“His lips are sewn shut.”

What she was seeing was as unbelievable as it was undeniable.  Stitches, sewn with neat and careful precision, were through David Arnold’s upper and lower lips.  Claire snapped off her small flashlight and tried not to recoil at the sight, her hands gripping the sides of the ladder so hard she distantly wondered if she might splinter the wood.

 “What?” Inspector Maggie Snow called from below.  “Why the hell would someone sew his lips shut?” she wondered aloud.  Her gaze went to DDA Jill Bernhardt, and Maggie found her stomach sinking at the look of abject horror on the attorney’s face.  “Ms. Bernhardt?  You okay?”

 Claire scrambled down the ladder.  Her legs were shaking so hard when she stepped off the last rung she would have fallen had Jill not been there to steady her.  Her friend’s hands felt like ice through the thin material of Claire’s navy windbreaker, and the cold touch snapped the medical examiner out of her shock and back into business mode.  She gripped Jill’s shoulders, feeling tremors working their way through the attorney’s body.  “Sit down,” Claire ordered, her voice husky.  “We both need to sit.”

Jill allowed herself be to be lead numbly to a pew.  Both she and Claire sunk into it  without grace, their hands searching out each other’s grips until their fingers intertwined.

 Maggie knelt and watched the two women worriedly.  “I’m in the dark here.  Obviously this is significant somehow, but you need to explain it to me.”  Her blue eyes fixed on Claire’s face as she spoke, sensing the medical examiner was steadying much faster than the blonde attorney.  Maggie’s gaze darted back to Jill, and she risked putting her hand on the blonde’s knee, hoping the touch offered some comfort.

 “The Kiss-Me-Not Killer,” Claire managed after she’d swallowed and taken a shaky breath.  “That was his signature.”

 “Another serial killer?”  Maggie frowned, the moniker sounding vaguely familiar and tickling the back of her brain.  She was sure she’d heard the name, but she’d been too involved with chasing LA’s serial killers to worry about San Francisco’s.  “You said was…”

 “He’s dead,” Jill blurted.  “Lindsay killed him months and months ago.  We’d… we’d been after him for years…” Images fluttered behind her eyelids as Jill closed her eyes and willed herself not to remember.  Crime scene photos, forever burned into her brain, clicked through her mind like a sick slide show.  Women frozen forever in death, their bodies brutalized, their lips sewn shut to keep them silent for eternity.

 Lindsay had tried to keep the victims’ voices alive.  She’d tried to speak for them; get justice for them.  Jill thought her friend had succeeded when she’d gunned down Billy Harris.

 Blue eyes lifted and gazed at Arnold, no longer seeing him as a killer but rather as the victim of one.  The events of the last few minutes made Jill feel like she was suffering mental whiplash.  Her head hurt, and anger was fast replacing shock.   

 “So this is someone’s idea of a sick joke?” Maggie asked.  She heard a commotion and glanced away from Jill.  Tom Hogan was entering the church with Warren Jacobi in tow.  Both of them went still when they saw Arnold’s body posed on the cross above the church.  Maggie squeezed Jill’s knee, and watched as those pretty blue eyes looked away from the victim and focused back on her.  “Stay here,” she said soothingly.  “I’ll be right back.”

 Jill merely nodded while huddling closer to Claire.  The medical examiner put her arm around Jill’s shoulders and pulled her in tighter as her eyes drifted back up to the cross.  Claire felt like she couldn’t breathe.  They’d just woken from one nightmare only to descend into another.  “When will this end?” she whispered almost brokenly.  She closed her eyes, focusing her thoughts on Jill and the two absent friends she hoped were far, far away from the hell they’d found inside this church.

 **** 

 ACT 1

 The night was cold, his breath fogging in the glow of the streetlight he hurried under. Pete Raynor kept his head down, his hands tucked into the pockets of his brown leather jacket.  He was freshly showered, having felt the need to get Arnold’s stench and blood off him.  It had taken more time than he’d liked to mount Arnold on the cross, even though he’d come prepared with all the necessary tools.  The priest had been a surprise.  Pete had barely managed to escape when the man returned to the sanctuary unannounced.  All the clergy were supposed to be away at a retreat while the church was being refurbished.  Still, Pete wouldn’t have traded hearing the man’s terrified scream for anything.  Nothing like making a man of the cloth quake in terror.

 He smiled at the memory.

 Pete had lingered, waiting and watching.  He’d seen Claire and Jill arrive, but Lindsay and the reporter were nowhere to be found.  After two hours, he’d given up, angry and dejected, and made his way home.  Why hadn’t Lindsay come?  Surely once Claire and Jill had seen the body, the sewn lips, they would have called Lindsay.  His inspector should have come running.

 He needed to get back to the apartment, the one that held all his surveillance equipment.  Hopefully his cameras would tell him why his beloved had not come to the church.  Pete hadn’t been to the apartment since he’d come to Lindsay last night.  Seeing her so upset had told him plenty.  Perhaps she was finally seeing reason; perhaps Lindsay was coming to the realization that Cindy Thomas was not the love she was meant to live with happily ever after.

 She would hurt for a time, but he would be there to heal the wounds on her heart.

 Pete let himself into the small room and frowned.  Normally the monitors displayed the interior of Lindsay’s apartment in a black and white tableau.  Tonight there was only static.  There was nothing on the audiometers, either.

 He played back the recording, stopping the feed once he saw the video image of himself leaving Lindsay’s apartment.  Pete settled into a chair, watching as Lindsay changed her clothes as she prepared for bed.  His fingers touched the screen, wishing he felt the heat of her skin rather than cool glass.  “Soon,” he promised himself.

 Pete frowned again when he saw Lindsay pick up the phone on the nightstand.  There was little doubt who she was calling, but to his amusement and relief, the reporter apparently chose not to answer.  He watched as Lindsay began to rage, her anger exciting him as he leaned forward eagerly, studying a side to her he’d always known existed but had never witnessed.  Lindsay was glorious in her fury.

 But then her badge had struck the vent.  Pete jerked his hand away from the screen as the camera clattered over, and Lindsay went still.

 “No,” he whispered.  “No, no, no.”

 The inspector grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to the wall, standing on top of it to peer inside.  Moments later, she ripped the vent off the wall and reached inside for the camera.  The screen went blank.

 “Dammit!”  Pete shouted as he shoved the monitor away from him, unaffected when it hit the floor and imploded, showering his legs with glass and filling the room with the scent of melting plastic and burning metal wiring.

 So Lindsay had found his hobby.  “It doesn’t matter,” he murmured as the downstairs neighbor pounded on his ceiling in protest at the noise.  “I’m tired of watching.”

 It was time for the next stage of his plan to begin.  Everyone was out of the way.  Everyone but the reporter.

 And soon, Cindy Thomas would just be a distant memory for Lindsay Boxer.

 ****

 Gravel crunched and slipped under and around the tires of the rented red SUV.  There was a full moon high in the sky, its ghostly paleness mingling with the warmer orange of the dashboard light to make Lindsay Boxer’s angular features easily visible to an  appreciative Cindy Thomas’ eyes.  Lindsay was focused intently on the empty road before them and was unaware of her lover’s perusal, leaving Cindy to admire to her heart’s content.

 The reporter had her elbow on the passenger side door, and she stifled a yawn with her fist as the radio played the soft twangs of a country station.  They’d been driving a good portion of the evening, and the two o’clock hour was closing in on them.  According to Lindsay, however, they were almost there.  Cindy was exhausted and couldn’t wait to curl her smaller body around Lindsay’s long frame, but she was equally as excited to finally see their destination.

 When Lindsay had asked Cindy where she wanted to go for their vacation, the reporter’s answer had been instantaneous, much to Lindsay’s apparent chagrin.  Cindy wasn’t worried about her lover’s anxieties, however.  She was too focused on all the dirt she was going to learn about the woman she was moving in with.

 Lindsay seemed to sense she was being watched, and she turned her head, her dark eyes sparkling even in the low light as she caught Cindy regarding her.  “You okay?” her voice was raspier than normal and sounded as tired as the reporter felt.

 “Getting better by the moment,” Cindy confessed with a sleepy smile that Lindsay answered with one of her own.  “I love you,” the redhead said softly, the feeling so intense at that moment she needed to vocalize it or risk bursting from the swell of emotion.

 Lindsay held her gaze for as long as she dared.  “I love you, too.”

 Nothing more was said as they traveled several more minutes in easy silence.  Cindy continued to watch her lover, admitting to herself that getting away was a damn good idea for both of them.  The way things had been going one of them would have wound up fired, jailed, or dead.  Dark emotions and worsening depression on both their parts had been weighing them down.  At least now, out here in the middle of seemingly nowhere, Cindy felt like they could both breathe.  It was a little intimidating, though, the thought of spending an uninterrupted week with her lover.  They’d always had cases to talk about.  The club was always a buffer.  Here they would only have themselves and seven days to see where this thing between them was headed.

 The SUV slowed before an old, rusted red gate.  Lindsay slid the SUV into park and opened her door, stepping out into the chilly night air.  Needing to stretch, Cindy followed, closing her door and trotting after the inspector as she worked the latch.

 “Look up,” Lindsay told the reporter casually.

 “Huh?” 

 Lindsay pointed heavenward, and Cindy tipped her head back.  Above was an explosion of stars, more than Cindy had ever seen.  The night looked like a black blanket showered in silver glitter.  Her breath caught and she looked back down at Lindsay in surprise.

 “All those city lights,” Lindsay remarked as she swung the gate open.  “Hides the stars.”

 “I’ll say,” Cindy agreed with another glance at the beauty above her.  “Wow.”

 Lindsay chuckled at the predicted response.  “I still don’t know why you wanted to come here.  We could have gone to a beach somewhere.”  She blew into her cold hands, trying to warm them.

 Cindy tucked her hands into her pockets, hiding them from the February chill.  “We could have,” she agreed.  “But the beach doesn’t have the Boxer brood.”

 “The Boxer brood?”  Lindsay shook her head and motioned the redhead back toward the vehicle.  They climbed in and shut their doors.  “I’m not sure what this fascination is that you have with my family.  I think you may come to regret this decision.  I know I’m thinking I might.”

 “You really worried?” Cindy asked with a slight frown.  Lindsay had confessed on the plane that she’d never told her family about the nature of their relationship.  Less surprising had been how little Lindsay had shared with her grandparents about the Hallelujah Man case.

 The inspector shrugged.  “Maybe a little.”  She dipped her head and looked sideways at the reporter, grinning just a fraction.  “Be a real bummer of a trip if they tossed us out.”

 “They’re your family, Linz,” Cindy said with understanding.

 As the SUV continued to idle, Lindsay simply stared at the reporter for a long moment.  “So are you,” she said in a husky voice. 

 Cindy’s brown eyes widened under the intensity of Lindsay’s gaze.  She didn’t know what to say to that statement, but hearing it made her feel like she was floating among those millions of stars scattered across the Texas night sky.  “Erm,” was all that came out.

 Lindsay chuckled in victory at having flustered the reporter.  

 It took another seven or eight minutes to reach the ranch.  Outdoor lights were blazing, revealing a sprawling wood and stone structure.  Cindy could see cacti, just like in the movies, dotting the landscape.  She started squirming she was so excited.

 “Relax, Lois Lane,” Lindsay teased as she shut off the engine and took a deep breath.  “It’s just my grandparents.”

 “It’s not just your grandparents.  It’s Texas… you know, with cowboys, horses, spurs… Oooh.  If I bought you chaps would you wear them?”

 Lindsay nearly toppled out of the SUV when her head whipped back around to look at the reporter in surprise.  She righted herself just as the door to the ranch opened and a tall, slender woman with long white hair emerged.  She was in a deep blue robe, her tanned skin glowing as a smile lit her face.  She waved enthusiastically.

 “Wow,” Cindy said again as she got a glimpse of what Lindsay would look like in another forty years.  “Good bone structure runs in your family.”

 “On my mom’s side it does,” Lindsay agreed, trying to get her mind off chaps and whether or not Cindy was serious about them.  “Marty’s side is a little less… angular.”  Lindsay shut her door before meeting her grandmother at the edge of the long porch, slipping her arms around a woman who was into her seventies but gave her a hug with the strength of a twenty-year old woman.  “Hi, Gram.”

 “Hi yourself, stranger.”

 Cindy hesitated at her car door, watching the two women with undisguised fascination.  She swallowed as two sets of dark eyes turned her way.  Cindy waved her whole arm in a half circle and blushed when Lindsay chuckled.

 “She’s darling,” Lindsay’s grandmother whispered in her ear.

 “You have no idea,” Lindsay drawled.  She held out her hand, and Cindy came hesitantly closer.  “Abbeline MacGill,” Lindsay spoke as Cindy’s cold fingers intertwined with her own.  “Meet Cindy Thomas.”

 Cindy swallowed nervously and extended her free hand, feeling an aged, but strong grip take it.  Abbeline’s hands were rough from years on the ranch, but there was warmth in her touch.  “Nice to meet you,” Cindy forced out around the sudden herd of butterflies stampeding in her stomach. 

 “Call me Abbie,” Abbeline instructed with a warm smile that reminded Cindy so much of Lindsay her brain almost melted.

 “Thank you, Abbie,” Cindy replied bashfully. 

 Abbie’s eyes twinkled, as she looked at Lindsay then winked, keeping all her questions about the pair to herself for now.  Lindsay had been vague when she called about the purpose of the visit, but Abbie wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  It had been too long since she’d last seen her grandchild.  Abbie had heard about Cindy Thomas, of course.  Not a phone call or email went by where her granddaughter didn’t mention the young reporter.  As time went on, Lindsay’s voice had gotten warmer and deeper when she talked about Cindy, and as Abbie saw the two of them before her, she suspected her suspicions about the pair were on the money.  “Jack’s dead to the world,” she told them.  “Couple of the herd broke through the fence down by the creek.  He had a time wrangling them up.”

 Lindsay winced.  “No need to wake him.”

 “Come on you two, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.  I already made up your room.”

 Room, Cindy mouthed at Lindsay behind Abbie’s back as they went to the trunk of the SUV and retrieved their luggage.  Not rooms, the reporter noted to herself.  She grinned as Lindsay predictably blushed.  Cindy wondered if Lindsay’s detective skills ran in the family.

 Lindsay took in a deep breath of the Texas night air as she followed Cindy inside.  It filled her; cleared her head and seemed to put a thin balm on her battered soul.  Cindy had been right.  This was where they needed to be.  They needed time to think… time to heal… time to be whole again.

 With one last glance up at the night sky and the beautiful display of the universe, Lindsay smiled faintly and closed the door.

 ****

 

 Maggie rubbed at her aching eyes.  The sun was peeking over the cloudy horizon, and she spared a moment of longing for her new, soft bed back at her apartment.  She’d give just about anything to sink into it right now, but after Tom Hogan had filled her in on the significance of the stitches through the now-deceased Hallelujah Man’s lips… well, sleep was going to have to wait.

 Probably for a while.

 The inspector looked around the sanctuary once more, baffled that there was no sign of Lindsay Boxer.  Two of Lindsay’s biggest cases had just collided on the cross of a small Catholic church, and the homicide detective was nowhere to be seen.  It made no sense.

 A metal groan made Maggie turn, and she watched with disgust as Arnold and the cross were lowered to the ground.  Looking away, her gaze landed once more on Jill Bernhardt.  The blonde attorney was now in the back of the sanctuary, her head down as the medical examiner spoke to her in quiet tones.  Maggie noted the body language between the two women and felt some relief that they were obviously close.  Bernhardt could use a friend right now, and she was glad one was there.  With a sigh, Maggie moved toward the two women, settling into the pew in front of them.  Jill’s gaze lifted and caught Maggie in its regard, making the inspector’s breath hitch for a brief moment.  Jill looked tragically beautiful, and Maggie wanted nothing more than to ease the burden that weighed so heavily on the attorney’s shoulders.

 “You should go home,” Maggie suggested when the air had returned to her lungs.

 Jill shook her head, a surprisingly determined look on her features.  “No,” she croaked.  “I’m not walking away.  Not this time.”

 Claire’s gaze went to the floor, but she said nothing.

 Maggie looked from one woman to the other.  There was definitely some history there between them with this Kiss-Me-Not case.  Maggie just wasn’t sure what it was.  “Jill,” she began carefully.  “Arnold…”

 “I know what Arnold tried to do to me,” Jill replied with tempered heat, guessing what Maggie was about to say.  “I don’t need you to point out the obvious.”

 Maggie held up her hand.  “I was going to say that Arnold is being moved to the morgue.  There is nothing else you can do here.  Go home.”

 Jill ran a hand through her hair.  “Sorry.  Damn, I’m sorry.”  She shook her head and blew out a breath.  “I’m just rattled.”

 “Understandable,” Maggie said with empathy.  “Please.  Go home.  Try to get some rest.”

 “Rest.  Right.” Jill gave her a bitter laugh. 

 “She’s right, Jill,” Claire said softly.  “Let me take you home on my way back to the office.”

 The DDA shook her head.  “I’m coming with you.”

 “Jill…” Claire began.

 “I’m coming with you,” Jill insisted as she got slowly to her feet.

 Maggie stood as well.  “Can I ask if either of you know where Lindsay Boxer is?”

 Claire shook her head.  “She and Cindy took some time.  They headed out right after we got the call that Arnold was dead.”

 “Took some time?” Maggie asked with disbelief.

 “A vacation.  Wish I’d gone with them,” Jill muttered.

 Claire’s lips twitched, and she felt a trickle of relief that Jill could still joke under the circumstances.  Then again, maybe Jill wasn’t joking.

 “Has anyone called them?” Maggie wanted to know.

 “They turned off their cell phones.  No contact for three days.  I ordered them, actually,” Claire admitted.  “They were both so damned tired.  They needed this.”

 Maggie nodded even though she was unhappy to hear about this turn of events.  Her mind started churning out scenarios, none of which she liked at all.  She felt her history rush over her, and a sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach when she considered the real reasons Lindsay might have left town.  “I’ll see you later at the morgue, Doctor,” she told Claire distractedly.  “Jill.”  She dipped her head at the attorney.

 “Maggie,” Jill said with a weak smile. 

 Even a weak smile was enough to make Maggie’s heart lurch only to double in tempo.  Her eyes didn’t leave Jill’s frame until the attorney disappeared from the church.

 **** 

 

Olive skin kissed by sunlight was the sight that greeted Cindy the next morning.  She slowly opened her eyes, smiling at the naked expanse of Lindsay’s back.  Her lover had been too tired to change, simply pulling her shirt and bra off and shucking off her jeans the night before.  Cindy was wrapped around Lindsay’s sinuous frame, and she took a moment to savor this little eddy of time they found themselves in.

 It was quiet, only their mingled breathing and the distant sound of horses penetrated her awareness.  Cindy could smell bacon and coffee, and her stomach perked up in interest, growling faintly.  It felt so good to be still… to just be.  No serial killers to chase… no serial killers chasing them.  A smirk eased onto Cindy’s lips when some part of her brain promised that they’d be bored by the end of the week.

 Bored was perfectly fine by her.  Cindy decided she was looking forward to it, actually. 

 The sunlight was warm where it hit her back and shoulders as she snuggled closer and kissed the nearest patch of Lindsay’s skin.  Liking the experience, Cindy shifted and kissed a little higher.  The inspector grunted and shifted, waking reluctantly.  Cindy let her hands skim up Lindsay’s ribs, feeling her lover suck in a deep breath as her fingers found more sensitive spots.

 “Mmm.”  Lindsay’s voice was warm and husky.  “Your hands are wandering, Ms. Thomas.”

 “Are they?” Cindy asked innocently.  “That’s not against the law is it, officer?”

 Lindsay rolled, her body almost cat-like as she wrapped around Cindy, sliding a warm, soft thigh between her lover’s legs.  “Good morning.”

 “It certainly is now,” Cindy agreed as she closed the distance between them and kissed Lindsay with quiet passion.

 Lindsay’s hands slipped under the light blue t-shirt Cindy wore as her thumbs began to stroke the top of the reporter’s hips.  Cindy made a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan before her body shifted closer, pressing against her lover, needing to feel her heat everywhere.

 “Way better than an alarm clock,” Lindsay chuckled as she rolled Cindy over onto her back and settled on top of her.  She dipped her head, catching Cindy’s mouth in another searing kiss. 

 A knock at the door broke them apart.

 “Lindsay, honey?  You girls up?”

 Lindsay rolled out of bed so fast she staggered into the wall.  Cindy bit her lip to keep from laughing while her lover scrambled to dress herself.

 “Yeah,” Lindsay called out.  “Hang on a sec.”  She swore as she slipped on her jeans, lost her balance, and fell into the wall again.

 “You redecorating the place?” Abbie asked knowingly.

 The laughter finally escaped, and Cindy was forced to bury her head in her pillow to keep Abbie from hearing.  The added bonus was that Cindy couldn’t see the scalding look she was sure Lindsay was giving her.

 “Not helping,” Lindsay hissed at her lover while she slipped on her shirt and quickly did three of the buttons before throwing open the door.  Abbie stood there in her robe and regarded her granddaughter with mild interest. 

 “I asked if you were up.  I didn’t say you had to be.”

 Lindsay ran her hands through her hair and cleared her throat.  “We were just talking.”

 “Course you were, dear.”  Abbie smiled.  “Breakfast is ready in ten if you’re hungry.  Morning, Cindy,” Abbie called out as she walked away.

 “Good morning,” the reporter called after her, lifting her head up from the pillow in order to be heard.

 Lindsay shut the door and leaned against it.  Her arms crossed, and she glared at her lover who looked back at her unconcerned.

 “What?” Cindy asked innocently.

 “You snuck out during the night and conspired with her, didn’t you?”

 The reporter shook her head before drawing herself up and reluctantly getting out of bed.  She headed for the small washroom on the other side of the room.  “Maybe she noticed your shirt is on inside out, and she put two and two together.”

 Lindsay looked down at herself in alarm and swore as Cindy closed the door. 

 ****

 

Claire watched two men wheel the body bag containing David Arnold’s remains into the morgue.  Jill was pacing near Claire’s office door, her blue eyes jerking toward the body then away again. “You should go,” Claire told her blonde friend.  “It’s late... or early… depending on how you look at it.”  She winced at the thought that her kids were probably getting ready for school right now without her. 

 “Are you gonna start cutting him open already?” Jill asked, her stride faltering.

 “No, sweetie.  I have to do a preliminary exam of the body first.”  Claire nodded her head as the men left, before she went to Jill’s side and slid an arm around her friend’s shoulders.  “You don’t need to see him again.”

 Over Claire’s shoulder, Jill looked at the body bag where it rested on one of the slabs.  “Claire… his mouth…”

 “I know,” Claire repeated, only barely able to restrain a shudder.  She took Jill’s elbow and led her into the office, settling her friend into a chair before moving to the coffee machine.  Thankfully, there was a full pot that appeared to have just finished brewing, and Claire made a mental note to thank whichever assistant had done her the kindness.  The medical examiner fixed two cups and returned to Jill, wrapping her friend’s cold hands around a mug before settling into the chair next to her with a cup of her own.

 “She’s going to kill us.”  Jill’s voice warmed a trifle with her first sip of coffee, shedding some of the icy fear that had gripped her ever since she’d seen the familiar stitches through David Arnold’s lips.  “She’s going to kill us for not calling.”

 Claire didn’t deny it, and she didn’t need Jill to say Lindsay’s name to know whom her friend meant.  “She can’t deal with this.  Not now.  Not after everything.”

 “I can’t deal with this,” Jill admitted with a weak laugh. 

 “You don’t have to, Jill.”

 The attorney shook her head and wrapped her hands more firmly around the welcomed heat of her mug.  “No.  I have to see this through.  I owe Lindsay that much.”  Her blue eyes lifted and caught Claire’s gaze.  “We both do.” She didn’t vocalize her own need to punish whoever had kept her from getting her justice with Arnold.  If Claire thought for a moment that Jill was going to turn into some kind of vengeance-seeking crusader her friend would have her committed. 

 “We do,” Claire agreed quietly.  “And she is most certainly going to have a cow with a bonnet on it when she learns we kept this from her.”

 Jill almost snorted coffee through her nose at the expression.  Her eyes watering, she gave Claire a fond look.  “You always know when to make me laugh.”

 “I try.”  Claire sighed.  “Cindy and Lindsay need this time,” she said practically.  “It’s not only good for them, it’s damn right necessary.”

 “I agree.”

 “And we…” Claire hesitated and met Jill’s gaze again.  “At least I… need to make up for some sins of the past here.”

 “We let Lindsay down…” Jill concurred.  “The last time.  The last time… God.  I can’t believe we’re back where this whole mess started.”

 Claire sighed wearily and rubbed her forehead.  Her fingers were warm from holding the coffee, and the heat momentarily eased the throbbing she could feel building inside her skull.  “We don’t know…” she began.

 “Claire,” Jill cut her friend off none too gently, “Arnold’s lips were sewn shut.  Just like Kiss-Me-Not.  I don’t know what it means, but whatever in the hell it does, it can’t be good.”

 “Harris is dead,” Claire reminded her.

 “And none of us really bought him as the killer,” Jill replied.

 “What are you saying?” Claire asked.  “You think whoever killed Arnold is… what?  The real Kiss-Me-Not killer?”

 A noise at the door made them both look up.  Denise Kwon stood in the doorway, wearing jeans and a red, flower-printed t-shirt.  Her hair was back in a ponytail, and she sported a pair of old, scuffed up sneakers.  “So it’s true then?”

 Jill choked on her most recent sip of coffee when she saw her boss looking not only human, but also younger and something close to adorable.  Coffee sloshed out of the cup, and the attorney yelped as it scalded her legs.

 “Christ, Bernhardt,” Denise muttered, her skin flushing slightly in embarrassment. 

 Claire patted a sputtering Jill on the back.  “Which part?” Claire asked the attorney.

 “Any of it.  All of it.”  Denise came into the office, slinging a duffle bag that was probably full of workout apparel to the floor.  “Was he really strung up on a cross?  His lips sewn shut?”  She tore off some paper towels from a nearby roll and handed them to Jill who began to furiously blot at her legs.

 The medical examiner nodded wearily. 

 Denise rubbed the back of her neck.  “So you’re telling me some Kiss-Me-Not Killer wannabe murdered the Hallelujah Man.  Fuck me.”

 Claire’s eyebrows hiked at the expletive, but she certainly understood the emotions behind it.  This case was going to be a nightmare on too many levels to count. “It didn’t exactly make our day, either.”

 “You holding it together?” Denise asked Jill bluntly.

 “I’m fine,” the blonde replied, her voice sounding like she might begin coughing again at any moment.  She wiped at her eyes.  “At least I don’t have to worry about Arnold coming after me anymore.”

 Denise regarded her for a silent moment.  “No.  But you didn’t get the justice I’ll bet you wanted.”

 Claire looked at Denise in surprise before glancing at Jill with worry in her dark eyes.

 “No,” Jill admitted slowly, reconnecting with the simmering anger that had been bubbling beneath the surface ever since she’d learned Arnold was dead.  Seeing the stitches had dampened that anger, but it hadn’t extinguished it.  “I didn’t.”

 The acting district attorney looked around the room.  “Where are the rest of the musketeers?  I figured you’d all be down here huddling.”

 “Lindsay and Cindy are away on vacation,” Claire informed her slowly, trying to decide if she should feel offended by Denise’s comments, before deciding she was too tired and overwhelmed to care.

 “You’re shitting me.  One murderer kills another, and the city’s best cop and crime reporter are on holiday?”

 Idly, Jill wondered what Lindsay and Cindy would think of Denise’s backhanded praise.  “They’re where they need to be,” she informed her boss in a tone that brooked no argument. 

 “Lucky them,” Denise drawled, unfazed but somewhat amused by Jill’s stern expression.  “I’ll see you in the office this afternoon, Bernhardt,” she announced as she snatched up her bag and threw it over her shoulder. 

 Her boss was nearly out the door when Jill found her voice.  “Wait!  You mean I can come back to work?”

 Denise pivoted and looked at her.  “Did you ever really leave?” 

 The doors to the morgue swung back and forth, the whap of sound filling the surprised silence in the room.  Claire looked at her friend.  “I think she’s warming up to you,” she commented before taking another sip of her coffee.

 “Shut up,” Jill whined as Claire almost smiled.  The attorney groaned at the mess her life had become and let her head drop back against the chair.

 ****

 

The photographs were as gruesome as they were upsetting.  Inspector Maggie Snow stared at the crime scene photos blanketing her desk.  Women with their lips sewn shut stared up at her, save for the one man in the tableau who hung from a cross, his lips forever sealed.  A killer among the innocents.

 It was all so seriously fucked up.

 Maggie felt a presence behind her, but she didn’t turn.  Other cops had been glancing over her shoulder for the past hour as she’d looked at the infamous Kiss-Me-Not Killer’s crimes.  It wasn’t hard to see how a case like this could have made Lindsay Boxer obsessed.  Maggie just wondered if her fellow cop’s obsession had turned into something darker.

 She’d seen it before.  A cop pushed too far, becoming the very thing they hunted day after day.  Maggie swallowed as she stuffed the memory down and blinked back the unexpected burn of tears.  Taking a deep, shaky breath, she fingered the photograph of Arnold and then lifted it to see it better in the light.

 “I’d have that one framed if it weren’t for the stitches.”

 Maggie turned her head and discovered Warren Jacobi watching her.  She motioned to the chair next to her desk and Jacobi accepted it, sitting down with a weariness she suspected he seldom expressed.  They had argued at the church, Jacobi insisting Arnold’s case was his, until Lieutenant Hogan had stepped in.  The two men had huddled with the medical examiner and Jill Bernhardt for twenty minutes.  When they’d parted, Jacobi had merely left in a tired huff, but some of the anger had been bled from him.  Maggie would have given up a month of paychecks to know what they’d all been talking about.

 The inspector was pretty sure it was Lindsay Boxer.

 “You wanted to see me?” Jacobi asked with disinterest.

 “I’m not trying to step on your toes,” Maggie began.

 “You don’t give a damn about my toes or any other part of my anatomy,” Jacobi called her on her bluff.  “And right now, I’m too tired to care.  I just want you to catch the bastard who kept Jill from her justice and seems intent on ripping open some very nasty old wounds.”

 Maggie shifted, privately impressed with Jacobi’s read on her.  “Fair enough,” she said without bothering to disassemble.  “Where is Boxer?”

 Jacobi paused.  “Why?”

 “She was one of the original inspectors on the Kiss-Me-Not case.  I think I should speak with her.  I’m a little surprised she didn’t turn up at the crime scene.”

 “I’m glad she didn’t,” Jacobi answered evenly.  “That was the last thing she needed to see.”

 “And why is that?”

 “Why is that?” Jacobi repeated incredulously.  “Arnold damn near kills two people Lindsay would have died to protect, then he gets strung up and his lips sewn shut, reminding Lindsay of a murderer that ruined her marriage, haunted her life, and claimed her father and you ask me why?” 

 Maggie cleared her throat, unnerved a bit by his anger, but she knew from experience she was asking questions that needed to be asked, even if they made her extremely unpopular.  “Lindsay seems to have some pretty strong defenders.”

 “You’re damn right she does,” Jacobi replied with some heat.  “So let her be for a few days.  The woman deserves a break.”

 “Seems to me she should have taken one before now,” Maggie answered with feigned innocence.

 Warren’s eyes narrowed.  He clearly suspected she was up to something more than professional interest where Lindsay was concerned.  “Am I here to talk about the person who did the world a favor and offed David Arnold, or am I here to talk to you about Inspector Boxer?”

 Maggie met his gaze squarely, preparing herself mentally for the explosion she was about to cause.  “Is there a chance that they could be one and the same?”

Jacobi sat stock still for an absorbing moment before he shot to his feet.  “Lady,” Jacobi growled.  “I don’t know what you’re hinting at, but you damn well better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

 Maggie took a deep breath to explain only to bite back the words when her boss appeared at the upper rail.

 “Jacobi,” Tom called down from his office.  “I need to see you a moment.”

 Maggie held the grizzled detective’s gaze even though her heart was hammering against her ribs.  She could feel the gazes of the other inspectors on her profile as well, and she fervently hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

 Jacobi slapped a lamp off her desk, and it clattered to the floor, the bulb shattering like a rifle shot.  If the other officers hadn’t been watching, someone would have surely drawn their gun at the sound.

 “That went well,” Maggie murmured as she turned back to the photographs and her theories.  She picked up another file on the Kiss-Me-Not Killer and noticed an investigator’s name and number.  With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialed Agent John Ashe.       

 ****

 

Tom winced when Jacobi slammed his office door.  “Warren…”

 “Don’t Warren me,” Jacobi snarled.  “You know what that new little detective of yours is implying?”

 The lieutenant sat behind his desk before rubbing his forehead.  “I know.  I’ve tried to sway her off the idea.  She claims it’s just one in a list of theories.”

 “Seems like Lindsay is at the top of that list.  You don’t seriously believe…”

 “Of course not,” Tom snapped tiredly.  “But I’m in a bind here, Jacobi.  I’m Lindsay’s ex-husband.  If I take Snow off the case now, it’s going to look like I’m covering something up.”

 “There is nothing to cover up!”

 “I know that!” Tom spat.  “See it from my position for a second, would you?  Once Claire has filed her report, and we have confirmed time of death that should be enough to clear Linz and get Snow off this stupid track.”  He rubbed his neck, feeling like it was made of iron bands.  “I’ve tried Lindsay’s cell phone, but she isn’t picking up.”

 “I told you before, she turned it off.  So did Thomas.  They said they’d check in after three days.”

 “Yeah, that won’t feed Snow’s fire at all.”

 Jacobi took a breath, willing his temper to fade.  “Why did you give Snow this case?”

 Tom snorted.  “Hindsight.  Believe me, I wouldn’t have if I had known she would look at Linz.”

 “That didn’t answer my question.”

 Tom looked at Jacobi for a long moment before he nodded.  “I thought a lot about what this last year has been like for Lindsay after she came to me.  Once I got past the shock of her wanting time off… I saw what this case… what the Kiss-Me-Not case and her father’s death had all done to her.  She was dying inside, and she loved Cindy enough to do something about it.”

 Jacobi watched him, surprised and faintly pleased at his superior’s realization.  He held his peace, waiting for Tom to say the rest of his.

 “You were there with her for all of it, Warren.  Kiss-Me-Not, the Hallelujah Man… you’re as fond of Jill as I am and took it hard when she was taken.  Lindsay is doing what she needs to do to get her head on straight.  Maybe you should do the same.”

 “Are you doubting me as a cop?” A rough edge reentered Jacobi’s voice.

 “Not at all,” Tom murmured seriously.  “I’m saying this as a friend.  Take some time, Warren.  Take the week just like Linz.”

 Jacobi wasn’t sure what to feel.  “This case…”

 “Isn’t yours.  You’re too close to be objective.  That’s why I gave this to Snow.  She’s fresh.  She doesn’t have the baggage we’re all carrying with Kiss-Me-Not.”

 Just because Tom was right didn’t mean Jacobi had to like it.  “Are you ordering me to take the time?”

 Tom hesitated, clearly deciding one way or the other.  “Do I need to?”

 Jacobi got to his feet and left the office without another word.  The force he used to slam the door was answer enough.

 ****

 

He was gone.  His work removed, replaced by another.  Pete stood in the middle of Lindsay’s attic and surveyed the photos of Arnold’s victims.  The man had enjoyed his brutality, and Pete felt a sliver of kinship with him for that, but no remorse for taking him from this Earth.  He did recall the sounds Arnold had made as he died; the way he’d thrashed in his death throes.  Killing him had been a chore, a necessary evil, but now Pete wished he could do it again as he saw that Lindsay had moved on to another man. 

 Lindsay’s attic was supposed to be his.  This was the place where she thought of him most.  Where her whole soul was focused on nothing but him.  When Lindsay had shown him this space… the visceral thrill had been so sweet he’d ached with it.  He’d kept his face blank, letting a hint of worry and understanding shine through his eyes.  She’d fallen for it; never realizing the very man she sought was in the center of her inner sanctum… had been in her bed.

 Pete licked his lips, remembering.  Harris had been a means to an end.  A protégé of sorts, meant to be sacrificed.  But Harris had surprised him and nearly taken Lindsay from him.  If his inspector hadn’t killed Harris, Pete surely would have.

 Finishing what he had come to do, Pete surveyed the room one last time.  He would miss this space, but he and Lindsay would find a new one, a new home together.  Soon.

 ****

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