Whatever It Takes
"Are you two hens chattering again?"
Dr. Lucien Blake and Dr. Alice Harvey looked up to see their boss walk into the morgue to interrupt their conversation. Alice didn't appreciate the teasing tone of the question. "Ronnie, Lucien is upset!" she chided.
"Oh, what's wrong with the good doctor?" Ronnie asked, suddenly a bit more concerned.
"Jean's broken up with him," Alice answered sadly.
"What, again? Honestly, Lucien, you'd better just marry the woman and be done with all this on and off nonsense," Ronnie told him matter-of-factly.
Lucien rolled his eyes. "Yes, marrying someone who ended your relationship certainly makes sense."
Alice shrugged. "That's what worked for us."
Ronnie laughed, "Yes, actually it did! Alice was always worried about something or other, so I bought us tickets to New Zealand and we got married at a courthouse in Christchurch the next day. It solved all our problems to just jump in and make the commitment. And I bet if Jean knows how you feel, everything will work itself out."
But Lucien sighed, "I don't think Jean would much appreciate me whisking her away from Homicide for a surprise elopement. I can just hear her now, panicking about what to tell Wolfe and Waverly and Jarvis. And I can't get cross with her for thinking of her children."
Alice quirked an eyebrow in question. "Did she honestly use her children as an excuse not to be with you?"
"Yes, but I know how much Christopher and Jack mean to her," Lucien replied weakly, knowing full well that Alice and Ronnie both were about to go on a tirade.
"Christopher is in the army! Jack is in jail! And Jean has been a widow since before she joined the state police. That is not a proper excuse!" Ronnie said angrily.
"And even if her boys weren't fully grown and barely a part of her life, from what you've said, I'm sure they wouldn't care who their mother takes up with anyway," Alice added. "You love each other, and that's all that matters. Whatever it takes, right? "
Lucien couldn't stand this barrage anymore. "Jean's chosen the job over me, and no amount of love between two people can overcome those priorities." With that, Lucien slammed his way out of the morgue.
At the police station, Detective Jean Beazley was staring at her computer screen through unfocused eyes. She couldn't seem to get the image of Lucien's shattered expression out of her head. She'd sat in the car with him, crying, telling him they couldn't see each other anymore. It was against regulation for them to work together and carry on a romantic relationship. And after a lifetime of feeling like she was hiding away from the world—giving up college to help Christopher run the shop, raising their sons alone after he was shot in a break in, leaving life in Queensland behind to get a new start as a cop in Melbourne—Jean didn't want to keep living with secrets. For the first time in a very long time, she had a good life. She had friends, and she was happy. And yes, she loved Lucien. Of course she loved him. He was the greatest man she'd ever known, a thought that had given her significant pause early on in their relationship. But could she really choose him above everything else in her life? The very idea of it had scared her. So here she was, trying to get back to work after she'd just finished breaking both their hearts.
"Oi, Jean, you see this?"
She looked up to see Duncan Freeman roll his desk chair toward her with the newspaper in his hand. "See what?"
"Dane Majors is getting released from prison."
It took a moment, given her distracted mind, for the name to click in her mind. "Dane Majors…the cricketer who killed his wife?"
Frank Carlyle perked up. "They're letting him go!? What bloody for?" he asked angrily, reaching across the desk and snatching the paper from Duncan. "'Serious questions regarding the forensic science used in determining cause of death' is what the paper says. That's a load of bollocks," Frank swore. "Charlie, did you know Rose was writing this?"
Charlie Davis had tried to keep his head down, knowing he already wasn't very popular with his squad for dating a journo. "She's been looking into it. But we don't talk about work," he said quickly.
"Listen, I worked that case just after I made detective," Frank explained, "and there is no way Dane Majors is innocent. He was known to beat his wife. And we found the golf club with her blood on it that bashed her head in. Lucien Blake did the autopsy, and we all know he's the best there is. No way he made a mistake in any forensic anything."
Jean's heart sank. Did Lucien already know about Majors before they'd spoken today? He was very proud of the work he did, very thorough and brilliant at everything. And now his biggest conviction was being called into question. She couldn't imagine how upset he would be over this. Jean wanted to call him to see how he was doing, but she decided against it; after the way he'd slammed the door closed on her this afternoon, she was rather certain he didn't want to see her.
The conversation was cut off by Stanley Wolfe's arrival. "Alright, all, seeing as you've already read the paper…" He paused, looking pointedly at Charlie. "We've been tasked with finding Tawny Majors's killer. And unless the evidence definitively leads us that way, we are going to assume that Dane Majors did not kill his wife."
Frank grumbled quietly to himself, something about knowing the evidence was going to lead them to putting that scum back in prison as soon as possible.
"Charlie, since you seem to have some insight into this case, you and Frank go talk to Ms. Anderson regarding her sources and her interviews with Majors while he was in prison. Jean and Duncan, you start with Dr. Blake. See what he can tell you about the autopsy on Tawny and any uncertainties in his findings," Wolfie ordered.
The squad all stood up and made their way to cars for their respective assignments. Jean was very quiet, dreading an encounter with Lucien. Particularly not with Dunny there. Not this, not today. But she had not choice. She'd chosen the job. And this was what her job entailed now.
A small part of her, however, couldn't help but look forward to a visit to the morgue, as she always did. Even if she wouldn't be going to his house after work, at least she could still work with him on cases during the days. From the first, they'd always worked so well together. Men his age tended to patronize Jean, but Lucien respected her skill and intellect from the first moment. And when they'd embarked on their romantic relationship, despite its stops and starts, he would often run through his ideas with her, looking for her input and insight. Yes, at least they'd get to work together and maintain that professional relationship she so enjoyed; he would still be in her life, and that was enough. It had to be.
But Jean was disappointed once again. Dr. Harvey, who had always been rather pleasant to Jean in the past, if a bit awkward and stilted at times, seemed very cold. Lucien must have told her.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Blake has gone home for the day," she told the detectives brusquely.
"Can we take a look at the Tawny Majors file, at least? Until we get a chance to speak with him?" Duncan asked.
"No."
Her sharp tone surprised Jean. "Alice, where's Lucien?" she asked softly.
"He's gone home."
Jean saw a flash of something in Alice's eyes and a bad idea struck her mind. "Did Lucien take the Tawny Majors file home with him?"
"No, that's against regulation. Blake wouldn't do that," Duncan protested.
Both Alice and Jean knew that Blake would do exactly that. And likely did. Alice averted her gaze and simply said, "Dr. Blake will be in tomorrow. You can speak with him then, Detective Freeman."
Jean nodded and led Duncan out. She knew better than to push. She also knew better than to do what she would have done if this case had landed on their desks a week ago: go straight to Lucien's house and go through the file with him. Likely with a drink and a cuddle on the sofa. She pushed that thought right out of her head.
The detectives returned to the station with their tails between their legs, intent on starting their part of the investigation elsewhere. They'd done some good work in the time before Charlie and Frank returned from speaking with Rose.
"She told us what the paper wouldn't let her print," Charlie announced. "Apparently, the golf club Blake identified as the murder weapon was found in the back garden of the house. And it was wiped of fingerprints except one partial print that the techs know couldn't have come from Dane Majors."
Duncan was the first to ask, "Who found the golf club?"
"Sergeant Munro," Frank answered, remembering his former commanding officer coming across the weapon in their initial search of the Majors house all those years ago. "And the part that Rose told us was excluded from trial. The fingerprints. Because Munro confessed that he'd accidentally wiped the prints when he picked up the golf club. He was given the sack that day."
"Well where is Munro now?" Jean asked.
Frank shrugged. "I've no idea."
The rest of the day and long into the night, the team were on the hunt for William Munro. He'd done a very good job of making himself disappear after he'd left the police force. Jean was so focused on the case that she didn't think of Lucien at all until she was driving home at midnight. She used to go to his after work, especially on late nights. She'd let herself into his house and slip under the covers of his bed and fall asleep in his arms. But now, she went home alone and mercifully fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Tomorrow, they'd go to the morgue and see him. But for now, she needed to rest.
The next day, unfortunately, they were all so busy with Munro that they didn't have a chance to make it to the morgue.
In the end, it was Charlie who found Munro. He'd changed his name and hidden in plain sight in Melbourne. Frank and Charlie went to pay him a visit and ask some questions. It was nearly five when Jean remembered she wanted to go to the morgue. She insisted to Duncan that she go alone; she got on well with the staff there, and Lucien would probably need to come in for interview anyway, so she could easily bring him in on her own.
Despite the circumstances, Jean couldn't help checking her reflection in her rearview mirror when she parked her car. Her brown curls were falling limp, which shouldn't have surprised her. It had been a while since she'd had a chance to properly set her hair, the one feminine indulgence she allowed herself. It was hard, working in a man's world. But having a bit of makeup and a meticulous hairdo and red polish on her nails helped give Jean Beazley the show of strength in the world that she so often felt she lacked. And she'd be seeing Lucien. No need for him to see just how miserable she was without him, not when this mess was her fault to begin with.
"He's not here."
Jean was greeted by Ronnie's curt tone. "Did he leave for the day already?" That wasn't like him. Lucien burned the midnight oil just as often as Jean did.
"No, he didn't come in today. I wasn't going to bother him. He's got enough to worry about," Ronnie said.
"I know, this Majors case has got to be killing him," Jean replied knowingly.
"And right on the tails of a broken heart," Ronnie added pointedly.
Jean's heart sank into her stomach. Her professionalism, however, prevented her from replying. She left the morgue with only a polite farewell to Ronnie.
Knowing she didn't have enough overtime to justify going back to the office, Jean knew she needed to get to the bottom of things on her own. She drove straight to Lucien's house.
His car wasn't there, but that wasn't too surprising. He often went out to the local bar for a drink. Or, perhaps if he'd been upset enough to take the day off work, he might have gone to visit Mattie, the apprentice he loved like a daughter, who had gotten a fancy fellowship at a private hospital and left the morgue the year before.
Despite the potential to overstep, Jean let herself into his house. He'd be back soon, no matter where he was. She'd wait.
And just her luck, the Tawny Majors file was sitting open on the coffee table in the living room. Lucien had been scribbling notes all over it. Jean settled in and pored over every single word, preparing her questions for when he returned home.
But he never did. Jean fell asleep on the sofa and woke up with first light. She sat bolt upright. Everything in the house was exactly as she left it the night before. Her knitting, which she'd left in his bedroom before their breakup, was still where it was. The bed hadn't been slept in. All the things in the fridge were exactly as they had been before. No one had been in this house except her.
And that was when the panic set in. She tried to call his mobile. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Jean ran out of the house and into the street, desperate to find something, anything, to indicate where he'd gone. No, no, no, she kept repeating in her mind. Where was he? What had happened!? She had hurt him with the breakup, she knew. But he wasn't the sort to disappear like this. He was too dedicated to the job—to her—to ever pick up and go without a trace.
The shrill ringing of her mobile startled her. She answered it instantly. "Lucien!?" Jean heard the note of panic in her own voice.
"Jean, it's Charlie."
Her heart sunk just a bit. "Yes?"
"It's about Dr. Blake, actually. His car was just found abandoned on the side of the road. Heading out of town. You'd better come back," Charlie told her.
Lucien Blake woke up with his head pounding and his entire body aching.
"Hey there, Doc. Good morning," a sinister voice greeted.
Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and saw Dane Majors staring at him. "What do you want?" he croaked to his captor.
"Well, I want a lot of things. I want to find out who killed my wife. I want to find out how you so royally screwed up your job. I want to find out how it's possible you were able to send an innocent man to prison!" Majors spat.
"You killed Tawny. You beat her to death. You'd done the same thing before a million times. And that night you went to far," Lucien replied with equal vitriol.
That earned him a swift blow to the face. "I was innocent!" Majors bellowed. And apparently that was all the talking that Dane wanted just then. He began to unflaggingly kick Lucien in the stomach and ribs.
Somehow, the military training returned to Major Lucien Blake, despite the fact that he'd been a surgeon and not a soldier when he was in the army. The methods of resisting pain and torment. Just like this. Lucien closed his eyes and forced his mind to take him elsewhere.
"Tawny was my whole life. I loved her! How could you say I'd kill her?" Majors shouted over and over and over. "You know what that's like, Doc? To lose the only person in the world you love? To lose your wife?"
Lucien knew exactly what it was to lose a wife. Mei Lin had been killed in a suicide bomber attack in Singapore just before Li's third birthday. Their beautiful little daughter had run into a shop, letting go off her mother's hand. Mei Lin had gone after her just as the bomb went off. And Lucien had lost everything. Given up his whole life to return to Australia and find a job with the dead; the living gave him too much pain.
And Lucien knew what it was to lose the only person in the world he loved. For years, he and Detective Beazley had skirted around each other. Ignoring the flirting and romantic tension between them, knowing the regulations that could end her career if they ever ran afoul of the rules. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't leave her alone. He had to have her. In every way. He needed to be near her as often as he could, to work with her on their shared cases, going out of his way to get put on homicide cases her squad handled, even hand-delivering reports that could better be done by email and an explanatory phone call. She was unendingly kind and strong and so very lovely. Everything she did was accomplished with grace and elegance and a quiet self-assurance that intrigued him from their first meeting. Lucien had tried to respect her reticence in going out with him—they'd date periodically, have drinks and dinner and a shag here and there until she retreated from him again. This last time, however, had been so much more. They had a relationship in earnest. He got to fall asleep with her in his arms and wake up the same way. They shared dinners at his dining room table. She would bake for him on lazy weekends. They would stay up all night on the sofa, just talking and kissing. He loved her. And she'd left him for the last time.
Now, it seemed, he would be the one leaving her. Dane Majors was going to taunt and torture him, Lucien knew, before he got bored or made a mistake and killed him. He wouldn't see Jean again.
At least, that's what he'd thought. Later, when Majors had left the small house where he'd brought Lucien, the door opened. "Lucien?" a quiet voice called.
He could do nothing but groan in pain. But he knew that voice. His entire body relaxed at hearing the sound.
She came running toward him. "Lucien," she breathed in equal parts shock and relief.
"Jean," he murmured. He'd been rescued. He'd been saved. In every conceivable way, she saved him.
"I need you, Lucien," she whispered to him.
In that moment, all the pain melted away. He couldn't feel anything except desire, passion, lust. Her turquoise-gray eyes bored into him with a fire he could never deny.
Her nimble fingers made quick work of the binds on his wrists and ankles before unbuttoning his shirt and trousers. And then those hands he loved so well curled around his growing hardness, stroking him into a state of near-frenzy.
"Jean," he groaned. This time, however, there was no pain in his voice.
Lucien closed his eyes to enjoy her ministrations. His body was too weak to do anything else. He reached out to touch her, feel her skin beneath his fingers, but couldn't reach.
A splash of liquid hit his face, causing him to gasp and sputter, his eyes snapping open. Dane Majors stood there with a bottle of scotch, pouring it on him. "Thirsty, Doc? What's say we have a drink? A celebration, if you will."
"What are we celebrating?" Lucien asked gruffly, shifting as best he could all tied up and trying to keep his rapidly softening erection from being noticed.
"Well, I got you a friend to keep you company. Sort of. Her body, anyway. I figure you and I can toast to the bitch's death," Majors replied with sadistic glee.
Lucien saw in horror that Rose Anderson was crumpled in the corner. Her eyes were open with shock. A small trail of blood went from the bullet hole in her forehead down her nose. But before he could process any of this, Majors roughly tilted Lucien's head back and poured scotch down his throat.
"Sarge, please!" Jean begged. Her voice was shaking, which she knew was undercutting her argument. "Lucien doesn't just take time off. And no one knows where he is! I've checked with Ronnie and Alice at the morgue and they have no idea. His car was found on the side of the highway, and there's no trace of him anywhere. And with the Majors case reopened, I just know that something's wrong."
"Jean, I cannot put Homicide resources into searching for a missing doctor, even if he was a witness in the original case! Unless you can find some hard evidence linking his disappearance with this case, my hands are tied," Wolfe replied adamantly.
Not one to fight a losing battle, Jean stood up straight and nodded deferentially. She hadn't bothered to tell her commanding officer that she had found the Tawny Majors file; that would have required her to explain how she'd come upon it, in Lucien's home, where she'd spent the night waiting for him. She walked out of Wolfie's office, gripped with fear but determined to find a solution. To find Lucien.
"Where're you off to?" Duncan asked as Jean got her keys from her desk and gathered her files.
"Morgue," she replied without another word. "You don't need me here now, right?"
"Not much we can do until we find something else," Dunny replied sadly. He glanced over to Frank, who was looking sufficiently tortured. The night before, when Jean had tried to follow Lucien home, Frank and Duncan had gone to see Munro. They found that he'd swallowed a bullet. His suicide note only said that he'd protected Tawny's real killer to make sure the real monster got locked behind bars.
Before Jean could leave, Charlie came back to his desk, holding his mobile and looking distressed. "What's the matter?" she asked him with concerned.
"I can't get ahold of Rose. She never has her phone off. It's going right to voicemail," he told them with a worried tone.
Jean frowned. "Hang on, the reporter who broke the story of Dane Majors's release after weeks of interviewing him in prison is possibly missing. The doctor whose testimony locked him up is missing with his car abandoned on the side of the road. The cop who found the murder weapon is dead," she recited. "I think it's time we had a chat with Dane Majors."
The squad agreed. The boys went to work locating Majors, and Jean finally made her way back to the morgue.
"I need your help," she said, entering the examination room.
"Is that so?" Dr. Harvey replied haughtily. Obviously she wasn't anywhere nearer to forgiving Jean for breaking up with Lucien.
"Alice, he's missing," she said quietly. "I went to his house last night and he never came home. But I found the Tawny Majors file with his notes, and I just know that if we can figure out what he was thinking, we can find him."
But Alice looked unconvinced. "I'll take a look at the file when I get to it."
"Please," Jean begged. She placed her left hand flat on her stomach, willing the hurt and fear to stay inside. The back of her right hand pressed against her mouth. "I can't lose him." Jean's voice was muffled against her hand but Alice could hear her anyway.
"Give it here," Alice said finally, taking the file.
It took them a little time to work through Lucien's shorthand musings. Alice knew better how to decipher his handwriting, and she had the medical knowledge to make sense of it. Jean, in a manner that surprised both women, understood the connections Lucien had been making. As though his thoughts were just an extension of her own.
"'Different? Fall?' What does that mean, do you suppose?" Alice asked, looking at the scribbles Lucien had written in the margin on a photograph of the gruesome injuries Tawny's head had sustained from being beaten with a golf club.
Jean leaned in closely to look at the picture and where Lucien's line pointed. "Does this injury look different than the others?" she asked, pointing to where she was looking.
Alice studied it for a moment. "You know, it does. It doesn't seem to be as deep. Perhaps it isn't caused by the same weapon."
Brow furrowed, Jean concentrated for a moment and gasped, "She fell."
"What are you getting at?"
"Alice, based on the evidence in Lucien's report here, do you think it's possible that Tawny Majors fell and hit her head? Is it possible that she was already dead when she was beaten by that golf club?"
"Oh my goodness, that's entirely possible," Alice replied in disbelief. How could Lucien have missed that? Though it stood to reason, he had no indication that she hadn't been beaten to death. But if the beating occurred quick enough, the injuries would have been indistinguishable.
Jean pulled out her mobile to call her team. "Dunny, who else might have been in the Majors house the night Tawny died? Ask Dane when you see him."
"We can't find him, Jean," Duncan answered.
"Dane Majors?"
"No, but we're pretty sure he's at a cabin he and Tawny used to use before they got married. The only record is in Tawny's maiden name and nothing was changed after they got married or after she died. But right now we're on the lookout for Graham Proctor, Tawny's father. We started looking into possible other witnesses after you left. Frank talked to Dane's old neighbors who said that Tawny's father would go 'round to the house all the time."
Jean's mind was racing. "Any word from Rose to Charlie?"
"No," Duncan replied gravely.
"Right. Dunny, you and Frank go find Graham Proctor. I'll pick up Charlie and go to the cabin. Alice and I think that Tawny might have fallen and hit her head. The beating might have been to cover it up."
"Thanks, Jean. We'll use that."
After hanging up with Duncan, Jean raced back to the station to pick up Charlie. Her hands were shaking in fear and adrenaline. If Dane Majors was hiding out in a cabin in the woods, what was he hiding from? What was he hiding there with him?
Charlie gave her directions and tried not to be nervous with the way she was driving. To fast, too erratic. But over their years working together, Charlie had learned well that Jean Beazley's instincts for people and dangerous situations were usually spot on. If she was worried about this, it was probably for good reason.
"I'll take the front, you go 'round back," Charlie instructed, handing Jean the gun he'd signed out from the locker for her. He was glad he'd brought an extra now that Jean was practically vibrating with anxiety beside him.
She nodded in assent and snuck around to the back entrance of the cabin, avoiding the windows.
"Dane Majors?" Charlie called through the door. He knocked a few times. "This is the police, Mr. Majors, open the door, please!"
There was no response. Jean couldn't hear anything inside. Carefully and silently, she tried the backdoor. It was unlocked. She cursed the door as the ancient hinges creaked upon moving. Thankfully, no other sound or movement followed. Jean crept inside and looked around. Yes, Majors had definitely been here. There was evidence of life amidst the dust and grime. There were fresh stains on the floors. Blood. And across the room from that, more blood and the strong smell of alcohol. Jean's stomach turned, and she pressed her fingers to her lips so as to not cry out in panic. She didn't want to think that it was Lucien's blood all over the floors. She was so certain he would be here. And now that he wasn't, she was somehow even more frightened for him.
"Charlie, no one's here," she called.
The young detective came inside and surveyed the same things Jean did. He blanched at the sight. Something caught his eye, and Jean could see his breath get caught in his throat.
"What is it?" she asked, fighting the sudden maternal urge to go comfort him. Charlie was only a couple years older than her boys, and his dark curly hair reminded her so much of her sons.
"That's Rose's jacket," he said with a shaky voice, pointing to the ripped fabric left on the old sofa.
"We need backup," she decided.
Charlie trembled as he took his mobile out of his pocket. "No signal."
"Go out to the main road and call. I'm going to take a look around," she replied.
But almost as soon as Charlie left, Jean heard something in the distance. She dashed outside. That noise…she couldn't quite tell what it was. But dread trickled down her spine.
Jean ran. She ran through the woods toward the sound, terrified of what she might find but even more terrified of what might happen if she didn't arrive in time.
"Who's there!?" Majors shouted.
The sound of his voice caused Jean to dart behind a tree and hide. "It's all over Dane," she yelled, hoping volume would cancel out the way her voice cracked. "Police backup is on its way now. There's no escape."
"I don't really care! You people can't touch me! I am innocent!" he insisted.
"Not anymore! You've kidnapped them, haven't you? Rose Anderson and Lucien Blake." The bile rose in Jean's throat upon saying his voice.
"Funny thought, that. Can you kidnap a corpse?" Majors taunted.
Jean was certain she was about to be sick. She took a chance to look around the tree, seeing Majors waving a gun around wildly. A shovel was on the ground by his feet. One grave had already been dug and filled. A second was halfway finished. Dane's truck was nearby with the boot open. "Where is he, Dane?" she shouted. Her voice was hoarse with emotion now. She could barely get the words out.
"He deserves to be shot," he replied simply, looked over to the truck. "Begging for his life, that's what he deserves."
Somewhere amidst her panic, Jean heard that phrasing. Deserves. Not deserved. Lucien was still alive. She'd save him, she knew. She'd do whatever it takes. So Jean took a risky and stupid move. She tucked her gun in the back of her waistband and walked out from behind the tree. "Shoot me, then."
In surprise more than anything else, Majors pointed his gun at her.
But Jean continued, finding the strength through her terror. "You aren't a killer, Dane. You didn't kill Tawny. She fell and hit her head and died. After the beatings you'd always put her through, it was only a matter of time. The golf club was used to cover up the accident. You were framed. You were. Did your wife deserve to die? Of course she didn't. And Lucien doesn't either. But if you take him, then I've got nothing left. So you might as well shoot me first."
When Majors gripped the gun to curl his finger over the trigger, Jean didn't hesitate. She pulled her concealed gun out and shot three times in quick succession, right into his chest. She didn't even wait for him to hit the ground before sprinting forward to the truck.
And there, tied and gagged and practically unconscious, was Lucien Blake. His usually bright blue eyes were hazy as they met hers. He blinked in recognition. And Jean broke down. A visceral sob escaped her lips. "Lucien," she cried, tears streaming down her face. Her hands were practically useless from shaking as she removed the gag and put her hands in his bearded cheeks. "Lucien," she repeated, unable to form words other than his name.
Lucien was in the hospital for almost three weeks. Jean barely left his side. She asked Wolfie for time off and he agreed. Duncan had gotten a confession from Graham Proctor, who beat his own daughter to frame her husband for what was actually an accidental death and got Munro to help cover it up.
Jean decided not to go to Rose's funeral. She couldn't bear to see Charlie's face, knowing she'd been able to save the person she loved when she couldn't save his.
During the entirety of his recovery from a myriad of broken bones and internal organ damage, Lucien couldn't help but wonder what Jean was doing there. He knew she cared for him, felt responsible for him. But much of that was her job. Her job that she'd chosen over him. He desperately wanted to ask what she thought their future held, if she would leave him again when he was back at work and she had another homicide to solve. But he was too afraid. He couldn't find the words. Didn't want to jinx the fragile comfort they'd found there, silently sitting together in his hospital room. He would read, and she would knit. They'd watch television together. And that was mostly all. He didn't want to push her, knowing that having her there with him was so much more than he ever imagined he could have with her again.
More than once, he would notice her watching him. The look in her eyes was one of concern and…he didn't dare hope for more than that. But in those moments, he could barely contain himself from professing his love for her and begging her to stay with him forever.
When he was discharged from hospital, Jean drove him home. "Let's get you settled, eh? I'll make some dinner. But no whiskey for you tonight. I know you think you know better than your doctor, Lucien, but I'm quite serious. Your liver has been put through the absolute wringer, and you're still recovering," she scolded lightly.
He had to smile. "Yes, Jean."
"I think perhaps you should take a shower. You know you always feel better after you clean yourself up," she suggested.
Lucien went upstairs to finally shower in his own bathroom for the first time in almost a month. Jean was right, a shower would make him feel better.
Jean busied herself in the kitchen, dressing the roast she'd planned for them to share. They hadn't really spoken about their relationship since she so stupidly broke up with him, but hopefully they could have a conversation over dinner. She knew how much she'd hurt him, and she prayed that he could forgive her lack of faith in him, in them. All of this nonsense with Dane Majors had served to convince her without a doubt that she couldn't live without Lucien Blake. She needed him like she needed air. He held her heart, and she could no more survive without his love than she could physically survive without her heart beating in her chest.
Her reverie was interrupted by a thudding sound upstairs. Concerned, Jean turned off the oven and ran upstairs.
She found Lucien collapsed in the bathtub, trembling in the fetal position as the shower poured over him. Without a thought, she climbed into the tub, holding him in her arms. "Lucien, what's wrong? Are you alright?"
"Jean," he croaked.
She was getting soaked by the shower so she reached up and turned off the faucet. "I'm here, Lucien. I'm right here," she soothed. Her hands ran over his naked body gently, careful to avoid the angry bruises that still marred his golden skin. "I'm here. You're safe. I'm here. I'll never leave you," she vowed.
It took a few minutes for him to calm down and get his breathing under control. "I'm sorry, Jean."
"There's nothing to be sorry for. You've survived a terrible trauma, Lucien. It's going to take time. But I'll be here the whole time, I promise you." She knew he probably didn't need it anymore, but she couldn't stop caressing his bare skin. His strong, battered body filled her with every emotion she could name and plenty she couldn't. She wanted nothing more than to avenge him—which she had—and comfort him and heal him and love him. This man who had already survived so much, only to be nearly brought down by a crazed killer. This man who had loved and protected her from the moment they had met. If nothing else, she owed him the same.
"I've missed dinner, haven't I?"
She chuckled, knowing now that his little joke was a sign he was coming back to his own. "It'll keep," she informed him. Jean took his hand in both of hers and kissed it reverently. "Come on, let's get up before we catch a chill. And let's get you to bed. You need to rest."
They carefully stood up in the cold, wet bathtub. She handed him a towel and sent him into the bedroom. Jean needed to get out of her wet things. She wrapped herself in another of his fluffy, warm towels before joining him in his bedroom.
"All settled?" she asked, seeing him lying in bed, still bare-chested but covered by the bedsheets.
"Stay with me?" he requested hesitantly.
Jean smiled softly. "Always." Without a second thought, she dropped the towel from her body and slid under the covers. She noticed how his eyes darkened with desire to see her naked.
They snuggled together, warming each other up. "Jean, what are you doing here?" he asked softly, unable to truly relax and enjoy himself until he knew her intentions.
"I'm taking care of you. Which I intend to do until the day we die," she answered immediately.
"You're sure?"
She took his chin in her hand and forced him to look at her. "Lucien, I love you. I always have, and I always will. And I hate that it took almost losing you, really losing you, to realize that I absolutely cannot live without you. And I know it'll take some time for us to get back to where we were, for me to earn your trust again. But I am not going anywhere," she swore.
Lucien was dumbstruck by her words, as he so often found himself. "You're a marvel, you know."
Jean just smiled softly. "Silly man," she chided gently.
With that, Lucien couldn't help himself. He claimed her lips with his. Gently and softly, at first. Languid movements of lips and tongues, offering more comfort than passion. That, however, did not last long. Lucien's hands trailed down Jean's back, his fingers drumming imaginary rhythms along her spine.
Jean pressed herself against him, reveling in the feeling of finally being back in his arms where she belonged. Everything about him was so big and strong and hard, never failing to make her feel dainty and treasured. One of his hands covered nearly the entire expanse of her back, the other travelling lower to knead the flesh of her bum. She moaned into his mouth, her hand at the back of his neck to anchor him to her.
Mindful of his injuries, Jean pressed against him, forcing him to roll onto his back. She tried to keep her weight off his barely-healed ribs as much as she could. But in shifting, she trapped his growing erection between them, causing him to pull away from her lips with a groan.
"God, I've missed you," he murmured, holding her hips against his, rubbing her against him.
Jean shuddered with desire. She pressed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and down his neck, sucking hard at the juncture between his thick neck and muscled shoulder. She bit down enough to cause a hiss of pleasure to escape his lips before she laved away the delicious pain with her tongue.
He pulled her off him. "Come here," he requested. He scooted down the bed a bid and directed her body up so her knees rested on the pillow beside his ears. "I've dreamed of this that whole time I was stuck in that hospital bed."
Jean knew exactly what he meant. She braced herself by holding tight to the headboard of the bed and lowered herself down onto his face. His hands held her thighs as his lips and tongue buried in her folds. She moaned and breathed sharply, emitting mews of pleasure as she rocked her hips against his mouth. Her orgasm crashed over her, throbbing through her body, and it took everything in her to remain upright and not collapse on him.
Lucien couldn't get enough of the sounds she made, the taste of her, the feel of her, the glorious way her body responded to him. He could barely breathe with the way she was sitting on him, and he couldn't imagine that suffocating could ever be so thoroughly delectable. But he finally did move his mouth away from her. "I need you, Jean," he growled. Despite his weak body, she was so light and small, it was easy to shift and lift her up and off his face and down to his lap.
They didn't waste a moment. Jean hadn't even finished with her aftershocks when he lowered her down onto his hardness. They both gasped at the sensation. She panted with want as he filled her and stretched her, not waiting before moving inside her. His hands gripped her slim, soft hips, controlling her movements. He thrust up into her and pulled her down to grind against him. His eyes practically rolled back in his head to see her breasts bouncing in front of him.
Jean pushed her sweaty chestnut hair off her face, watching him and smiling as she felt the tension build inside her once again. "Yes, Lucien," she moaned. Her fingers moved between them so she could stroke herself to climax.
Lucien pounded into her roughly, nearly painfully aroused at the sight of her, head falling back as she moved to seek her pleasure atop him. The strength and confidence and comfort she seemed to find in his arms, in his bed, was all the more beautiful when he could be here inside her. She screamed his name as she came. It was his undoing. He spilled himself inside her with a roar.
They both fell onto the bed, rolling over to lie on their sides and face each other, just as they had when they'd first gotten into bed. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room. The air chilled their sweat-slick bodies, causing them each to unconsciously reach for the other.
"I do love you, Jean, more than anything in this world," he whispered upon regaining the power of speech.
She hummed happily. "That's all that matters."
Something about her statement jogged something in his memory. He chuckled.
"What's so funny?" she asked, trying not to feel nervous at his strange reaction.
"I was just remembering what Alice and Ronnie said to me after you ended things."
Jean snuggled against his chest, still feeling sensitive for her horrible error. "What did they say?"
"Alice said that we love each other, and that's all that matters. And Ronnie said I should just marry you and we'd sort the rest out later. That's what she and Alice did," he explained.
Jean paused for a moment. "And it worked for them?"
"Apparently."
They were both quiet for a moment. Lucien thought he felt the tension in Jean's body and hoped he was interpreting it correctly. She hadn't dismissed it. But it was madness, certainly. Though perhaps that's just what they needed. He knew he'd do whatever it takes.
"Marry me, Jean." It was a statement, not a question.
Jean smiled. She couldn't help it. "When?"
"Tomorrow?"
She tilted her head up and kissed him softly. "Tomorrow," she whispered.