Chapter 3

"We need help," Jules mumbled.

Behind the duo, the storm had lessened its siege against the beachfront city; the thunder and wind still howled in unprovoked anger deep in the dark skies that lit with persistent lightning revealing the thick ominous clouds. The rain littering the Earth below keeping the flood waters flowing, however, the winds were no longer strong enough to steal the air from your lungs and the lightning had retreated to the skies.

Jules' shivering shoulders drew close to her ears in attempt to retain her remaining body heat. The rain and prolonging winds had made it very hard for her to succeed. Her fingers had gone numb only within a few seconds of exposure and after another moment it had spread to her ears, nose, and calves turning them prickly bright red. Like her partner standing next to her, she felt vulnerable being as drenched as she was. Although her clothes were a dark opaque black, they felt white and transparent, especially under the shocked gaze of Shawn Spencer.

Shawn felt a grin tug against his lips as he watched her cheeks flush in embarrassment.

Carlton attempted to still his quivering limbs and refused to lock eyes with either one of the private detectives who now stood opposite him. His shoulders were slumped, physically being pushed down by his own pride and the weight of the dripping clothes. This building was probably the one place he would never be caught dead in, let alone sopping wet and uncomfortable. His stomach churned at the thought of asking the faux-detectives for any kind of aid. He'd rather get pneumonia and die, a regrettable but likely possibility had he remained outdoors. Unfortunately, this decision wasn't made by him. It was made by his junior partner who threatened to expose his extremely manly fear of snow globes to the police department if he did not come with her. They grow up so fast.

He knew somewhere in the depth of his mind that he was extremely proud of her for standing up to a head detective such as him and admired her gall, however, it didn't help that he was now at Spencer's doorstep, soaking and vulnerable. He really wished he had his gun, at least then he wouldn't feel so naked. He might just be able to blow that glinting tooth right out of Spencer's grin.

"You need help? Well, join the party. It's been a rough night," With a sympathetic voice, Gus wrapped his hand around his friend's wrist and yanked him out of the doorway, gesturing with the other for the other two to come inside. He did not need to elaborate on the rough night remark, for the two seemed to understand completely after stepping onto the soaked hard wood floor and the debris of the earlier invasion came into view. Gus shoved the dustpan into Shawn's chest, causing Shawn to reflexively close his hands around it. Shawn was half tempted to punch Gus in the shoulder for that, but by the time he had readied a fist, Gus had released him and was already heading off to grab some towels for the two dripping detectives.

For a few moments as the refugees of the storm awkwardly huddled indoors, nobody spoke. Shawn felt a familiar tug on a nerve buried in the back of his mind. His subconscious mind had noticed something, and now his conscious mind had to seek it out. He ran his eyes up and down the shivering forms trying to pull out clues from their appearance, but all he could discover was a new-found sense of the word "wet." It looked as though the rain waters had washed all the evidence of their earlier hours away. He found himself studying the junior detective much more than the tall lanky head detective. Her figure was much more appealing. He had to suppress an urge forming in the deepest part of his chest to move the strands of hair that had glued themselves to Juliet's flushed face.

He watched as their clothes clung uncomfortably to them, and was suddenly very appreciative he was dry. Both of them looked as though they were ready to rip their clothing from their bodies if it meant they could stop feeling the cold touch of the fabric. The detectives had looked longingly at Shawn's clothes, and for a moment, Shawn wondered if he'd need to fight them over them.

He knew that if they were to attack, he would not be able to fend himself against them both—he might lose a sock or something with Juliet, but for the most part he'd be able to hold her back. With Carlton however, he might only have a sock by the end of the quarrel. Not to mention the possible embarrassment.

Shawn took a step back, keeping the shivering duo at an arm's length as he glanced quickly at the closet door his friend had disappeared into. He saw some movement inside before the door opened to reveal Gus cradling newly folded towels.

After the towels had been distributed, Shawn finally broke the silence.

"What the hell happened to you guys and why are you here?"

Juliet winced at the abruptness of the question. Lassie simply expected it. Both exchanged glances at each other, then at the two men.

"You mean you don't know?" Lassie's voice was surprisingly soft. Jules had lowered her shoulders and a look of concern washed over her features. Gus inched closer to Shawn, both able to sense the foreboding atmosphere. The wind jostled the door.

"Are you talking about the blueberry?" Gus asked, "In which case, we know all about that." He frowned. Shawn patted him reassuringly on the shoulder, he frowned as well. His eyes felt misty.

"What?—blueberry?" Jules looked perplexed.

"What the hell are you talking about Guster," Lassie growled through feral teeth, "This is serious."

"Our—" Shawn started.

"My car." Gus interrupted, eyeing Shawn.

"Psych's car." Shawn added.

"It's my car Shawn, knock it off."

"I think it's my car too. I use it as much as you—maybe even more."

"I paid for it Shawn, that makes it my car."

"Just because you pay for something doesn't make it yours."

"Yes it does Shawn! That's the whole reason people pay for things!"

"tch, C'mon son—"

"I swear to god I'm losing IQ points just listening to you morons," Lassie rubbed the place between his eyebrows soothing a forming headache, "Anyway, as I was saying—No Guster. This isn't about your feminine car. It's about—"

Jules stepped in front of Lassie, scooping Shawn's hands up into her small soft ones, "It's about your dad Shawn," she frowned. Shawn's brows furrowed, he looked her dead in the eyes and stared. She was telling the truth, he knew it. He might not be psychic, but he could sense it. He took a step back, ripping his hands from hers. His heart started racing.

"No," He turned his back, "my dad's at home. He's watching old reruns of the A-Team and nothing happened. Nothing at all."

"Shawn his truck—" Jules tried, Shawn's shoulders jerked upwards tensely as he turned. He pointed at her menacingly, his teeth barring, "I want you to get out now. This is my building and I have the right to choose who enters it. Neither of you are welcome here, get the hell out." He pointed at the door with a quick swing of his arm. His eyes burning holes into the shocked junior detective in front of him. The detectives looked at each other, then accepted their predicament. They headed out the door—only stopping when Jules took a second to glance back over her shoulder.