Extreme Sensitivity… as a product of good detective work. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 28

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as a product of good detective work. (28/?)
PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never was. Never will be. No profit. Just love.

(Cindy’s POV)

Lindsay was on the bed. Sheets in disarray. Long strands of dark hair sticking to the gleaming layer of sweat covering her body. Finally giving into the severity of the matter and giving herself all that Cindy was too busy to provide her.

At least that’s how Cindy pictured her every time she let her thoughts drift off into Lindsayland. Which occurred approximately every 6.3 seconds.

This really shouldn’t have even been an issue. If the courier of misery and sexual frustration hadn’t come tip-tapping on their door that first night, Cindy so could have handled both the story and Lindsay – simultaneously. But Ryan had appeared, like so many past harbingers of bad tidings, with her enthusiasm turned deception turned pure evil.

And now, there she sat, twenty yards away at the back of the lobby, finishing up the interview with the daytime manager who had been putting Cindy off ever since she’d arrived on-premises. With Ryan’s propensity to ask the dumbest, most useless questions ever voiced, at least someone was getting payback for their misdeeds. Sadly, it wasn’t the one most in need of it.

Trying to assist karma, and bearing in mind that Ryan was clearly the offspring of a vindictive hell god, Cindy sent every curse and jinx she could think up in Ryan’s direction. A shrunken head or a molar sprouting from her chin would go a long way toward making the girl think twice before interrupting the next three-day naked retreat that she scheduled with Lindsay.

Involved as she was in her vengeance, Cindy was only half aware of the dialogue starting up beside her. Something about someone leaving something behind at the hotel. It wasn’t until the woman got to the description of the item in question that Cindy tuned in and edged super-PI fashion in the woman’s direction.

“It’s a silver necklace with an eye on it,” the woman explained. “It’s an heirloom.”

“I don’t think anyone has turned anything like that in, but I’ll check,” the desk clerk responded and disappeared through a door.

“Excuse me,” Cindy said softly, drawing the woman’s attention to her. “When did you stay here?”

“A few nights ago.”

Nodding in response, Cindy flipped open her notepad. “I think I know what happened to your necklace.”


Conversation concluded in less than three minutes, because that’s how it was supposed to be done, Cindy looked toward the lobby, where Ryan was still bombarding the daytime manager with her mind-boggling supply of empty questions. Never one to forfeit an opportunity, Cindy grabbed her cell and called Lindsay without delay. Though she answered in the courtyard, Lindsay insisted that they meet in the room. Assuming that could only be for a good reason, Cindy beat her there by a full two minutes.

When Lindsay finally came in, just one smile and, for a moment, Cindy forgot that she had a non-lust-fueled reason for being there. Remembering that Lindsay was still on the mend at the last second stopped her from leaping onto Lindsay with abandon. It didn’t, however, stop her from giving Lindsay a most heartfelt kiss hello. When Lindsay responded by pushing her back into the wall and trapping her there with a full-body press, they could very easily have gotten lost in the moment. If not for the constant nagging presence that wasn’t actually in the room with them at the moment, but was still at the back of their minds.

“Did you tie her up somewhere?” Lindsay questioned, breathing heavily against Cindy’s cheek.

“I sicced her on an unsuspecting victim,” Cindy mumbled, pressing her lips to skin and sucking lightly at Lindsay’s jaw.

“That’s cruel,” Lindsay groaned. “The last time she was sicced on unsuspecting victims, we ended up sleeping on the pullout.”

“This one had it coming,” Cindy assured her.

“Oh, okay.”

Apparently satisfied with the claim, or perhaps just not giving a damn whether it was true or not, Lindsay didn’t ask for further proof of the woman’s deservedness. Instead, her mouth quite thoroughly occupied itself with Cindy’s neck.

“I actually do have something I need to talk to you about,” Cindy admitted, contradicting her own words as her hand went to the back of Lindsay’s head, holding her in place. As a result, Lindsay’s responding “’kay” was barely discernible.

“There was a woman here asking about an eye necklace she lost. From her description, I assume it’s the same one that they found at the crime scene. What does that mean to you?”

“Uh…” Lindsay breathed, bringing an abrupt halt to the very pleasurable swirly thing she’d been doing with her tongue. “If she’s asking about it, I’d say she isn’t involved.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Cindy panted, pushing her hair back over her shoulder and tilting her head in invitation. Smile edged with a smirk, Lindsay took the hint and returned to spoiling every nerve ending in Cindy’s neck.

“So, I talked to her,” Cindy continued breathlessly. “Apparently, she was staying here the night of the murders, but she didn’t stay through the night. She met a guy in the bar and they went up to her room. And the guy started getting…”

Holding back a moan, as it seemed a remarkably inappropriate sound effect for this particular conversation, Cindy realized that she couldn’t actually do these two things at once, no matter how much she wanted to. Putting her hand on Lindsay’s shoulder, she gave her a gentle push back and impossibly dark eyes stared down at her.

“The guy started getting weird.”

“Weird how?” Lindsay husked.

Those two words shouldn’t have sounded so damn sexy, but they did. Fingertips tracing over the lips that formed them, Cindy really just wanted to forget the whole thing.

“He started saying things that freaked her out. She got scared. So, when room service came, she made an excuse to leave with the hotel employee and didn’t go back.”

“Smart girl.”

“The hotel sent her things to her, but when she got them, the necklace was missing.”

“So, this man was in her room, had access to the necklace, is Mr. Creepy and the necklace was found in the room of the dead couple?” Lindsay summed up.

“Correct,” Cindy replied. “And she knew his first name and gave me a good description. I thought you might want to share this with your law enforcement peers, since so many of your kind don’t like to talk to reporters.”

“They’re not all sleeping with one,” Lindsay teased.

“Well, sleeping’s all you’re doing with yours,” Cindy reminded her.

“Good point,” Lindsay sighed. “Anyway, nice work.”

“I know,” Cindy grinned. “I am so Jessica Fletcher.”


“Seriously?” Cindy asked disbelievingly. “Murder, She Wrote, Linds.”

“Oh,” Lindsay replied, nose snarling up. “And, no. You are definitely not Jessica Fletcher.”

“Jessica Fletcher-like.”

“Better,” Lindsay stated, closing in on Cindy’s neck as if, now that the case was as good as solved, the gates to Heaven had opened before them. “How long will Ryan be?”

This time, when Lindsay sucked hard on a particularly sensitive spot, Cindy let the moan come. “Oh, who the hell cares?” she breathed, tugging Lindsay’s head up and completely dominating their kiss.

She did want this to be right and perfect and something that she could look back on with romantic whimsy. But, at the moment, what she really wanted – what she really needed – was Lindsay. And if that meant Lindsay taking her against the wall, then so be it.

“We’ve waited this long. We should really…” Lindsay started, tapping half-assed on the brakes.

Cindy demonstrated her disagreement by grabbing the bottom of Lindsay’s shirt and pulling it over her head in one swift motion. Exposed skin drawing her in, Cindy affixed her lips to Lindsay’s clavicle and, when Lindsay’s words changed to a prolonged moan, she considered the matter effectively closed for debate. Both seeming to realize that thorough, idyllic foreplay hadn’t actually gotten them anywhere, primal urge had them pawing at each other like wildcats. Unfortunate as it was that it had all come down to a chaotic quickie, there was no denying the fact that something truly bad would have to happen to stop them now.

“I crushed the manager’s hand,” Ryan announced, walking into the room. Which was bizarre, since Cindy hadn’t heard the sound of the key in the lock or the door opening.

Turning away quickly, Lindsay lunged for her shirt and Cindy shifted in front of her, shielding her from Ryan’s view as much as she possibly could, given her severe height disadvantage.

“And I thought you were going to stay in the lobby,” Ryan added.

“I was in the lobby.”

“Then how’d you get up here?”

“I had something I needed to tell Lindsay.”

“What? That you wanted to see her in her bra?”

Cindy sighed, willing her temper into submission. “We were working on the case.”

“Don’t you mean the story?”

“Yeah. That too.”

“And while you were up here you thought you’d squeeze in a little sex?”

“Well, I would have preferred to squeeze in a lot of sex, but I knew you’d have the timer on your Barbie watch set, so I figured we’d have ten minutes max.”

A small laugh slipped out of Lindsay and Ryan glared at the both of them.

“Are we working or not?” she huffed.

“Oh my God. Can’t you go away for just like an hour?” Cindy pleaded.

“No, I can’t go away for an hour. We had a deal,” Ryan asserted. “For the rest of the night, wherever you are, I’m going to be. But go ahead and finish if you want.”

“Trust me, if we wanted to share the experience, we have friends for that,” Cindy countered, realizing with a disheartened sigh that Ryan was like herpes. As long as she was around, sex was out of the question. “And what do you mean, you crushed the manager’s hand?”

“It was an accident. Her hand was in the way of my chair,” Ryan shrugged. “I don’t think she’ll sue.”

Shaking her head, Cindy glanced at Lindsay, who somehow managed a smile.

“I should probably call in your tip. You know, civic duty, time is of the essence and all that,” she uttered.

“Yeah,” Cindy agreed. “And I should finish up downstairs, before we know everyone’s IQ, first pet’s name, and zodiac sign, but not if they actually know anything about the murders.”

As immature as it was, she couldn’t help taking the potshot at Ryan, who turned around instantly and pulled open the door.

“Are you coming?” Ryan queried.

“Clearly not any time soon.”

Lindsay burst into laughter, Ryan groaned and rolled her eyes, and, feeling rather victorious, Cindy kissed her goddess goodbye and pushed her own personal parasite out the door.

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  1. I love this fic soooo much!

    How do you get so much into one final sentence?

    “Lindsay burst into laughter, Ryan groaned and rolled her eyes, and, feeling rather victorious, Cindy kissed her goddess goodbye and pushed her own personal parasite out the door.”

    Personal parasite? Priceless!

  2. Good Gods, I hate Ryan. Seriously, does she have Cindy tagged with GPS or something? Ther’s no way she’s not doing this on purpose…

    “Trust me, if we wanted to share the experience, we have friends for that,” – Squee! OT3!

    “Are you coming?” Ryan queried. / “Clearly not any time soon.” – HA!

  3. You know I had actually had forgotten that Cindy was there working on a story.

    This is still highly amusing but either the redhead is going to lose control of her temper and we’ll find both Lindsay and Cindy dumping her body in the woods or they will both explode from sexual frustration.

    I personally am hoping that the parasite will find herself stuck in an elevator for a few hours.

  4. How did I get so much into one final sentence? It was a delicate operation that involved a nutcracker, a vat of olive oil and a very eager Russian. I’m glad we made it work 😉

    Ah, alliteration, amen.

    An OT3 ref just for you, Rev. Even if I refuse to be converted. Lindsay & Cindy, Infinity!

    Heh, there’s one idea! Ryan gets stuck in an elevator. How about this one? Ryan gets stuck in a pool drain.

    Ah, Nikky – If I had a dime for every time I heard that, I’d have twelve cents! Here’s how I figure. One time, I made an unfortunate attempt at homemade granola bars that were described as “awesomely gooey”. That is at least twenty percent of the way to “Goddess of awesomeness,” no?

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