Extreme Sensitivity… as a sign of things to come. – A Women’s Murder Club Series, part 19

TITLE: Extreme Sensitivity… as a sign of things to come. (19/?)
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. (Well, not anymore. Jackasses.) 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.

(Lindsay’s POV)

“Is Martha depressed or is she really just that lazy?”

Lindsay chuckled as she swallowed the last drink from her plastic bottle, before replacing the lid and chucking it in the direction of the trashcan, missing by an inch and growling under her breath as it bounced off the side. She swore to God, she only ever missed when there was someone else watching her.

With a push off of the table, she walked the short distance to retrieve her errant trash and place it in the proper recycling receptacle.

“I mean, I know that she lays around your apartment the vast majority of the time,” Cindy continued as Lindsay made her way back to the picnic table. “But I thought she was just bored there. This is just… pathetic really.”

Influenced by Cindy’s unfavorable depiction, Lindsay glanced over at Martha, lying dormant by the fence in the shade, alternately dozing and watching the other dogs engage in vigorous play around her. It wasn’t that Martha was totally slothful. She was always up for a run with her owner, but every time she was brought to the dog park, she got out of the line of fire and groggily laid about. Clearly, she was not a dog’s dog.

“But what if she really is depressed?” Cindy asked. “I mean, she went through a lot. She could be.”

Sitting up on the table, feet on the bench, and elbows resting just above her knees, Cindy eyed Martha with some concern. Lindsay rejoined her, stepping up onto the bench and swinging her leg around Cindy to take a seat at her back. Sliding forward until their bodies came into light contact, she breathed out raggedly against the back of Cindy’s neck, feeling a tremble work its way through the body in front of her.

“Martha’s not depressed,” she assured her. “She really is that lazy. Imagine if I put you in an enclosure and said, ‘Okay, while you’re here, you are expected to relax’.”

“I could do that,” Cindy replied.

“Not if there was a scoop waiting outside the pen. You’d be gnawing at the fence to get free.”

Cindy glanced back with a busted smile, eyes meeting Lindsay’s across a very miniscule distance, and Lindsay instinctively ran her tongue over dry lips.

“What’s that have to do with Martha?”

Rather distracted by Cindy staring at her mouth as if seriously craving a morsel, and the simultaneous feel of a warm palm sliding onto her knee, Lindsay glanced away before she did something for which she’d have no choice but to arrest herself.

“I’m just saying,” she paused to clear away the rasp in her voice as much as possible. “Martha wants to run around with these dogs about as much as you want to blow off a story.”

“So what are we doing here?” Cindy questioned, finally giving into it and settling back more fully into Lindsay.

Lindsay felt her heart rate kick into samba and chills spread outward across her skin from the source point of Cindy’s slow-roaming fingertips.

“I can’t run with her, so I thought, maybe, she might, you know, be a good dog and get some exercise.”

“She isn’t,” Cindy smoothly voiced, and Lindsay was too far gone to care that she was being openly mocked.

“So I see,” she uttered, shamelessly inhaling Cindy’s shampoo. The stuff was like a drug. Seriously. “Once I’m back to functional, she’ll be on her feet again too.”

“I could always take her out for a run you know,” Cindy offered.

Her hand smoothed up and down Lindsay’s thigh, thumb lightly grazing the front of her knee, and Lindsay sighed heavily, delighting in the pleasant all over tingle the slight touch managed to produce.

“You need to save your energy,” she spoke softly into the ear right by her lips, sending some of that pent-up energy Cindy’s way, and Cindy’s palm wrapped around her knee, squeezing with abnormal strength.

Not especially cognizant of anything going on around them, but painfully aware of Cindy’s hips pressing back into her as she suddenly shifted forward, Lindsay was faced with a sudden moment of personal introspection.

Was she the type of person who could climax instantly with very little effort, through two layers of clothing, in the middle of a public park?

The fact that she had to consider the notion at all frightened her backward a few inches. Apparently, she was more sensitive than she’d realized. Extremely, extremely sensitive.

“Isn’t that guy a police officer?”

The question drew Lindsay back to the world taking place around her. She looked to where Cindy was looking and found the rookie officer, two months new to the force, unleashing his dog.

“Pinske,” she answered, shaking her head. “Last week, he let a suspect get loose and Jacobi had to tackle the guy on top of my desk.”

As if it was a prompt, Cindy shifted forward more, a hairs-breadth away from being beyond her grasp when Lindsay reached out and caught her.

“Where you goin’?”

Hands not about to relinquish their capture, Lindsay felt Cindy’s abs tighten as she twisted within her grasp. Impossibly wide eyes regarded her and, in response, Lindsay just raised an eyebrow and patiently waited. She couldn’t wait to hear Cindy attempt to talk her way out of that overreaction.

“I just thought that… you… you know… would want to… you know…”

“No,” Lindsay feigned ignorance, drawing the most sincerely self-conscious, and possibly most endearing, smile she’d ever seen in her life.

If she wanted to, she was pretty sure it would have been irresistible, so she didn’t try. With a gentle tug, Cindy was back in place and Lindsay ducked her head until her lips captured Cindy’s, which, from the time of impact until she pulled away again, tenderly responded.

“You trying to get away from me Thomas?” Lindsay murmured.

“No,” Cindy whispered, a full-bodied smile coming to her lips.

Cindy’s struggle to catch her breath was testament to the fact that Lindsay wasn’t alone in her hyper-responsive state.

“You better not be.”

Lindsay’s arms encircled Cindy’s waist and Cindy relaxed back into her.

Across the way, Martha finally got up, walked over, and gave a Yorkshire Terrier a long sniff, before evidently deciding the Yorkie’s bouncy personality was too much to handle, wandering off and reclaiming her resting spot in the grass.

You’ll regret that decision, Lindsay thought, arms firming automatically around her own relentless ball of human energy.

Pinske made it to their side of the park a few minutes later. Watching him out the corner of her eye, Lindsay saw the double-take seconds before he stepped fully into her line of vision.

“Inspector Boxer,” he waved with a rather disarming enthusiasm. “How are you?”

“Hey Pinske,” Lindsay idly drawled. “I’m good. You?”

“I’m good,” he answered. “But I didn’t take a spill chasing a bad guy.”

Amusing as it always was to hear a recent recruit talking about their new occupation as if they were in a crime novel, Lindsay had enough compassion not to laugh in the kid’s face.

“Wait until you’ve got a couple years on you. You’ll take your share.”

“I can’t wait,” he countered, eyes darting back and forth between she and Cindy in a completely obvious way.

“This is Cindy,” Lindsay generously enlightened him, pausing only slightly before adding, “My girlfriend.”

“Cindy. Nice to meet you.”

Cindy reached forward to take the hand offered her.

“You too.”

“Well, I should stand guard,” Pinske thumbed toward his dog. “He’s new to the whole off-leash thing. Need to keep an eye on him.”

“So he takes after you then.”

Perplexed Pinske, that would have been a fitting name for him in the moment, but Lindsay only got to enjoy his confused expression for a half a second, and then an incredibly hard elbow dug into her ribs with ferocity.

“Forgive her. She’s on the sugar,” Cindy offered as apology. “Have fun.”

“Yeah. You too,” Pinske responded, walking off in bewilderment, much to the relief of Lindsay and her aching ribcage.

“Damn you’ve got bony elbows.”

Cindy rotated as much as their positions would allow, fixing Lindsay with a scolding stare that couldn’t hold out.

“That was mean,” she said, breaking into a laugh.

“On my desk!” Lindsay repeated the cardinal sin, which had clearly been misunderstood the first time. “I had to fix two dozen files!”

Her account wasn’t moving Cindy toward her side any, so Lindsay threw in a heartfelt pout.

“And my favorite paperweight got broken.”

Face turning, at once, exceedingly somber, Cindy reached out, hand tenderly clasping Lindsay’s forearm.

“Oh, Linds. I didn’t know.” Her performance was award-worthy. “I’ll buy you a new paperweight.”

Despite her attempts at keeping a straight face, Lindsay’s lip twitched up on one side.

“Good,” she responded. “Somebody needs to.”

Obviously quite satisfied with herself, Cindy turned around and leaned back against her, hand resuming its leisurely exploration of Lindsay’s sensitive lower extremity.

“You called me your girlfriend,” she stated in a whisper a few silent moments later.

“Better get used to it,” Lindsay returned.