CHAPTER FOUR

. . . . .

. . . .

Juliet found a decent extended-stay hotel near the police station and stayed there the rest of the week. She had bookmarked some apartment ads but didn't want to commit to any particular rent until she knew how things were going to play out with Shawn. Her name was on their lease alongside his, and she was liable for half the rent for the next three months.

Granted, this was better than the full amount she'd been paying since he seldom got around to contributing his share, but her salary only went so far, and she'd already laid out a chunk of her savings toward furnishing the house.

Maybe some extra shifts for overtime pay, she reflected. At least for awhile.

Another thing she had to do was tell Carlton and the Chief, but she wanted a little breathing room, if Shawn would allow it.

He'd been texting her. Little 'love you' and 'come home' messages. But he hadn't called and he hadn't been to the station and no one was looking at her funny so maybe he wasn't ready to broadcast the breakup either.

On Friday she signed up to work some overtime over the weekend. Just one shift for starters. She needed to reserve Saturday for finding a cheap apartment. If she could score something near the station she might be able to walk instead of drive, which would save on gas money.

Carlton came up behind her while she was looking at rental ads on Friday afternoon. She sensed his presence—smelled his faint cologne—and closed the browser window unhurriedly, turning to face him.

His perceptive blue eyes were curious but he said nothing, only handed her a case folder and went back to his desk.

He'd been saying nothing a lot the past few months. They were working very well together, better than ever, but he did not speak of either her personal life or his.

She would tell him next week.

She would.

Abruptly he got up and strode back to her desk, expression shuttered but his voice even, and those Mediterranean blue eyes showing everything and nothing all at the same time.

"Everything okay?" he asked, and Juliet had the oddest sensation they were on exactly the same wavelength.

"It will be," she said honestly and smiled, because when he looked like that it was either smile or melt into goo.

Carlton relaxed. "You ever need a place to crash, O'Hara, for any reason, any time, my spare bedroom's yours." With that he was gone again, this time out of the bullpen completely.

Juliet stared after him, mouth open in shock.

What the hell just happened?

He took one look at her screen full of apartment ads, deduced she was moving out, and offered her a place to stay? In the course of ten seconds? No questions, no I-told-you-sos? And not even one shred of doubt that he'd read the situation correctly?

Yes. Yes, he did.

Because he knew her better than anyone else. Because he cared about her. Because he was her Gus.

Because he was her Carlton.

And she loved him, for all of it. Dammit, she loved him.

. . . . .
. . . .

The trouble with acting on instinct was that sometimes his instincts were colossally stupid.

Not wrong, but likely to kill him.

Of course Juliet would decline his offer, but what in the hell would he do if she accepted it?

Of course whatever trouble she was currently having with Spencer (which perhaps explained her recent tiredness) would be resolved. She always forgave him and always took him back.

Of course having her across the hall in his guest room would be torture.

Not necessarily, Mr. Enough Now pointed out. You do have Manda to distract you, and she is very very distracting.

He hadn't invited Manda over to his place yet. He wasn't sure if he wanted to. It still felt too soon.

If Juliet did take him up on the offer, did that mean he had to tell Manda about it? Not telling Emily about his attractive female partner up front caused her to break off their relationship. He suspected Manda might be more tolerant, but then he simply didn't know her well enough yet to guess what her reaction might be.

Meanwhile, Juliet was hurting. He saw it in her dark blue gaze, no matter how level it was, when she turned to him after closing the browser. He couldn't just stand by and do nothing. Even Mr. Enough Now didn't argue that point.

He thunked his head against the cold restroom wall, and then again for good measure. Didn't help.

. . . . .
. . . .

Before the end of the day, Juliet texted Carlton a simple "thank you."

He glanced across the bullpen and nodded, expression again unreadable.

She knew she couldn't accept his offer. Feeling the way she did about him, and knowing he was with Emily, staying in his spare room was a risk she couldn't take right now.

When she got to the hotel she stopped in the office to ask for an extra blanket. The a/c in her room had two settings: low/Death Valley, or high/Ice Age.

The night manager said she'd send some along, and then added, "Could I ask … you're a police officer, right?"

Juliet knew the woman had seen her badge when she registered on Tuesday evening. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No, no—did you say how long you would be staying with us?" She had a matter-of-fact air about her, but her present tone was unduly curious.

"At least another week. I'm between apartments and need to stay close to the station."

"Well, by coincidence," the manager pushed on, "we're between security guards."

Juliet smiled slowly. "Ah… my full-time job is all I can handle."

"Oh, it's nothing like that. Our new night guard can't start until next Friday. You wouldn't have to patrol or anything. If you were amenable to just… being a sort of first responder until then, I could offer you a substantial discount on your room rate."

She hesitated.

The woman—nametag Rebecca—added, "It's a pretty quiet place. The only trouble we tend to have is around the pool when someone sneaks booze in."

Still she hesitated. "How substantial a discount?"

Rebecca grinned. "Fifty percent."

That was a nice number, she had to admit. "You do call 911 when there's trouble, right?"

"Absolutely. Hotel policy."

"And no patrolling the property?"

"Not for you. Just the occasional appearance when we need a police presence fast."

Juliet thought about her bank account balance. "Okay, deal."

Rebecca was thrilled, the rate was adjusted, and Juliet's extra blankets were waiting when she got to her room.

Not a bad end to the day.

. . . . .
. . . .

Manda, he decided, liked to push his buttons.

She also liked to unbutton his buttons and unzip his zipper but so far he'd managed to keep sex off the table. Also the bed, the chair, and currently her sofa.

"You said," he protested as he tried to disentangle from her Sunday afternoon, "that you wanted to get to know me."

"I do, baby. I do. There's just something about you and your gorgeous eyes and that sternum bush which makes me want to know you in the Biblical sense too. You were so utterly delicious the first time," she added with a leer.

He made it to his feet and held her off with one long arm. "You are very attractive," he admitted, "and very tempting, and I am taking a hell of a lot of cold showers lately. But you have to dial it back, Manda. I'm begging you."

Manda laughed, sitting cross-legged and delightfully disheveled on his abandoned end of the sofa. "I'm sorry. It's your fault for being so sexy."

"I'm not sexy," he said crossly, sprawling into the armchair. "And button your shirt."

She grinned, and parted her blouse even more. "This shirt?" Her bra was red and lacy and Carlton eyed her cleavage. "This one?"

"That one, Jezebel."

Unfazed, she left the blouse open and instead leaned back, arms behind her head. "I'm too overheated to button up right now."

He was overheated himself but he could not allow himself to succumb. If this fledgling relationship was going anywhere at all, it needed to include some conversation, along with some time spent fully clothed and not touching.

What did he even know about her? She worked in the coffee shop at night to pay off her car, and her day job was in a bookstore. She spoke of friends she wanted him to meet, liked dogs and avoided onions.

He liked onions, but this wasn't a deal-breaker.

"Please," he said with severity. "Button the blouse."

"You'll miss them when they're hidden," she cajoled, trailing her fingers along the lace.

Carlton swallowed. "As long as I have an imagination, they're never really hidden."

Manda burst out laughing and took pity on him, buttoning the blouse and offering instead to turn on the TV.

But then she wanted to watch 9 ½ Weeks.

. . . . .
. . . .

Juliet went over to the house on Sunday after her extra shift at the station, knowing it was time to talk to Shawn about the details of the breakup.

She'd texted that she was coming and he responded with 'OK,' but his Norton wasn't in sight.

Gus' Blueberry, however, was in the driveway, and he himself was in the kitchen eating fast-food tacos from a bag. "Hey, Juliet. Hope you don't mind. I didn't know when you'd get here."

She settled in the chair across from his. "Not that I mind seeing you, but where's Shawn? Are you his designated mediator?"

He sighed a little. "Yeah. He asked if I'd stand in for him. He said for you to take what you want and he'll deal with the rest."

Simple enough, she supposed. "Will you move in with him?"

Gus blanched. "I couldn't survive that. I don't know how you did."

"Gus, come on. You two spend eighteen hours a day together anyway; why not share rent and utilities?"

"Share," he scoffed. "I love Shawn, Juliet, but I need a space where I can have things how I want them. You've seen the Psych office, right? You know what I'm talking about."

"I understand. But look, you're paying most of the bills on the office, all of your own and a lot of his. Why not reduce your overall costs and—"

He held up his hand. "Juliet, Shawn moved fifteen times in the last eight years. If I share this place with him he's just as likely to move out on a whim as stay, and I'd be stuck with way more rent than I can handle."

It struck her again that she didn't understand Shawn at all. But she'd loved him enough to take a chance things could work out, hadn't she?

She looked down at the placemat as a wave of sadness overtook her.

Gus said gently, "I know you care about him. He knows it too. You gave it a really good shot, Juliet. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"He's really lucky to have you," she whispered. "I think I am too."

He grinned. "You know that's right."

. . . . .
. . . .

Carlton sometimes stopped at the farmers' market on Tuesday before work. If he bought fresh vegetables they'd keep in the station fridge—well and threateningly marked—or in a bag under his desk, and he made a pretty impressive chef salad if he did say so himself.

Waiting in line to pay for his cucumbers and tomatoes, he idly watched a family a few feet away. A mother and two kids, a laughing dad and a cooing baby in a carrier.

Some day... maybe.

He smiled—without benefit of a morning joe, even—and thought if he stayed on this Give Up Juliet track he might just have a shot.

From his right, Manda appeared, beaming and pretty in the morning sun. He'd decided he liked that lavender streak in her hair, but wouldn't rush to introduce her to his mother.

Of course, he never rushed to introduce anyone to his mother.

"Hey, sexy! Didn't know you hung out here."

She pressed up alongside him and kissed his cheek, which was fairly chaste for Manda, but in the next second he felt one of her hands on his ass and the other right smack dab over his crotch.

Jerking away from her, he snapped, "Hey!"

Manda laughed. "I was just seeing where else you might keep cucumbers."

"Knock it off! There's kids here," he barreled on, gesturing to the family, who'd turned at the noise. He lowered his voice and pulled on her arm to drag her out of earshot. "That was completely out of line."

"Oh, Carlton, relax. No one saw anything."

Carlton glared at her, taking in both her complete lack of awareness of how angry he was as well as how inappropriate her actions were.

She patted his face. "You are adorable."

"You're… not," he said flatly. "You have a problem."

Her eyes widened. "Well… maybe I get a little carried away, but—"

He thrust his bagged vegetables at her. "I have to go."

Striding clear of the market, he knew one thing for sure: this was most likely the end of the road for him and the girl with the lavender-streaked hair.

The certainty was cemented when he got to the station and entered her name into the database, because on the ride over he'd suddenly remembered the way she'd laughingly said "not again, anyway," the night on the pier when he said they shouldn't take a chance on being arrested for public indecency.

First surprise, since nothing came up under Manda Crockett, was that her given name was Amanda after all.

Second surprise, and sadly no surprise at all: along with the pot bust and car-keying incidents she had admitted to, there were also four—four—arrests for public indecency. He read each charge grimly: sex on a park bench, sex under the pier, sex in the middle of a stadium after hours, and sex in a… holy Mother of God, sex in a church pew?

His phone buzzed: a text from the sex fiend in question.

How mad are you, my studmuffin?

You had sex in a church? BEFORE A CHRISTENING?

That mad, huh.

She called, and he was too angry not to answer, but he did take the phone into the conference room .

"Look, I assumed you ran my priors."

"No! I thought you'd told me the worst!"

"Honey, come on. So I get over-excited! I keep telling you how sexy you are, don't I? You really rocked my world on our first date, and I—"

"Amanda," he said deliberately, "I told you I needed to go slow, and I told you I didn't do public displays. You... you fondled me about five feet away from small children. That's... that's just creepy. I meant what I said: you have a problem. Get therapy, and get it now. And lose my number. We're done dating." He ended the call with a savage jab to the screen, and paced around the table for a few minutes until he felt calm enough to return to his desk.

But he snagged a cruller from the coffee bar to help the process along.

. . . . .
. . . .

Today was the day.

Thursday, sunny, lunch at one of their usual spots after a witness interview. Juliet was feeling calm and settled and hardly at all jealous of Emily freakin' Adkins.

She had rented a small storage unit a few days ago and every morning before work stopped by the house to collect items which belonged to her. Shawn was always still asleep, dead to the world or pretending to be, and she left a note each time listing what she'd taken.

She was no closer to finding an apartment, or having the time to look for one, but felt she was moving forward nonetheless.

Carlton, this week, had seemed tense, but it wasn't directed at her. He hadn't asked her about her living arrangements but she knew he'd noticed Shawn's absence. One afternoon, Dobson mentioned he hadn't seen him lately and Carlton, after a glance over at Juliet, responded only, "Enjoy it while it lasts."

Well, it was going to last.

"I broke up with Shawn," she said after he set his empty tea glass down.

Those large blue eyes focused on her at once, searching her in the way only Carlton could—the quintessential detective in all things—but he said nothing.

"Last week. It's over."

Still he hesitated. "You moved out?"

"Yes."

"You… okay?" His tone was part caution, part concern, part gruff, part don't-you-dare-tell-anyone-I-give-a-damn.

Juliet let out a breath. "Yes, I am. I wanted to tell you before anyone else, and after we get back to the station, I'll tell the Chief. So far he's not making any trouble but you know he's… unpredictable. "

Carlton rolled his eyes, but kept his opinion to himself. "Where are you staying?"

"At that extended-stay hotel three blocks over."

His dark brows furrowed immediately. "That's not—"

"It's perfectly fine," she assured him. "The clientele is pretty low-key."

"I meant you don't have to stay in a hotel at all," he muttered.

For a few seconds her heart thudded, and she couldn't think what to say.

"I saw you signed up for overtime," he added. "If that's for the money, you know you—" He stopped again and took a breath, reaching up to scratch at his neck. "Never mind. I'm butting out. But if you need anything, let me know." The waitress set the check down and he grabbed it up, rising in the same second to head to the register.

Always running when he's embarrassed, she thought dimly, but she couldn't absorb every message wrapped up in his rush of words, because her brain quit working when his hand, pushing back at his collar just now, had exposed a hickey on his neck.

And that could only mean one thing.

Emily Adkins had to die.

If he thought she was quiet on the ride back to the station because she didn't like his offer of help, he was wrong. He glanced at her several times, and she tried to radiate calm, but mainly she was struggling to quell the furious jealousy coursing through her system.

Get a grip, O'Hara. You knew he had a girlfriend, and where there's a girlfriend, there's going to be hickeys.

God knew she'd be leaving them all over his lean body if she had the chance.

Which thought gave her goosebumps.

Just keep your mouth shut, O'Hara.

Keep. It. The. Hell. Shut.

Carlton parked the car and they walked toward the station, and still he said nothing and she said nothing.

"So I guess things are going well with you and Emily," she said when they were nearly to the steps, because she was a nosy and masochistic fool.

He took one step more before her words registered, and turned at once. "Why do you say that?"

Juliet looked up into his blue, blue eyes and realized his tone was one of consternation. "Well, I noticed… um…" She gestured helplessly to her own throat.

Carlton's hand immediately went to his, and he flushed. "Oh. No. Emily broke it off because she was freaked about you. This is from Manda." Then he turned again and bounded up the steps.

"Wait, what? Emily—freaked about—wait! Who the hell is Manda?"

And why is someone named Manda sucking on your damned neck?

Juliet raced after him, knowing she was about to make an absolute idiot of herself, but Carlton had come to a stop at the front desk, signing in briskly.

Sergeant Allen cleared her throat before Juliet could say a single stupid word. "Detective Lassiter, you have a visitor."

He turned as she pointed to a woman who was approaching him from the bench.

"Hello, Carlton." She was attractive, dressed casually but expensively, with long brown hair and a wide, almost knowing smile.

Helloooo Manda, Juliet hissed internally, and welcome to my turf. Don't count on making it out alive, sweetie.

Carlton said with surprise, "Hi. What brings you here?"

Probably more neck-sucking, Juliet thought bitterly, and had to stop herself from reaching for her service weapon. She wished she could see Carlton's face but his back was to her.

"Have you got a few minutes to talk?"

After a moment—Juliet really really really wanted to see his eyes—he said, "Yeah, sure," and took the accursed woman's elbow to lead her down the hall.

Juliet drew in a breath, trying to collect herself.

"Figures," Allen went on, and Juliet looked at her now. She was watching them progress down the hall toward the conference room, and her expression was baleful.

"What'd he do?" Sometimes he accidentally walked off with the sign-in pen and Allen tended to take it personally.

Allen glanced at her. "Him? Nothing. Her."

"What'd she do?"

You know, other than freaking exist.

"You don't know?" After Juliet shook her head, Allen's expression cleared. "Right, maybe you never met her. Lucky you are, too. Damn woman did enough damage when she was in the picture."

"So who is she?" she asked faintly, afraid she already knew.

"Detective O'Hara, that there is the ex-Mrs. Lassiter, Victoria Heart-Stomping Parker herself."

. . . . .

. . . .