3.

Kalinda leans back into her SUV, trying to ignore the tense muscles pinching at her spine. There's part of her that expects a car bomb whenever she enters the garage since her first escapade with the bat. She never checks, but she always pauses for a moment, knowing that this could be the moment.

But Blake is smarter than she is, playing the long game. Kalinda exhales, her hand vibrating as she turns the key in the ignition.

Right now, for instance. This frame-up is only the beginning. Blake has at least a dozen traps set for her, and Kalinda knows she can only see a few of them. And nothing that starts with someone saying "Leela" can lead anywhere good.

It's been a few weeks since she took a deep breath. As she maneuvers out of the parking garage, winds down State towards the entrance to the Dan Ryan, she struggles to fill her lungs.

For some reason that remains obscure to her, Cary has her back. What happens through the State's Attorney's office probably doesn't have to worry her too much. If Cary took the time to warn her, he's liable to keep her safe. She doesn't have to like the protectiveness to make use of it.

But it can only protect her from so much. Cary is a child. He can't dodge her past and can't keep her secrets. And Blake is talking to Alicia—to Alicia—and who the hell knows who else.

Kalinda doesn't know what doors she left open, where Blake is getting his information, and she knows she's provoked him more than she should. What she does when she's cornered. She burns things down. She should have learned by now.

She parks with ease and trips delicately up the stairs to her apartment. It looks dingy to her, for some reason, and she's sure by now Blake knows where she lives. She slides into an armchair, wondering if maybe she should move. With the new pay increase from Will, she can certainly afford to.

Well. If Blake is going to come at her from this many directions, the only solution is as many solutions as possible. Right now the advantage is clear: Blake knows who she is. She doesn't have any idea who Blake is. For all she knows, he's a criminal, careless and unskilled at hiding, and all she needs is the knowledge of it to bring him crashing down. She's pretty sure she would kill him if she could, if she thought she could get away with it, and the feeling scares her a little. It must be what the name "Leela" awakens in her.

Lana Delaney would know about Blake. And Lana Delaney would check it out for her.

Of course Lana would check it out for her. The idea unfurls its petals in Kalinda's mind. She hasn't seen or spoken to Lana in—she's not sure, maybe a year, and they didn't part on the best of terms. But the right tone of voice, a carefully opened button, are usually enough to bring Lana back to Kalinda's side.

The key is control, in which Kalinda has been decidedly lacking when it comes to Blake Calamar. And for that matter, sex with Lana has an odd way of slipping out of Kalinda's hands, too. Maybe Kalinda shouldn't sleep with her, just tease her enough to pique her interest.

Kalinda's phone says it's six-thirty. She slips her coat back on and marches back down the two flights. She knows Lana's work habits well enough; she'll still be at the federal building for at least another hour. Long enough for Kalinda to catch her. There's no use waiting. Too much is riding on this.

/

Kalinda's thighs close around Lana's foot, and Lana keeps her big toe moving, slow and steady, proud of her own dexterity. Kalinda's mouth has fallen open, and Lana is transfixed by the darkness of her eyes and the back of her throat. She longs to kiss Kalinda, but it would be terribly awkward from this position, and anyway, she supposes Kalinda has made her position on that clear enough.

Don't you want intimacy?

No.

A moan escapes Kalinda, and Lana smiles; she'll have to be satisfied with that, and she almost is.

She watches Kalinda grip the glass edge of the table, watches her efforts not to let anything show on her face. Moisture clings to the toe of Lana's stocking; she presses a little harder, flicks her toe up and down, and Kalinda releases a quick, sharp gasp, then presses her lips together.

This is a picture Lana wants in her mind, Kalinda straining against the feelings that will clearly overwhelm her soon enough. Her file has filled again with new pictures of Kalinda—Kalinda trotting through Lockhart/Gardner investigations in her high boots, holding conversations with known Bishop associates, with Lemond Bishop himself.

As always, Lana will swear to Kalinda she doesn't do it on purpose. When the opportunity to investigate the drug trade crossed her desk, Lana jumped on it immediately, relieved to depart from the Florrick intrigue—which didn't look like it would be moving forward anytime soon—and more relieved to disconnect from Kalinda, who continued to weave an odd, confusing, compelling subplot. Lana has already destroyed more than one relationship this way, the indelible ink of Kalinda smeared over her sexual desire. She needed to move forward.

Kalinda leans forward, the movement slight enough that Lana wouldn't have seen it if she weren't looking so closely. Her breasts heave beneath her dress. Lana's own chest rises and falls as she tries in vain to temper her excitement.

But no sooner had Lana received her assignments for the Bishop investigation than Kalinda appeared again. Just here and there, a few sightings with the man and his associates—clearly because she was linked to his attorneys, but she was nevertheless a person of interest. Lana was compelled once again to track Kalinda, and if a copy of the odd surveillance photo went missing, who could blame Lana for bringing work on an overwhelming, complex investigation home with her?

Or at least, Lana had thought Kalinda peripheral. But the intensity of her questions about this Blake Calamar leave her unsure. As it turned out, Calamar is a notable player, connecting the Bishop organization to the trade in DC. That Kalinda should be aware of these dealings when Lana's people were not makes Lana wonder, once again, how well she really ever knew Kalinda.

And Kalinda's in trouble. Lockhart/Gardner will likely go down if it keeps up its dealings with Bishop, and if Kalinda's linked to Calamar outside of work, as Lana suspects, she's in a vortex too powerful for her, certainly too powerful for Lana. She made the job offer once more tonight, still hoping against hope that she could protect Kalinda from what's coming—Lana's respected enough by now that her recommendations will hold water at the Bureau, possibly even above and beyond the sketchier elements of Kalinda's background. And really, it would benefit the Bureau, too—Kalinda's good at this. Even better than Lana thought; Lana still has no idea how Kalinda keeps apprised of her investigations, how her questions always seem precisely timed to Lana's current work.

But none of it matters. Kalinda doesn't want Lana's protection, doesn't want Lana's anything. She has made that perfectly clear.

Lana flicks her toe once more, and Kalinda's back arches and she claws the glass top of the table as her head falls forward and a cry tumbles out of her mouth. She lets out two or three quiet, squeaky gasps, and Lana slides her foot out from beneath Kalinda's dress. She crosses and bends over Kalinda, kissing her just once, deep and full.

Kalinda looks up at her. Satisfaction has chased everything else from her eyes. She smiles at Lana, lips together, and then rises from the table and takes her coat from the hook by the door. Lana looks back at her. Kalinda slips out the door, and Lana watches it click shut, not wanting to open her mouth to say goodbye.