Inamorata (8/36) – WMC fic

PAIRING: Lindsay/Cindy
DISCLAIMER: Characters, not mine. Story, mine.

Lindsay wasn’t nervous when Jacobi suggested he and Cindy attend the gallery’s open house together. After all, it had been Lindsay’s idea in a roundabout way. Cindy’s previous interactions with the gallery owner, and the fact that she had been the one to convince the owner to hold the open house in the hopes of luring possible suspects out into the open, made it kind of imperative that she be there along with the police presence.

Of course, in the original incarnation of Lindsay’s idea, she and Cindy were the ones who would go together – to gather information – for the good of the case. But, when Jacobi asked if she really thought that was a good idea, Lindsay had to give in to his damn accurate logic, no matter how disappointing it might have been. The knowledge that the outing was undercover work would only go as far as the police department. The entire point was to make the gallery’s patrons believe that they were just part of the scene, not police officer and reporter, but mutual art enthusiasts, friends, maybe even more, and, if they appeared that way to those people mingling at this evening’s open house (and how could they not, considering?), then they would appear that way to Kiss-Me-Not as well. That was information that they definitely didn’t need to give him. So, when Jacobi offered to pinch-hit for her, she had actually been reassured. She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t nervous when Jacobi had volunteered to take Cindy’s guard duties for the rest of the shift either. As he put it, if he was going to have her for a few hours anyway, he may as well keep her for the whole night. Of all of the people on the force, there was no one’s hands, save for her own, that Lindsay felt safer having Cindy in than Jacobi’s.

She wasn’t nervous as she’d sat at Jacobi’s desk listening to his side of the conversation. She’d smiled when Jacobi asked Cindy if she would do him the honor of being his date at the open house. She felt a pointless twinge of jealousy when Jacobi told Cindy that he’d be staying with her for the night, and that it had been suggested that she was owed a fancy dinner that he’d like to buy for her. When he asked Cindy if she liked seafood, Lindsay was envious, not nervous, as she nodded in response.

Then he’d said it.

“That’s good. It will give us an opportunity to talk.”

Lindsay observed the insightful smirk and the serious gleam in Jacobi’s eyes.

She’d been nervous ever since.

To say that Jacobi could ask some extremely challenging questions didn’t do him justice, and while Lindsay had no doubts that Cindy could hold her own, she was somewhat worried whether Cindy would decide that being with her was worth the trouble of being put through the ringer. Having been put through the ringer by Jacobi a few times herself, Lindsay was well aware that it wasn’t an easy process. Sure, she’d come out cleaner on the other side, but it kind of chafed.

Then, there were the stories that Jacobi could tell Cindy about her. Because Lindsay was always herself with her partner, but that wasn’t always her best. And Cindy had seen enough of her bad qualities without anyone pointing them out to her.

So, Lindsay was nervous about Cindy and Jacobi’s friendly date. She had every right to be, and she was. Very, very nervous.

Especially now that Jacobi and Cindy were done with the work part of their evening and alone where they could be in the midst of this ‘talk’. Especially when Lindsay really thought that she would hear from one of them by now. But her desk phone hadn’t rung in a while, and she’d checked her cell phone regularly. It still had plenty of charge, but no messages. So, either they were having so much fun that they lost track of time, or Cindy was being so harshly interrogated that she was too afraid to make any sudden movements in the direction of her phone.

Personally, Lindsay was experiencing a serious case of twitchy dialing finger, but, the only time that she had spoken to Cindy over the course of the evening, when Cindy called to give her the names of the people that she and Jacobi had picked out as persons of interest, Jacobi had asked for the phone and politely reminded Lindsay not to call and interrupt their meal every fifteen minutes.

So, she hadn’t called. But they hadn’t called her either. And she really wished that one of them would. Well, one of them in particular. Lindsay only hoped that Jacobi released Cindy in time for their bedtime conversation, and that Cindy’s side of it didn’t consist of her saying that they should just forget the whole thing, because Lindsay’s partner was way too intimidating.

Lindsay yawned and looked around, realizing she was the only person in the room besides her detail. Apparently Cindy and Jacobi were intent on closing down the restaurant. She trusted, at this point in the night, any inbound calls would be coming to her cell phone, and grabbed her jacket.

In the parking garage, Lindsay watched the members of her detail split up and sweep the premises. They had the operation of quickly covering every blind spot in the garage down so well that it nearly looked choreographed. It was actually pretty impressive. Annoying as hell, but still impressive.

When they reached her SUV, one of the men dropped down to give the chassis a once over, while another leaned in across the driver’s seat. All in all, the whole procedure usually took them less than a minute, and Lindsay could be on her way, with one man riding shotgun, and two more in cars leading and trailing her back to the safe house.

Usually…

But not tonight.

“Got something,” the man called out almost immediately from her front seat.

“What is it?” Lindsay asked, instantly queasy.

“A note,” he responded, pulling if off of the steering wheel.

“What does it say?” Lindsay forced out through clenched teeth, drifting forward.

Another member of her detail moved into Lindsay’s path, trying to goad her back toward the building.

“Let’s get you inside.”

Lindsay pushed past him, snatching the note from the other man’s hand as he got out of the car, and then really wished that she hadn’t.

I have someone of yours.

The ill feeling multiplied a hundredfold, and Lindsay struggled to not throw up.

Someone was talking to her, but she didn’t hear what they were saying. She wasn’t even trying to listen. It was on autopilot that Lindsay pulled out her phone and dialed Cindy. She stared at the words on the slip of paper, which kept wavering in and out of focus.

The phone rang. Again. And then again. Four times total, and it went to voice mail.

Lindsay refused to panic. While Cindy was somewhat addicted to the handiness of her cell phone, she wasn’t poorly-mannered about it. She wouldn’t set it up on the table during a nice dinner or take calls in the middle of an important conversation. It was probably buried in her bag, still on vibrate from her time at the gallery.

“Cindy, call me as soon as you get this. Please,” Lindsay appealed into the phone. It sounded like someone else’s voice doing the talking.

There was an insistent tug on her elbow, but Lindsay ignored it, ending the call and scrolling to Claire’s name. It rang twice before Lindsay heard Ed’s deep “Hello”.

“Ed, is Claire home?” she asked quickly.

“She just walked in. Do you need to talk to her?”

“No,” she responded, immediately hanging up to dial Jill.

“Inspector Boxer,” the man who’d found the note sounded uselessly insistent.

“Hey,” Jill answered.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jill was unsurprisingly alarmed. “Why?”

“I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Lind…” she heard Jill start as she pressed end.

The man who’d found the note reached for her phone and Lindsay jerked it back.

“I will seriously fuck you up,” she assured him, and he wisely stepped away from her.

Lindsay dialed Jacobi. Every ring made the knot in her stomach tighten. Because, unlike Cindy’s, Lindsay knew where Jacobi’s phone was, right on his hip, where it always was. Even on vibrate, he should have felt it, and, after the warning he’d given her about bombarding them with phone calls during he and Cindy’s time together, he would know, if she was calling him, she had good reason. When his voice mail finally picked up, Lindsay didn’t leave a message. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried Cindy’s phone again. There was no delay. It went straight to voice mail. So it was off. But just a couple of minutes before, it was on. The last thing that Cindy would have done upon seeing that Lindsay had called her was turn off her phone. But someone had.

Lindsay stared toward the floor, not seeing anything. She listened to the entire greeting, the upbeat tone of Cindy’s voice doing nothing to warm her internal cold. She felt… nothing. It was long after the sound of Cindy’s voice faded before Lindsay pulled the phone from her ear.

“Cindy,” she heard her own voice whisper.

“What?”

“It’s Cindy,” she repeated.

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” she responded mechanically. Robotically.

There was such a profound numbness.

“Let’s go back inside and talk about it.”

Lindsay glanced up to see who was trying to direct her, but her eyes focused instead on Officer Stone, across the garage, heading toward his car, laughing with another officer. She didn’t stop to think about it, rushing past her detail and clearing the span of the garage in several less strides than usual. Grabbing hold of Officer Stone’s shirt as he climbed into the front seat, she yanked him back out and shoved him against the side of his car.

“Who did you tell?”

“What?”

She didn’t even mean to do it. She just felt the sudden sting in her knuckles and saw the blood trickle from the corner of Officer Stone’s mouth.

“Who, goddamn it?”

“No one,” he answered quietly, looking surprised and terrified in equal measure.

Lindsay wanted to kill him. He denied his part. She had no proof that he had any fault in this. But he could have. And it was enough.

“Lindsay!”

She was wrested away from him and when she turned, Tom was there, staring at her.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

He didn’t know. And, even if he did, he wouldn’t really understand.

“Jacobi,” Lindsay uttered. “Jacobi was with Cindy tonight.”

And that’s when Lindsay knew that Tom did know. He looked down at the ground, all anger dissipating.

“That’s what I came to tell you,” he said, finding Lindsay’s eyes again. “He’s been shot. But he’s still alive. It’s bad, I’m not going to lie to you. But he’ll make it.”

It was an assurance, not a certainty, and Lindsay recognized it as such.

“And Cindy?” she whispered.

He just stared at her for the longest time without speaking, but he didn’t have to say anything for her to know.

“She’s missing,” he finally said.

As Lindsay stared at him, Tom slowly began to vanish before her.

“Linds,” she heard his startled voice.

And then he was gone completely.