpose is just to screw you – any way I can, is that it? Get over yourself. The world doesn’t revolve around you or your golden snatch.”

 God, she hated that she had given Denise the power to hurt her like this. Hated the tears that threatened to spill over, the emotion that nearly paralyzed her against her door. The strength that propelled her to bring Denise in here left her, and she now clutched the back of the door for support.

 “I thought I could trust you,” Jill whispered.

 “You CAN.”

 “Bullshit.”

 “Fuck you, Jill!” The statement blasted with fury, with heat, as Denise strode forward, fingers curled into fists. “I didn’t go to Tom, Scott did. He took a cab and lied to me, came straight here and decided to play bureaucratic tattle-tale. He went over my head, and by the time I found out, Tom was already calling Lindsay.” It could have been fast talking – Denise lying about the situation to paint herself in a better light – except Denise wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t care enough to do that. “But that didn’t even occur to you, did it? You just saw what happened and thought that I had betrayed you. You know what, Bernhardt?” Denise’s eyes flashed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest). “You’re the worst kind of hypocrite. Always waxing poetic about trying to see the best in people and looking at the whole person and beyond the flaws and the rules and the first chance you get to paint me as some devil you take it.”

 As fast as the anger faded, the regret took hold. Jill found herself faltering, staring mournfully at the woman before her, strong and fragile and lost and self-assured – hiding behind her mask of indifference because somehow Jill had actually HURT her.

 And, suddenly, she was on the edge of that precipice yet again, heart throbbing as she searched beseechingly at a woman who both terrified and intrigued her.

 “I’m sorry.”

 It was said simply and honestly, so sincerely that it threw Denise off, knocked her out of her fury and left her staring at Jill with a surprise that, for a moment, seemed so vulnerable and hurt, she broke Jill’s heart.

 Unspeakably and inexplicably touched, Jill could only stare. Rare moments of vulnerabilities from Denise had always been both stunning and unforgettable, but they had never seemed to undo her.

 Denise flushed under the attention. Her dark head lowered and she smoothed her skirt down, regaining her icy composure as she walked toward the door. “Like I expected anything else.”  She wavered at the doorway, eyes rising up to challenge Jill’s with an arched brow and a cool glare.  “Are you going to let me out of here or do I have to charge you with kidnapping?”

 But Jill was beyond help. Her regret and her affection surged to the surface, and she lost control. Her hand once again latched onto Denise the second she touched the doorknob, holding her in place.

 “I’m sorry,” she said again, into a face now inches from her own. Denise’s perfume wafted at her as they were pressed together side by side, the intimacy arousing in a way that felt like she was being drugged. Sighing, her head fell forward, tented against Denise’s ear as she whispered again, “I’m sorry.”

 “Stop.” The words were choked, laced with uncertainty, and Jill paid them no heed. Her head angled as she repeated her mantra, echoing her words of apology as her lips skimmed against Denise’s ear, her jaw. “Jill.”

 Her mouth hovered against Denise’s lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, brushing those words against soft lips, feeling the breath of Denise against her own. A millimeter push, and then they were barely kissing, gentle presses of lips against lips, chaste and soft.

 When Denise moved her mouth, jerked her head to the side and tilted her forehead against Jill’s, she was panting heavily. “No,” she said, firm and ragged. “Jill.”

 And God, she was right. She was so right. This was so eternally fucked up.

 “I’m sorry,” Jill said, eyes fluttering closed as she pressed against Denise and breathed her in. Their fingers had tangled together, and there they stood, against Jill’s door, panting against each other as Jill waged war with her instincts.

 She had just managed to gather enough resolve to let Denise go when the brunette’s head tilted suddenly against her, body swiveling until she had pressed Jill against the firm wood and slammed Jill’s palms on either side of her. Denise stared at her for only a second, with a glazed look of desire, before she surged forward and opened her mouth against Jill’s.

 “We shouldn’t do this,” Jill groaned, in-between kisses that threatened to sear her. 

 “Shut up,” Denise breathed, and curled her hand at Jill’s nape, roughly tilting Jill’s head and plunging her tongue into Jill’s mouth. Instinctively, Jill kissed back feverishly, biting down a moan on Denise’s lower lip that only served to make things more frantic.

 Denise’s fingers untangled from Jill’s and Jill’s knees nearly buckled when Denise grabbed onto her breast, massaging roughly. Breathing noisily through her nose, sucking Denise’s tongue into her mouth, she pushed into the sensation, arching off the door to fumble at Denise’s buttons, jerking the blazer open to reveal the tight button down shirt.

 When Jill tore away from Denise’s mouth to follow a heated path down the arch of her throat, Denise groaned, the sound animal and unique and such a turn on it drove Jill back to her mouth to taste it.

 When the door opened, they were halfway to the desk. Denise’s fingers had already snuck underneath Jill’s shirt, her mouth forming a bruise against the vee of Jill’s exposed cleavage.

 They sprang apart like children, but it wasn’t enough. Maggie had already seen enough.

 Jill’s girlfriend stared at her, then Denise. After a moment, she silently stepped back out into the hallway and calmly shut the door behind her.

 ******

 

If there was one thing that could knock a potential killer out of her head for even a moment, it was a call from Claire regarding Lindsay Boxer. When Claire had told her as calmly as she could that Lindsay had walked away from her, Cindy had immediately hung up and dialed Lindsay’s number as she belted herself into her seat.

 “I’m at home,” said the gruff, rough voice, the moment that Cindy picked up.

 “I’ll be right there,” she promised, and then, because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She hung up before Lindsay could argue.

 With the speed of a NASCAR driver, Cindy Thomas jerked the wheel of her little red car named Maggie, and pulled into the parking spot of her apartment complex.

 In front of her, in the tandem space assigned to her unit, was Lindsay’s Jeep. The tension that had been building inside her, making her movements jerky, erratic, and if she were honest with herself, her driving not as safe as it should have been, immediately melted inside of her, liquefying and making her feel suddenly light-headed.

 She fumbled for the car door, jerking it open as her phone rang in her purse. Any other instance, the call would have been ignored. But the caller was Jill, and despite a flare of irrational anger, Cindy answered it.

 “Hi.”

 “You sound breathless,” said the soft, strained voice of her friend. “Did you find her?”

 “Her car is here,” she said, heading fast for the elevator. “I’m going up right now.”

 A rush of air blew into the receiver, Jill’s own relief making itself known. “I know she won’t listen to me, but please tell her I’m sorry.”

 “God, Jill.” Cindy’s steps faltered; the blood rushing in her veins slowed, giving her just a little bit more clarity as she detected the very real anguish in Jill’s tone. “It’s not your fault.”

 “She was blindsided.”

 “According to Claire, so were you.” The elevator button was sticking. Biting her lower lip, Cindy shook her head and headed for the stairs. “You trusted Denise and she screwed you. I’m sorry.”

 Jill was silent, and then Cindy was startled to hear an odd, dry chuckle fall out of Jill’s lips. “Right… about that? That was a misunderstanding. I got so hurt that Denise would betray my trust I jumped to conclusions and… Denise didn’t… exactly screw me over…”

 “Oh God. Would you two just make out already?”

 Another stalled silence. Another bitter laugh. Then, “What are you doing? You sound like you’re running a marathon.”

 Catching her breath on the second floor, Cindy reached for the handle and jerked, turning into the hallway. “Stairs,” she admitted. “And adrenaline. Did Denise tell you when Lindsay has to meet Pete?”

 Another stalled silence. Cindy frowned. “Jill?”

 “Denise and I didn’t exactly… talk.”

 “You realize you’re talking in riddles and inferences, right?”

 “Long story.”

 “I bet.” Sucking in her breath, she released it and moved toward the door. “Jill, I love you but I’m staring at my apartment door and I have no idea how Lindsay is-“

 “I’m hanging up. Call me when you can to tell me how she is.”

 “Will do.”

 She snapped her phone closed and headed fast for the door, inserting the key in the lock and jerking so hard she nearly snapped the thing in two.

 “Lindsay. Lindsay-“

 Her lover’s name died in her throat when she stepped into the living room and discovered the dejected brunette sitting quietly on the couch, hands in her lap like a chastened schoolgirl. At Cindy’s entrance, dark eyes, liquid with tears, glanced up and met her own, and in Lindsay’s face was such a look of such quiet devastation it nearly knocked her breathless.

 Upon sight of her, Lindsay’s throat bobbed with a hard swallow, before she glanced away from Cindy’s still form and reached tentatively for a stack of paper that Cindy recognized as the lease agreement.

 “I signed it,” Lindsay offered, in a voice rough as sandpaper. Through the stinging tears that were already beginning to form in Cindy’s burning eyes, she could make out the scribble of Lindsay’s signature, inked in pen on the bottom of the page.

 Quietly, she came forward, purse dropping to the floor, and jacket shrugged off, ever closer to her beloved Inspector who just looked so lost.

 As she sank down on the couch, Cindy kept to herself, watching imploringly as Lindsay’s moist eyes broke away from her, smoothing her hands over their agreement. “I just… I came home and I didn’t know what to do… I couldn’t see anything but him – he was just … soaked in me, you know?”

 Cindy’s heart began to thud, hard beats that pumped against her chest with the ache of her own sudden feeling of uselessness. “Lindsay…”

 “Then I came in here… and I saw this.” Lindsay’s fingers continued to trace the line of her signature, retracing it with her index digit, following every loop and curve. “And I could see again. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew that I could sign it. So I did. I signed it.”

 With a loud sniffle and trembling hands, she turned to Cindy and held it out to her. Overwhelmed, Cindy could only take it, placing the papers carefully in order and back on the coffee table.

 “Thank you,” she said, quietly and sincerely.

 Lindsay breathed out deeply, a gush of air that sounded louder than her own voice. She leaned forward and put her hands against her mouth, staring ahead.

 “He keeps trying to rob me of my future,” Lindsay said, and Cindy didn’t know if she was directing that at her or speaking out loud to herself. “Using everything he can. My past. My job. My memories. My friends. He keeps trying so hard, and do you know why?”

Wordlessly, Cindy shook her head.

 “Because he knows he won’t win. He knows it. This is some sort of last ditch effort to try to dig into me, try to get me to be that person that he wanted me to become before his climatic conclusion. He thinks he’s the most important person in my life but do you know what he is? Do you know all he is?”  Lindsay’s hands moved away from her face, and gorgeous moist eyes took her in. “He’s a monster. He didn’t destroy me. We destroyed him. Whatever he took away, I have so much more.”

 Unable to help herself, Cindy reached forward and placed a palm against Lindsay’s back, feeling the heat against the cotton shirt rising up into her hand. Sucking in her breath in emotion, she smoothed up until her hand was palming Lindsay’s nape, and when the quirk of Lindsay’s lips indicated the smallest of smiles, the tears rolled down her cheeks.

 “I love you,” she whispered, because Cindy Thomas always had a knack for words, and had a tendency to run on, but in some cases, even she knew the best way to say things were as clearly and simply as possible.

 “I owe it to those people, the ones who weren’t as lucky, to find out who they were, where they were. Don’t I?”

 Not trusting herself to speak, Cindy only nodded.

 Lindsay stared at her lover and turned her head until her cheek leaned into Cindy’s hand, her mouth brushed against her thumb. 

 When Cindy exhaled softly, Lindsay’s eyes darkened. Her mouth opened over Cindy’s thumb, and she took her in, laving over the digit, sucking it into her mouth.

 The tremors of arousal were instantaneous, and Cindy’s thudding heartbeat slowed and sped up yet again, as she watched her lover with half-lidded eyes, overtaken.

 Fingers snagging one of Lindsay’s long dark curls, she curled her fist and pulled, bringing Lindsay over her as she leaned back, until Lindsay was pressed down on top of her, gun digging into Cindy’s hip and chest fitted against her own.

 Lindsay’s dark hair fell around Cindy’s face like a curtain, and Cindy reached up simply, smoothing it away from the beauty of Lindsay’s face.

 “He’ll never take this away from us,” she whispered. “Not even in my nightmares, he’ll never take me away from you.”

 Lindsay studied her, keened into her touch. “I’m counting on it,” she whispered, and then opened her mouth against hers. The kiss was long and deep, tongue plunging into Cindy’s mouth with a desperate abandon that was meant to reassure and consume.

 She enveloped her lover from head to toe, shifting only to press her knee between Cindy’s, sinking in further into the younger woman, groaning as their hips began to rock against each other.

 Breathing hard from both the intimate kiss and the pressure of her lover atop her, Cindy’s hands smoothed underneath Lindsay’s shirt, sliding up soft skin and digging fingernails into Lindsay’s shoulder as her knee hitched up around Lindsay’s waist, arching into the press of Lindsay’s thigh.

 When Lindsay lifted up to fit her hand between them, reaching under the elastic of the waist of Cindy’s skirt, she encountered the wetness that caused such a shudder it vibrated into Cindy.

 “Please,” Cindy whispered, because she needed it. Lindsay needed it. Lindsay’s tongue plunged into her lover with the same thrust as her fingers. Cindy bucked and whimpered, clawing onto Lindsay’s back to bring her further in. They shifted together, sweating underneath their clothes, plastered together as they moved toward their own practiced rhythm.

 ******

 

“I’m an ass and the world hates me.”

 Claire lifted her head from her desk to discover a blonde attorney leaning in her doorway.

 Claire found her lips quirking in response. “Have you polled everybody in the world?”

 “I have a good enough representative sample.”

 “Do you?”

 Jill collapsed into her chair and closed her eyes. “Have you heard from Lindsay at all?”

 Claire sighed deeply. “’Fraid not,” she answered quietly. “But I did get in touch with Cindy.”

 “Me too,” Jill confirmed. “She said Lindsay was at her apartment and she was on her way to see her.”

 “Good,” Claire answered, more relieved than she wanted to admit. That Lindsay chose to go to where Cindy could find her easily was an extremely good sign. It meant Cindy was still her designated ‘safe’ zone, and as long as that remained the truth, Pete Raynor was defeatable.

 Her eyes fell down to the charts on her desk, then up again at Jill, who stayed slumped in Claire’s chair, fingers ticking on the wooden arm. “Don’t mind me,” she said. “I’m just in here hiding.”

 “Care to tell me who you’re hiding from?”

 “How about my best friend who wants to kill me? Or my girlfriend who just witnessed me sucking face with my boss? Or my boss… with whom I very nearly had sex with in my office?”

 Claire stared at her friend, so thrown by the last revelation she could only blink. When Jill lifted her head and eyed her, she straightened her shoulders, opened her mouth, closed it, and then tried again.

 “You’ve had a busy morning,” she finally managed. Jill grimaced, but agreed, leaning forward and poking at the papers on Claire’s desk.

 “So, in an effort to completely avoid my completely messed up love-life and try to get back in my best friend’s good graces, I’m focusing on the one issue I CAN help with. Lindsay said something about using the power of the DA’s office and my awesome cleavage to speed up some tests?”

******

 

“I’m so sorry I can’t just make him go away.”

 Pressed into the couch with her naked lover shifted into her, Cindy’s Snuggie covering them both, Lindsay encountered a sense of calm that rested between happiness and devastation.

 For the moment, the demons had been chased away, but they still hovered, just beyond the shadows of her mind, in corners where even the inextinguishable Cindy Thomas could not illuminate.

Strangely, Lindsay was okay with that. At the moment, her fingers trailed a path along a bare shoulder down a soft, perfectly smooth back. Pressed against her was a woman who was uniquely hers, and though she understood things were as bad as they had ever been, that was all she could actually care about. 

 Skimming her lips alongside Cindy’s temple reassuringly, she breathed out, “Don’t be.”

 “Did they tell you when you would have to see him?”

Cindy’s voice was clear and soft, as Lindsay’s fingers stilled and the woman plastered to her raised her head and met her with a brown-eyed gaze.

 Distracted by the simple beauty of mussed tresses and an inquisitive face, Lindsay reached up to smooth knuckles along Cindy’s temple, before glancing up toward the ceiling.

 “You know… I kinda stormed out before they quite got to that part…” The imagery of what happened wafted over her – a perfect manufactured image of herself, clomping out of Tom’s office like only a disgruntled Texan could. “In retrospect, that might have been a little melodramatic.”

 Above her, Cindy’s brow rose in amusement. “Was it?”

 Despite herself, she found herself beginning to smirk. “I stomped down Tom’s stairs, in my boots, my jacket flying like a cape.”

 “This is why I tell you to carry spurs.”

 The insistent throb in the pit of her stomach unfurled ever so slightly as her smirk widened. “Spurs?”

 “Adds flavor.”

“Does it?”

“Totally. And I’m still campaigning for the cowboy hat. Partner.”

 The little drawl Cindy added at the end of the line caused a genuine laugh to erupt from Lindsay, an explosion of emotion that was so welcome she found herself blinking back tears.

 Opening her fingers against Cindy’s cheek, she grinned. “You’re insane.”

 “Determined,” Cindy corrected softly. “And so are you. Like Wyatt Earp. You always catch your man.” Lindsay pulled firmly, mouth slanting against Cindy’s, kissing her deeply until her lover suddenly jerked away with a slight ‘MMph!’

 “Huh?”

 But Cindy was already sitting up, pushing against her chest with pinpricks of pressure that caused her to wince.

 “Cindy-“

 “Oh, God, I can’t believe I almost forgot.”

 Rising to her elbows, Lindsay watched in perplexed befuddlement as her naked girlfriend bent to her knees and began pulling things out of her satchel purse, scattering them.

 “Cindy?” she asked, both intrigued and concerned at the spectacle before her. “What in Sam’s hell are you doing?”

 Cindy paused only briefly, eyes flashing brilliantly before she blew at a bang that was obstructing her face and continued her hunt. “I admit – on the Pete front I feel frightfully inadequate, but what if I said I could get you a suspect in your murder case?”

 “The ex-boyfriend?” Lindsay shook her head regretfully. “Dead end.”

 “Not the ex-boyfriend. But a fiancé – who has motive, access, and a penchant for smoking?” Pulling a piece of plastic from her bag, Cindy lobbed it her way. When Lindsay caught it, it took her a full three seconds to process that she was looking at a used Salem cigarette butt. “Meet Margaret Tennyson’s fiancé, David.”

******

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