December 31st, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (26/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/30 - LINDSAY’S POV)
“Twenty questions?” Cindy asked.
They were both pleasantly tipsy, and Lindsay was actually about to suggest they retire to the bedroom, because Cindy was getting more and more relaxed, and the more relaxed she got, the more she kept staring at Lindsay with a desire so blatant, it would have brought Lindsay to her knees if she’d been standing. But Cindy also looked excited by her proposal.
“I spy with my little eye? That kind of twenty questions?”
“No. This kind of twenty questions,” Cindy answered, pulling a tiny stapled booklet from her bag by the couch.
“What is that?” Lindsay asked.
It looked like a religious pamphlet.
“The Getting to Know you Bible.”
“The Getting to Know You Bible?”
“Yeah. It has twenty questions that are supposed to tell you everything you really need to know about someone. My friends and I made this in college.”
Lindsay pictured Cindy, a few years younger, sitting around with a group of writing majors, brainstorming questions for the Getting to Know You Bible.
“That’s cute. So all of your friends were nerds?”
Even Cindy’s glare was sexy as hell.
“Kinda,” she admitted, blushing.
She opened the little booklet and flipped through it, and Lindsay took a sip from her glass, and wondered exactly what she had done to have this person sitting in her living room. This person who was optimistic and generally happy. This person who understood that she had spent the past two weeks examining the deaths of five kids and a woman, and she wanted to push the image of a little girl with her neck slit, bleeding onto the white teddy bear still cradled in her arms out of her head by whatever means necessary. A person who understood that, when she suggested they get drunk, it’s because she really needed to. Because today had been bad, and she couldn’t imagine that this man could do this to his own daughter.
Cindy hadn’t asked any questions. She hadn’t needed to. Because she got it. She got Lindsay. She’d just grabbed a glass and agreed to Butter Shots and straight Amaretto. For her. She’d done it for her. So, if Cindy wanted to get to know her better through a self-created torture device like the Getting to Know You Bible, she was in.
“Okay, hit me,” she drawled.
And it was totally worth it when Cindy smiled over at her.
“You sure?” she asked.
“I’m half-drunk. You’d better get it in while you can.”
And Cindy took those words to heart and turned instantly back to page one.
“Question #1. How often do you masturbate?”
Lindsay nearly spit Amaretto.
“Aren’t there any lead-in questions?” she sputtered.
“No. We all knew each other really well, so the questions had to be… personal.”
“Incredibly personal,” Lindsay amended.
“Incredibly personal,” Cindy agreed, but kept looking at her as if awaiting an answer.
“I don’t know,” Lindsay said. “As often as I have to.”
Cindy was delighting way too much in the ability to make her blush.
“Hopefully less now,” she added, and her blush transferred to Cindy’s cheeks as she ducked her head to look back down at the book.
“Question #2,” Cindy started, then shook her head. “Never mind. I know this one.”
“What’s the question,” Lindsay demanded, way more curious than she wanted to admit.
“What’s your most private mole?”
“What in the hell is a private mole?”
Cindy moved the few inches down the couch to bump into her, and turned to face her.
“This…”
Transferring the book to her left hand, Cindy slid her right hand, without warning, down between Lindsay’s legs, placing a finger very high and very far back on her thigh, bumping into every receptive spot in the area in the process.
“…is a private mole.”
Lindsay grabbed her wrist and pulled it away.
“Do you want to get through those questions?” she asked warningly.
“I don’t know,” Cindy responded, eyeing her lips. “Do I want to get through these questions?”
And Lindsay couldn’t take it. She twisted her hand into the collar of Cindy’s shirt and pulled her forward, blindly finding the table beside the couch to set her glass on, before tangling her other hand in Cindy’s hair.
Cindy kissed her back hungrily, her lips and tongue doing their damnedest to melt Lindsay into a pile of submissive flesh and bone. Then, she just stopped. She just stopped kissing her. All of a sudden. She pulled away, unlatched Lindsay’s hand from her shirt, and scooted back down the couch.
“Question #3,” she said and cleared her throat.
So, this was how it was going to be. Teasing. Toying. Tormenting. Two could play at this game. Though how long she could fight the urge to throw Cindy onto her back and straddle her against the cushions was definitely up in the air.
“Why aren’t you answering the questions?” Lindsay asked, before Cindy could get out question #3.
“What?” Cindy asked, her voice faltering.
“Why aren’t you answering the questions?” she asked again, though she knew she’d been heard. She leaned over to whisper into Cindy’s ear. “Come on, Baby, how often do you masturbate?”
The term of endearment came very easily to her lips, and, combined with the hot breath she exhaled against the side of Cindy’s throat, it had the desired effects of making Cindy’s chest start heaving and goose bumps form down her neck. It took every fiber of Lindsay’s being not to run her tongue up the trail.
“Once, twice, three times a day?” Lindsay asked softly, still hovering as close to Cindy as she could get without touching her. “More since you met me?”
“My schedule may have picked up,” Cindy admitted, her voice breathy. “…barely.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Lindsay husked and leaned back against the arm of the couch. “And don’t worry. I already know the answer to the second question too. Next.”
Cindy appeared to be having some difficulty reading. Lindsay was totally going to win this contest.
“Question #3,” Cindy repeated finally.
Her tongue made an appearance, coming out once again to wet her lips, and Lindsay sat helplessly as it had its usual effect on her. Even in profile, Lindsay could make out the smirk that followed the action onto Cindy’s face. So, she was aware of the impact that particular action had on her. Lindsay was going to have to be a little more careful about guarding her hand.
“Who’s the last person you slept with?”
“You mean besides you?”
Cindy looked over at her slyly, and Lindsay seriously considered forfeiting and tackling her opponent.
“You first,” she urged instead.
“You wouldn’t know her,” Cindy responded, turning away.
“Her,” Lindsay said. “I already know something new. So, who was it?”
“Just some intern at the paper. It was after an office party. I was lonely. I really don’t want to talk about it,” Cindy said in rapid succession.
“Okay,” Lindsay replied softly.
She knew Cindy well enough to know that a one night stand wasn’t exactly her style, and she could see on her face just how guilty she still felt about it.
“You?” Cindy asked.
“Tom,” Lindsay answered without much thought.
Cindy looked over at her slowly, her eyes scrutinizing.
“That long huh?”
“I wish,” Lindsay scoffed. “It was right before he married Heather. And I really don’t want to talk about it.” She tilted the empty Amaretto bottle up on one edge. “I do, however, want more drink. I’ll be right back.”
The Earth tilted only slightly when she stood and she managed her way into the kitchen with very little spectacle. What was left? Nothing that she could drink without some sort of mixer, which she didn’t have. So, either it was time to start coffee, or time to talk Cindy into postponing the game with offers of TLC or tough love. She was debating which would work better when an alarm went off. It sounded close by, like, for instance, inside the apartment. Lindsay’s eyes went wide.
“Cindy!” she called, running out of the kitchen.
She rushed to the door as fast as she could manage with her head spinning the way that it was. When she yanked it open, Cindy was halfway through the door into the stairwell.
“Cindy!” she yelled, but Cindy didn’t stop.
Lindsay growled and tore after her, yanking open the stairwell door when she reached it, and not even thinking twice about performing a move she used often when she wasn’t under the influence. She hopped over the railing, falling down onto the next set of stairs just behind Cindy. It was a sloppy landing, and could have been dangerous. If she’d been thinking more clearly, she never would have tried it. She could have caused either one, or both of them, to take a tumble down the stairs, but she managed to grab onto the railing with one hand and catch Cindy’s arm with the other.
Cindy tried to yank her arm away, and Lindsay found herself sobering up very quickly. She pulled Cindy back to her and wrapped both arms around her waist, dragging her back up the stairs.
“What in the hell are you doing?” she growled.
“What do you care?”
“You’re going to get the entire force out here,” Lindsay told her, pulling her back through the door into the hallway and toward the apartment. “Would you please stop fighting me?”
A door opened down the hall and an old man stuck his head out.
“Evening Mr. Miklochek. Could you mind your own damn business?” she barked, reaching the apartment and pulling Cindy back inside.
The alarm stopped as she dragged Cindy back through the door and made it to her cell phone on the third ring. She pushed Cindy down on the couch, keeping one hand on her, while she flipped open her phone one-handed. When Cindy shrugged her hand off, she didn’t force the issue, but she did stand in front of her to prevent any further fleeing.
“Boxer,” Lindsay said into the phone, answering all of the questions she knew were coming. “It must have been a glitch. She’s sitting right in front of me. Sorry about that.”
Cindy sat with her arms crossed, staring down at the floor, during the length of the brief conversation.
“Now you want to tell me what in the hell that was?” Lindsay asked as she hung up.
“Nothing,” Cindy muttered.
“Nothing?” Lindsay queried in her most disbelieving tone. “You just wanted to offer a belated Merry Christmas to the San Francisco police department?”
“I’m sorry okay. Just… would you just leave me alone?”
It hurt to be asked that. It was the last thing that Lindsay wanted to do, and it hurt a lot that Cindy was asking.
“Cindy, what happened?”
But Cindy didn’t answer. She wouldn’t even look at her. She could tell that Cindy’s wish to be left alone was sincere and fixed.
“Are you going to stay here?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m going to stay here,” Cindy mumbled.
She sounded miserable.
Lindsay wanted to ask her again what happened. She wanted to sit down and hold her. She wanted to handcuff their wrists together in a symbolic attempt to make her understand that she was stuck with her. But she knew that any one of those endeavors would be fought at every turn, and it just wasn’t worth it.
“Fine,” she said dejectedly and walked into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her, and giving Cindy what she wanted.
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December 31st, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (25/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/30 - CINDY’S POV)
Crackpot cop.
What an idiot. Who would use the details of a case to try to cover up a murder when he was one of only a few people who could possibly have known those details? And to try this with Lindsay around? Who did this guy think he was dealing with? Clearly he didn’t realize he was going up against the most passionate, most relentless, cleverest… sexiest… inspector in the San Fran police force. Lindsay was probably extracting a confession from the guy at this very moment.
Or she could be walking through the door.
Cindy looked up to see Lindsay step into the room.
“Hey,” Lindsay said softly.
“Hey,” she said back.
“What are you doing?”
“Just working the story,” Cindy responded, unable to keep her eyes off of Lindsay as she came closer.
When Lindsay got to the couch, her hand slid along the back of it, and she leaned down and kissed Cindy firmly.
“You want to keep doing that?” she asked as she pulled away.
“It can wait,” Cindy said, running her tongue over her lips.
Lindsay’s eyes were drawn by the movement, and she did this light laugh thing deep in her throat that was incredibly appealing. When she looked back up, her eyes were full of mischief.
“Wanna get drunk?”
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December 31st, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (24/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/30 – LINDSAY’S POV)
Cindy had attacked her. There was no other word for it.
When she’d arrived home the previous night, her hands completely full, it was nice knowing that she didn’t have to juggle everything in them, or put something down, at her door the way that she had to downstairs to let herself into the building. It was nice knowing there was somebody inside and a kick-knock would bring that person over to open the door for her. But once the door had opened, and their eyes met across the threshold, Cindy attacked her. She had the bite marks, scratches and bruises to prove it. Of course, most of those were well hidden beneath her clothes.
And while it was happening, Lindsay didn’t care about anything else. She didn’t care that she had just passed her nosiest neighbor in the hall, and they were now making out with the door wide open. Or that she couldn’t hang on to the takeout she had grabbed on her way home and when they slammed the door closed on a container, food splattered all over the entryway. How little they both cared about that was proven by the fact that they left it there for Martha to clean up while they disappeared into the bedroom.
Cindy had been different. There were when times she still looked a little timid, like the shy smile she first opened the door with, and again when she was taking off her clothes. But for the most part, she was… assertive… confident… dominant. She’d led the way in reenacting many of the scenes from the previous night, along with some that Lindsay never would have thought to write on her own.
Just thinking about them… Damn, she needed to get home.
And she really wished that Jacobi would stop looking at her with that perceptive leer, and questioning her about her “abnormally pleasant mood”.
“Uh Lindsay.”
She turned to see Tom coming down the stairs toward her.
“Uh Tom.”
“That was a… uh… good call on the fibers under the couch. Most people would have missed that.”
“We missed it the first time.”
“Yeah.”
And then there was silence. Tom fidgeted. Lindsay loved it.
“So, I… uh… I told Jacobs and Smith that you might want in on the investigation,” Tom said, squirming even more before he could finally spit it out. “Do you want to interrogate him?”
Lindsay watched Tom stew in his own awkwardness. She tried to find the satisfaction in it. But she couldn’t. It was of little concern to her at the moment.
“I think they can handle their own interrogation,” Lindsay said, standing up and grabbing her coat from the back of her chair. “I’m going home.”
Tom slowly nodded, dismissing her.
“Later Jacobi.”
“Yeah huh,” he muttered, not looking up in an effort to hide the grin threatening to overtake his face.
Lindsay smiled at him, and his ineffectual attempt to hide his supreme comprehension, and started to walk off.
“Lindsay.”
She groaned and looked back at Tom.
“Tensions were high, you know,” he said.
“And you acted like an asshole,” she returned quickly.
“Yeah, I know,” he responded. “That’s what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” Lindsay said, smiling. “Thanks.”
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December 30th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (23/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/29 – CINDY’S POV)
Okay. This room was Lindsay’s, the soft sheets were Lindsay’s, she was naked, and, she couldn’t help but notice every time she moved, slightly sore. What happened last night definitely happened last night, but maybe she had dreamed the very last part before she fell asleep. Because if she hadn’t dreamt it, if she had in fact laid bare her biggest fear, then there was no way she would be waking up in Lindsay’s bed… alone. That would just be too harsh, and, she hated thinking it, not terribly surprising. Though, she had really hoped…
She rolled to her back and images flashed through her mind. She couldn’t exactly regret it either. She just wished that Lindsay was still around. She trailed her knuckles up Lindsay’s side of the bed to her pillow, wishing that she would suddenly appear, and her hand hit paper. Surprised, she sat up in the bed, clutching the blankets around her and grabbed the small white sheet from Lindsay’s pillow.
Hey-
Our evidence came back from the lab, so I got called in. I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, but you looked so cute tucked under the blankets, I didn’t have the heart to wake you. Don’t be mad. You’re the one who didn’t wake up to the annoying beep of my cell phone… or the sound of the shower… or me opening and closing drawers. You get the point.
I just wanted you to know that I really didn’t want to leave you. I’m sorry.
Call me when you wake up?
Lindsay
Cindy could be having some very serious, hardcore sex at the moment with a very beautiful woman she was very in love with. Or at least some very serious, hardcore conversation. If Lindsay were still at home, she would absolutely be doing one of those things. Instead, she had a little piece of paper in her hand apologizing for the fact that she couldn’t do either, and, somehow… it was better.
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December 30th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (22/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
*Sorry I’m behind and sorry it took so long, but I really hope this part was worth the wait.*
(12/28 – LINDSAY’S POV)
This is bad. This is bad. This is very, very bad. That’s what her mind was screaming. Her body, however, was doing its all to contradict that statement. If it was so bad, why didn’t it feel bad? At all. Why was her mind racing, her heart racing, and her blood racing to every one of her most sensitive parts?
Cindy pulled away, and the frustration that came with the loss of the touch was unreal. She opened her eyes, looked up at Cindy. Cindy’s hair was hanging down around her face, her breaths were coming in short pants, which Lindsay could barely distinguish from her own shallow breathing. Cindy’s eyes didn’t open, but her tongue did dart out to wet her lips, a habit with which Lindsay had become very familiar, but this time the action caused some very instantaneous, very impure, thoughts.
When Cindy did finally open her eyes, Lindsay felt her breath hitch in her chest. Cindy’s eyes were always so expressive. This time was no different. There were so many emotions swirling in them, but the two most prominent were fear and desire, a combination that Lindsay understood very well at the moment. She just hoped that desire was prevailing for Cindy, like it was for her. Otherwise, she could be making a huge mistake.
She thread her fingers up through red hair and pulled Cindy back down. Whatever supernatural power she’d been engaging to fight this feeling had promptly malfunctioned during the short time when Cindy’s lips were touching hers, and she really didn’t want to fight it. Not tonight.
Cindy whimpered as their lips came together again, and the sound was igniting. When Lindsay ran her tongue over Cindy’s bottom lip, Cindy instantly opened to her. Her tongue rushed in to meet Cindy’s, and Lindsay moaned low in her throat.
More. That was her primary thought. She wanted more. She needed more. More was the governing principle of the evening.
And even right there beside her, Cindy seemed too far away. She slid her hand down to Cindy’s pajama-clad hip and tugged, and Cindy fell on top of her, blanketing half of her body. It was absolutely delicious.
All fleeting thoughts of how far she should let this go were resolved when she felt Cindy’s hand move from the outside of her shirt to the skin underneath and push upward. It seemed all bets were off.
Her own hands moved up under the back of Cindy’s shirt and over the smoothest skin she’d ever had the pleasure of touching. Cindy’s lips trembled against her own.
More.
She latched onto the bottom of Cindy’s shirt with both hands and pulled upward, a task greatly complicated when Cindy’s hand reached its destination, and she momentarily lost all ability to think or maneuver. Though her autonomic physical responses were seriously working overtime. It would have been possible to lose herself in the feel of Cindy’s touch, in her increasingly demanding kiss, but one thought propelled Lindsay out of her lust-fueled haze.
More.
She brought all attention back to the one task she was intent upon completing as quickly as possible, and pulled Cindy’s shirt up and over her head, effectively moving Cindy’s hand and mouth away and returning some ability to think. And some measure of control.
Before Cindy could make any further moves of her own, Lindsay wrapped her arms around bare skin and rolled Cindy onto her back. But Cindy was far from submissive. Sometime during the move, she had managed to get both hands under Lindsay’s shirt, and her fingers played against Lindsay’s sides, almost tickling, almost hurting, but undeniably welcome.
Lindsay pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor and lowered herself onto Cindy, skin-to-skin. Cindy stared up at her, with a look of pure wonder. She suspected she had to look much the same. And they were suspended there. And time fell away. Eventually, Cindy’s hand came up between them, and Lindsay felt a shaking finger move across her already kiss-bruised lower lip.
And there was something new in Cindy’s eyes, something consuming and harder to identify. Something that made Lindsay want to slow down and do everything right. She pulled Cindy’s hand away and lowered her head to kiss her. Their lips touched gently, tentatively. Cindy’s fingers clasped around her own where their hands were still together, and she felt Cindy’s other hand on the side of her face, softly exploring the expanse of her cheek and neck and ear.
It felt flawless, and it felt open, and part of her could have stayed in the kiss forever, but another part wanted more.
That part wanted Cindy’s chin as she kissed down over it, and Cindy’s throat, as Cindy pushed her head back into the pillow, granting her more access to the pale skin, the throbbing vein beneath. She took full advantage, licking and drawing on the area until she was sure to leave a mark.
Then, she moved down. Drawn by unexplored areas that she liked to think were in desperate need of her immediate attention.
She tasted the naked, inviting skin of Cindy’s chest, moved down to take an eager nipple into her mouth, but only for a moment. Cindy’s hands against her shoulders were pushing relentlessly, urging her downward.
Glad to see they were on the same page.
When she got to Cindy’s waist, she paused for only the briefest of seconds before sliding her hands down into the back of Cindy’s pants and pushing them downward. Cindy lifted her hips without resistance and she took off the rest of Cindy’s clothing in one fluid movement.
And then she stared. She couldn’t help it. There was just enough light to make out the contours of Cindy’s body, the alabaster tone of her skin.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Lindsay whispered.
Though she wasn’t one for much bedroom talk, the words had seemed to come out of her of their own accord.
For the first time since they’d kissed, a slight smile pulled at Cindy’s lips, which was encouraging.
Lindsay put her hands on either of Cindy’s thighs and persuaded them apart until there was space for her to lie between them.
Cindy’s expression altered again, became something altogether sinful and yearning and expectant and just a little bit nervous.
Lindsay laid her hand across Cindy’s abdomen and waited. Soon enough, Cindy’s hand moved up to lace with her own and she squeezed it reassuringly before lowering her head.
It was a sweet indulgence that she tasted, but it was Cindy’s reaction that nearly sent her through the ceiling. It was the way Cindy’s breath kept catching in her throat and then discharging in harsh pants. The way Cindy’s fingers were clutching at her own.
She had no idea what she was doing, but, call it instinct that it took her no time at all to figure out that anything that made Cindy make *that* sound and reach wildly above her head for something to hang onto was good.
“Linds,” Cindy whispered some minutes later and pulled upward on her hand.
Lindsay went very willingly. At that point, she would have done anything that Cindy requested.
Cindy put her hand on the back of Lindsay’s head and tugged her into a kiss, pulling her hair in the process. Even that felt gratifying. And then she felt Cindy’s other hand leading her own hand, taking it down to where she wanted it. Her fingers ended up against slick, ready skin, and Cindy pushed hard on the back of her hand. And it all came naturally, the more, as she slid her fingers inside.
It was Cindy who tore her lips away, but she was the one who moaned. How could touching someone else like this be so effecting? Cindy gasped and pushed down against her hand, and all she wanted to do was give Cindy more, give her everything she wanted, everything she needed.
A tear slid out of the corner of Cindy’s eye and back toward her hairline. It was only one, but it would have been enough to stop her, enough to make her question, if Cindy hadn’t picked that precise moment to slide her hand down into the waistband of her pajama pants and return the intimate touch.
She felt Cindy’s fingers slide inside her, move inside her. She hadn’t even realized this was the more that she really required until it was happening.
And then she felt Cindy climax, felt the walls around her fingers contract, felt Cindy’s body jerk beneath hers, and lost all ability to hold out, feeling waves of pleasure roll through her, until she became a quivering mass that could no longer hold herself up.
She fell onto Cindy heavily, trapping both of their hands. She could feel Cindy’s heart thumping against her chest. This reaction was her favorite. She hadn’t been aware before she felt the wild beating just how imperative it was for her to make an impact on Cindy’s heart.
Breathing wasn’t an easy task, but Cindy’s attempts at it sounded worse than her own. The fact that she was still lying on top of her certainly couldn’t help. But when she tried to move away, Lindsay was surprised by the force of the grip on her shoulders.
“Don’t go,” Cindy begged, her eyes watery and imploring.
She looked scared.
Why would she think that? Why would she think she was going to leave her alone now?
Lindsay pushed a piece of hair out of her face.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised.
And to make sure Cindy understood that point, she kissed her again, firmly on the lips until she felt Cindy relax marginally.
She slid an arm beneath her and pulled Cindy back against her. Cindy grabbed onto the arm across her chest with both hands.
Lindsay pulled the blankets up over them and tucked her other arm around Cindy’s waist. There was still a lot of tension in the body she was holding.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered again in Cindy’s ear.
She felt her hand being lifted and then Cindy’s lips against her palm, before Cindy returned her arm to its original position and latched on with both hands again.
“Good,” she whispered.
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December 29th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (21/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/28– Cindy’s POV)
Lindsay’s not coming home the previous night had delayed Cindy’s research, but not foiled it. In fact, having an extra day to prepare wasn’t at all a bad thing. Not that this particular investigation required a great deal of planning. What it did require was a great deal of nerve, and her nerve had been alternating between being completely steeled and feeling pretty shaky all night. Would she even have the guts to go through with it when the moment came or would she just keep pretending to be asleep?
Of course, there was always the possibility that she really would be asleep. Although Lindsay hadn’t called again to say she wouldn’t be home, it was getting pretty late. Cindy was drifting in and out when she finally heard the door. She glanced over at the clock. 1:15. Wow, Lindsay was going to be tired. Maybe this should wait.
The sounds of Lindsay moving toward the bedroom were so quiet, Cindy could tell that she was trying not to wake her. She heard Lindsay cross the threshold. Then, all noise seemed to cease at once. Somehow, she knew if she were to open her eyes, she would find Lindsay standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at her as if she were Goldilocks. All she had to do was keep her breathing steady and try not to twitch.
After what felt like forever, Lindsay finally started moving around again. Cindy heard the switch for the bathroom light before the soft gleam leaked in through her eyelids. A minute later, the shower started running. And that was just too much temptation.
Cindy cracked open one eye. Through her one-eyed squint-o-vision, she could see Lindsay step out of the bathroom, pulling her shirt over her head. It occurred to her that Lindsay thought that she was asleep and this was an invasion. Then it occurred to her that she may not have this opportunity again. So, when Lindsay turned her back to her and unfastened her jeans, Cindy fully opened both eyes and gave Lindsay’s showcase her undivided attention.
Lindsay’s jeans slid down her very, very long legs to the floor, and she reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it slide down off her shoulders. Suddenly, there was a lot of skin showing. Only long dark hair and surprisingly girly black lace panties were keeping anything hidden. Well, except for the white tube socks.
But that was it. The show was over. Lindsay reached down and picked up her jeans and disappeared into the bathroom without any further clothing removals. As soon as the door closed, Cindy exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Those nerves, which had been at their steeliest just before Lindsay got home, were now feeling pretty shaky again. Not shaky enough to get her up out of the bed and out onto the couch though. This definitely should not wait.
When Lindsay came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, Cindy wisely kept her eyes closed while she heard Lindsay getting dressed. Then, when Lindsay came over to the bed, she waited. She liked to think she had considered every possibility, and there were two ways this could go. She knew Lindsay pretty well, so when she heard the movement of one of the pillows, without any movement of the actual bed, she wasn’t surprised.
She opened her eyes and only let Lindsay get two steps in the direction of the door.
“You’re not going to sleep in here?”
Lindsay stopped and looked back at her, but it was so dark in the room, Cindy had no way of knowing what she was thinking, so she had no way of knowing what she was going to do. Again, there were two ways it could go. One way, the plan continued. The other, it was over before it really even began.
She was extraordinarily relieved when Lindsay took the two steps back to the bed, put her pillow back up by the headboard and slid under the covers with her.
She let Lindsay get settled in, and tried to drum up those nerves again.
“Cold?”
“A little,” Lindsay answered, which was a big relief.
Lindsay could have said no. Cindy had considered this. She had a response prepared just in case, but while, “Well, I am, so can we cuddle anyway?” had a nice porno ring to it, it did seem kind of forced.
Cindy responded by sliding across the bed to where Lindsay was hugging the edge. She slid her arm beneath Lindsay’s pillow and laid her head down next to Lindsay’s. The other arm she slid across Lindsay’s waist. Lindsay jumped at the contact. That was a good sign.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Uh… We found some fibers on the bottom of the…”
Cindy rubbed her thumb slowly up and down on Lindsay’s side where it was resting. Lindsay seemed to lose track of what she was saying. That was a good sign too.
“…the… um…the c-couch. The… the husband was k-killed there, and we thought that maybe the g-guy’s foot went under and it did. The…the lab won’t run it ‘til morning.”
“Doesn’t it hurt you to be so gifted?”
Lindsay’s breath was undeniably shaky as she laughed, and when she finished, Cindy could hear her swallow. Both good signs.
“Are you tired?”
“Yeah,” Lindsay breathed.
“Okay.”
She’d done enough research for one night. And now for a big finish.
Cindy lifted her head and looked down at Lindsay. She could barely see her eyes.
“Night Linds,” she whispered and dropped her head until she felt her lips touch Lindsay’s, which came as quite a surprise, because she’d actually only planned to kiss Lindsay on the cheek “close to” her mouth. Apparently, the urge to go for it hadn’t been buried quite deep enough. Because it was the middle of the night, she was in Lindsay’s bed, and her lips were definitely very much against the brunettes. She was lightheaded, she was turned on, and she was apparently an idiot who couldn’t keep her lips to herself.
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December 28th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (20/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/27– Lindsay’s POV)
It wasn’t the almost kissing Cindy that was the issue. Not anymore. That was done. She was past that part of it. What was completely distressing now was the fact that when she thought back to that moment, which seemed to be her most recurring thought over the past two days, she kept cursing, not herself for nearly doing it, but the phone for so rudely interrupting.
How could she curse the phone? The phone saved her ass. What if she’d completed her mission? What if she’d slid her hand onto the back of Cindy’s neck, along what always looked like such warm, smooth skin, and lowered her lips to that soft, inviting mouth that always seemed to have something to say? That would have been… bad?
Cindy got her… better than anyone. To some extent Claire and Jill and Jacobi understood her drive, her desire to capture the killers of the world, but not like Cindy did. So yes, doing anything to mess up that dynamic, their reciprocal friendship, their effective teamwork, that would have been bad. She needed Cindy in her life. She did not need to scare her away by forcing her unpredictable, suddenly very romantic, feelings onto her.
When she’d gotten in on Christmas night and told Cindy about the case, what had Cindy said right away?
“Copycat?”
That’s what she had asked. Not, “Hey did you arrest the wrong person?” She hadn’t doubted in the least that the right person was already in jail for the crime. She’d just assumed there was another perp.
Not like here.
“So, have you found the real killer yet?”
Count backward from ten, Lindsay. Remember your anger management training.
“Yes. He’s where he has been the whole time. In jail.”
“Then, how’d he commit another murder?”
“Copycat, Tom.”
“With details of the crime that only the police knew?”
“At an officer’s house. I know that offends your Lieutenant’s sensibilities, but you’re going to have to consider the fact that a police officer saw an opportunity and seized it.”
“A police officer who was on duty at the time.”
“And we haven’t found one single person who saw him where he was supposed to be assigned.”
“How hard are you looking?”
That was it. Lindsay was up. And a moment later, Jacobi was in front of her, pushing her backward.
“Okay, let’s keep it calm.”
“Tell him that we did our jobs right.”
“We did our jobs right.”
“It doesn’t look that way.”
“Our guy confessed,” Lindsay said in disbelief.
“And he was so strung out, he would have confessed to Nazi genocide if you’d interrogated him about it.”
“The victim also ID’d him,” Jacobi came to Lindsay’s defense.
“And she’s so drugged, she can’t even see straight.”
“Your officer killed his family Tom. Give me five minutes with him and he’ll be singing like Julie Andrews.”
“No. You don’t get five minutes with him. You get to first prove that the guy you have put in jail for the first murder is actually the killer. Then, and only then, do you get to accuse a cop of using the details of a homicide to cover up the murder of his own family. Maybe if everyone hadn’t been in such a damn hurry to get out of here for the holiday…”
“That’s what this is about?” Lindsay cut in. “You’re mad because I wanted off for Christmas?”
“I’m not mad that you wanted off for Christmas. I’m mad that you did a sloppy job to make sure you could get off for Christmas.”
Before Lindsay could speak, Jacobi was right there again, blocking her from getting herself fired.
“Come on. Let’s just get him what he wants. Let’s get back to the house and put the guy inside it. We know he was there. He had to have left part of himself somewhere.”
Lindsay wanted nothing more than to push past him, run up to Tom and give him a solid kick to his very deserving groin, but Jacobi’s eyes were pleading.
“Fine,” she said, and could have seriously breathed fire as she watched Tom walk back up the stairs toward his office.
“I’ll round us up some help,” Jacobi said when he was sure Tom was out of earshot.
“Okay. I’ve just got to call Cindy and tell her I won’t be home. Again.”
Jacobi stopped and looked back at her with a calculating look she wasn’t finding herself particularly fond of.
“What?” she asked him.
Jacobi just shook his head and walked off, and Lindsay squirmed inside. Jacobi’s ability to read people served them very well in field work, but when it came to her personal life, the man was just too damn aware.
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December 28th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (19/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/26 – Cindy’s POV)
It had been quite some time since someone had come at Cindy with what appeared to be a kissing advance. So, maybe, just maybe, she’d forgotten what they looked like. Maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t Lindsay’s intention at all. Maybe she’d been coming after a hug. A hug wouldn’t have been particularly unexpected given the circumstances. But kissing? Kissing? That would have been unexpected. Not unwelcome, but definitely unexpected.
She must have read it wrong, because there was just no way that kissing was what was going to happen. Just because that’s what it looked like didn’t make it the truth. Michael Jackson looks like a white girl. It doesn’t make it accurate.
And things were normal when Lindsay came home. They just talked about the case. Lindsay gave her some “off the record” morsels. Then, they went to bed without any mention of anything that happened earlier in the day. So, maybe nothing happened. Maybe it was all in her imagination. It did seem to be working overtime lately.
Though there was the one weird moment, just before bed, when Lindsay grabbed her and hugged her. When first it occurred, Cindy didn’t even think to question its origins. She was very content to just revel in the feel of Lindsay’s arms around her, and discretely sniff her hair.
It was what Lindsay said that made her wonder about the purpose of the hug. She’d whispered, “I’m sorry.” That was it. Could she have been any vaguer? Was she sorry for almost kissing her? Sorry that they were interrupted when they were? Sorry that Christmas wasn’t an all day long thing for them? Sorry that she couldn’t let Cindy leave the house to get the scoop in person?
What was the deal? Why the sorry? What in the hell was going on between them? And why couldn’t she stop seeing Lindsay, in her contrasting leisure clothes and fancy necklace, coming toward her with a kissing look on her face?
Lindsay was unattainable. That had already been established. So, why even let this possibility enter her mind and throw everything that was certain into ambiguous turmoil?
This was completely ridiculous. She couldn’t just ponder what may or may not have been going to occur forever. Figuring it out had now become her most immediate priority. Being Cindy, there was only one thing she could think to do.
Research.
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December 28th, 2007 Riley
Don’t let this happen to you.
Recently, I was called into a department meeting, spur of the moment. Due to the quickness factor, I didn’t take a tablet or anything in with me, so I literally had nothing to do but sit there.
They were talking about insurance claims. The only way I could have cared less would have been if I was inebriated and had a nudie model behaving at her sluttiest beneath the table. But, apparently, everyone else cared too much, because they were all talking at the same time. Loudly. And about boring things.
To top it all off, there was a woman sitting right behind me who decided that the back of my chair would make an excellent footrest. It was one of those chairs that rocked, so I spent a mind-numbing hour being bounced around like an SUV with bad shocks.
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December 27th, 2007 Riley
TITLE: House Arrest (18/35)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Women’s Murder Club does not belong to me. The characters do not belong to me. They are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. I have no problems with that as long as I can borrow them for short bursts and use them in pursuit of my own enjoyment. I am not trying to infringe. Though, I don’t know why anyone has a problem with fan fic. After all, it really is a compliment. If anyone wants to write fan fiction about my book, feel free.
(12/25 – Lindsay’s POV)
Cindy looked like a little kid.
When Lindsay turned from the entryway with the envelope that she’d neglected to remove from her jacket pocket and put under the tree, Cindy was standing there with an infectious grin and both hands behind her back.
“Is something going to jump out at me when I open whatever that is that you’re hiding?” Lindsay asked, only half joking.
“No,” Cindy responded in her best aggravated tone, but her smile never wavered.
“All right. Let me have it,” Lindsay said, holding the envelope back by her shoulder, threatening to withhold it until Cindy produced her gift.
Cindy pulled the small package out from behind her back and held it out to Lindsay, but when Lindsay tried to take it, Cindy pulled it back, eyeing the envelope that Lindsay was still keeping from her reach.
It was a Christmas standoff.
Lindsay relented and slowly lowered the envelope into Cindy’s range, and Cindy little by little extended her own package. Then, they snatched the presents from each others’ hands at the same time and both started giggling as if they’d just taken part in a truly humorous stand-up routine instead of merely engaging in some holiday-inspired immaturity.
“You first,” Lindsay said, as her laughter subsided.
Cindy pulled up the sticker on the envelope, and Lindsay found that she was surprisingly anxious as Cindy pulled the tickets out. She was watching for some sign that Cindy liked them, and, if the smile was any indication, she’d gotten one.
“The symphony?” Cindy said, looking up at her. “I love the symphony.”
“Really?” Lindsay asked, hating how astounded her voice sounded. “I mean, I figured you might,” she quickly tried to cover.
“January 4th. I guess you think I’ll be done being incarcerated by then.”
“I think the ADA will go easy on you. And if not, I’ve got the key to your cuff, so…”
Cindy was still looking at the tickets. Still smiling. So that was good.
“I’m surprised you knew where to buy these,” she finally said.
“Hey! I resent that,” Lindsay asserted.
But the look on Cindy’s face was more knowing than compliant.
“Claire helped,” Lindsay grumbled.
Cindy smiled at her mini-victory and fanned the two tickets out.
“Are you planning on going with me?”
“Yeah,” Lindsay answered, then realized that maybe there was a specific reason that Cindy was asking. “I mean, I got the time off work. But if you have someone you’d rather go with…”
“No!” Cindy cut in. “I’d like to go with you, if that’s okay.”
Lindsay smiled. It was more than okay. It was actually, she was kind of surprised to discover, a major relief.
“You’ve got two tickets. I’ve got the time off work. I guess that makes it okay.”
“Unless you get another case,” Cindy said, the disappointment at the possibility already apparent.
“If that happens,” Lindsay promised. “We’ll work around it.”
And she meant it. There was no way that she was going to let Cindy down in this. Of course, if another case did arise, the prospect that Cindy would want to blow off the symphony in favor of chasing down a few bad guys was pretty high.
“Okay,” Cindy uttered softly.
“Okay,” she said in return.
And she could have stayed like that forever, stuck on Christmas, watching Cindy be happy. There was just too much tragedy in their daily lives. She liked seeing Cindy in a scenario where her optimism didn’t seem out of place.
“Aren’t you going to open yours?” Cindy asked her, breaking the spell.
“Right.”
Lindsay ripped open the paper, and barely took a moment to consider the blue velvet box before popping the lid. She really could have used a nearer-by seat.
“Wow. Um… wow.” Where in the hell did her words go? “This is… um…” Gorgeous? Shiny? Extravagant. “…expensive,” she finally heard herself finish.
Not the ending she would have opted for had her brain been functioning at top capacity, but it was true.
“I got a raise when I got the promotion,” Cindy said without much volume.
“Did you spend it all on me?”
Cindy laughed nervously as Lindsay looked up, but Lindsay couldn’t let her off the hook with just that. She kept watching her, awaiting a more complete answer.
“It was a big deal, what you did for me.”
“I told you it wasn’t,” Lindsay countered, shaking her head.
She really didn’t want Cindy to think she owed her anything.
“It was to me.”
Lindsay looked down at the jewelry set. Wow, it was nice. Wow, it was really nice. Wow, it was a really big gift.
“Are you sure you want to give me this?”
She was sorry that she’d asked when Cindy looked really uncomfortable, and slightly disenchanted. She should have just kept her damn mouth shut and accepted the gift.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Cindy stated with certainty. “But if you don’t want it…”
“No,” Lindsay cut in. “I want it. I do. I definitely want it.”
For once, every word she added seemed to be helping. Cindy looked a little more relieved with each addition.
“I just…,” Lindsay started, suddenly realizing her biggest issue with all of this. “I got you symphony tickets.”
“It’s okay Lindsay.”
“Is it?”
It didn’t feel okay. It felt like she sucked at gift giving. It felt like she had done a very poor job of showing Cindy that she was worth every bit as much to her as she clearly was to Cindy.
“It’s more than okay,” Cindy said, interrupting her self-deprecating thoughts.
“How’s that?” Lindsay asked, pouting.
“Well, I know that the easiest thing you could have gotten me would have been a nice pen or a new jump drive and you didn’t.”
Cindy certainly didn’t look like she felt slighted. In fact, she looked rather content. So maybe it wasn’t all that bad. And she could make it up to her. She just had to figure out how.
“And I appreciate that you didn’t buy me a gun,” Lindsay said, cracking a grin.
“Well, that’s because I can’t ever be sure I won’t annoy you enough to get it turned on me.”
“I’m serious,” Lindsay said, dropping her eyes once again to the sparkly jewelry box. “People don’t… no one has ever bought me anything like this.”
“Never?” Cindy asked incredulously.
“Never,” Lindsay responded.
Cindy seemed to be having a difficult time comprehending that truth.
“Not even your parents or, um…”
Cindy didn’t finish the sentence, but Lindsay knew that she meant Tom.
“No one. I guess I don’t strike them as this kind of girl.”
“And are you…,” Cindy pulled her lower lip between her teeth before continuing, “…this kind of girl?”
“I like to think so… at least part of the time. Let’s see.”
She smiled in Cindy’s direction and walked off toward the bedroom, knowing that Cindy would be too curious not to follow.
When she got to her dresser, she carefully took the necklace out and put the box down. Her reflection changed as she clasped the necklace around her throat. God, this was really nice. It even looked good on top of an old long sleeve t-shirt. She’d never even owned anything like this, let alone had someone buy it for her.
She smiled and turned to Cindy.
“What do you think?”
But the look on Cindy’s face was only half what she was expecting. She looked pleased and relieved, both of which Lindsay had anticipated. But it was the look in her eyes that took Lindsay by surprise… and took her breath away. She may have turned teasing Cindy about her age into a routine pastime, but she was going to be hard-pressed to ever again convince herself that Cindy was just a kid.
“I think you’re that kind of girl,” Cindy whispered, and stepped forward, maybe unconsciously.
But whether Cindy’s was conscious or not, Lindsay’s step was definitely taken with intention. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. But she was totally going to. Because the look in Cindy’s eyes was unreal and her lips looked incredibly needy. Or were those her own lips she was thinking about? It didn’t matter. She knew how to fix both.
The phone rang. It sounded loud and harsh, and with the shrill sound came logic. She was really close to testing the boundaries of her friendship with Cindy, a friendship that she didn’t particularly want to lose.
“It’s probably Jill or Claire, wishing us a Merry Christmas,” Lindsay mumbled, feeling both thankful and thwarted at the same time. “I should get that.”
The expression on Cindy’s face? Fear? Confusion? Regret?
Lindsay thought that she read them all before she turned and speed-walked in the direction of the phone. She really hoped she could sound normal to Jill or Claire when she answered.
But it wasn’t Jill or Claire. It was Tom. There had been another Santa murder.
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