CHAPTER SEVEN: ADVICE

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M. You got that? M! (I can't seem to stop.) (Sorry.) (Not really, but you've been warned.)

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"No way did that kid have anything to do with this," Spencer declared as he and Guster returned from the Tanner home.

"And you know because?" Juliet stepped away from Carlton as if she hadn't been nearly canoodling him.

Spencer shrugged. "I'm a psychic, Jules."

Guster nodded. "It's just obvious."

Lassiter shook his head, already losing his good mood. "That's all we get? It's just obvious? That's what we tell Vick?"

"You can tell her whatever you want, Lassie, but Brett Tanner didn't do any of this."

"Is he even home?" Juliet pressed. "Did you talk to him?"

"No, he's at one of his two part-time jobs. Or he's in class. Gus?"

"Class," Guster clarified. "He's pre-med."

"Well, then of course," she said with exaggerated understanding. "No pre-med student ever showed bad judgment."

"Didn't you tell us back at the station you thought Tanner was a good suspect?"

Spencer smiled innocently. "Well, really, Lassie. I was looking through an upstairs window. Anyone can divine incorrectly through that kind of filter."

"But not talking to him at all let you 'divine' correctly? That's just… swell. Come on, O'Hara. Let's take the children home and get back to work."

It was a silent ride except for Spencer once again arguing with Guster about food—this time over which snacks went best with comedies, and which with James Bond films—and when they got back to the station, those two went to visit with Woody. A fine trio they made, Lassiter thought, the glib leading the weird.

As they neared the Chief's office, she came out and thrust a report into Lassiter's hands. "The purple fiber found on the roof of Galway's house does not match the purple uniform shirts from Decker's."

"Well, that sucks." He skimmed the report, summing up for Juliet. "The fiber from the roof was more like a sweater, whereas the fiber from the uniforms is more like a t-shirt." He scowled.

Vick, hands on hips, looked at them both expectantly. "And? What did you find at his house? I'm really tired of this man and his flying monkeys calling me every half hour."

When Lassiter hesitated, Juliet explained the 'numbering' of Galway's lawn, adding, "It's increasingly ridiculous, Chief. A broken window, some lawn paint, and what do we call this, littering? Galway is about to stroke out, and I'm not that far behind him. It's a big waste of our time."

Karen Vick gave her a slow, very tricky smile. "I know you're not suggesting you're too good for this case."

Juliet was horrified. "Of course not!"

Lassiter intervened. "She's just saying that if you were to prioritize cases based on our experience and expertise, you might not—"

She cut him off. "Detective Lassiter, you've been a cop long enough to know that sometimes others set our priorities for us. In this case, it's the Mayor. So the faster you catch these idiots, the better." She started to turn, then added, "Is Spencer helping at all?"

He rolled his eyes, and Juliet answered for them both. "He's not giving us anything concrete, but then there's not a lot to go on. He says Brett Tanner is innocent, but can't give a reason."

Vick sighed. "I'd rather have you find me a reason that someone's guilty, please. Stat." She spun on her heels and returned to her office.

Lassiter eyed Juliet, who seemed as annoyed as he felt. "Back to the employees list," he said grimly, and they split up.

Before lunch, Juliet had to go out for an appointment. She stood by his desk and smiled down at him, and with her body blocking anyone's view, she put her hand out to cover his. "I would have suggested we find a dark corner to not have lunch together in, if you know what I mean, but you'll take a raincheck, won't you?" Her voice was low, her eyes bright, and he remembered how she sounded in bed.

Lassiter felt warm, and her pleased glance at his ears confirmed he was blushing. As if real men blushed. "Uh, yeah. Roger that."

He watched her walk down the hall, despite his intention not to do so, hoping no one noticed him watching. She stopped when one of the uniforms spoke to her, and smiled up at the man, perfectly pleasant in her uniquely Juliet way, and he wondered again: what is she doing with me?

Spencer and Guster returned from their visit to Woody in the morgue, and met Juliet as she was leaving; Lassiter moved back to the window, idly watching as the three of them chatted in the parking lot for a few moments.

Juliet was just so pretty and so… so much more like other people than he was. There was just no way she would be able to—would even want to—sustain a relationship with him. They were too different. He was too dysfunctional, impatient, unbending, rigid… too Lassiter.

Memories of last night crowded into his brain: she was with you, idiot. She cried out your name. She clutched you. She let you into her bed and into her body and hell, even her shower. And she wasn't drunk or delusional either. She chose to be there, to let you be there. Accept this.

His heart suddenly ached with fear, with anticipated loss.

Juliet got into her car and drove away, and he sat down at his desk and wished to be someone else.

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Returning to the station with all errands squared away, Juliet was hoping to find a least a few minutes alone with Carlton before she settled back into work. She wanted to make sure he'd taken time to eat, and she wanted also to rub up against him illicitly somewhere in a private spot, with related kissing and groping involved (also in private spots) (several). All very unprofessional, but extremely necessary.

But he was not at his desk, and upon inquiry, she learned he'd stepped out a few minutes earlier, saying he'd be back in an hour.

Disappointing, she thought; maybe he'd assumed she'd be away longer.

Or maybe he'd gone to buy bed repair supplies; it was only the bed's leg which had gone kerplunk. She'd assured him this morning in the shower—mmmmm, the shower—that the bed was old, passed off to her by her family when she first moved to Santa Barbara, but he'd murmured something about it being their bed now and she'd forgotten to pursue the line of conversation, especially with his tongue doing that thing to her which, if she kept thinking about it, would reduce her to a puddle right here at her desk.

There was no text or email or even a post-it note to give her a clue, however, and that was disappointing too.

Wait, the little voice said.

Dammit. He's thinking again.

Juliet sighed. This man was going to be hard to convince. It would be worth it, but it sure wouldn't be easy.

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Lassiter sat in Flanagan's with a Coke and a club sandwich and a mood he couldn't shake. It was a familiar mood, the one which said you are useless to other people and you should just go live in a cave.

God, what is wrong with you? The amazing young woman you've loved for years is within your reach and you're questioning that? He dug his fingertips into his temples, trying to massage sense into his brain.

"That's goin' ta leave a mark, O'Lassiter." Mac didn't wait for an invite; he just plopped down onto the seat across from him.

"There's no O in my name."

Mac tilted his head, considering. "Ah, but I like it better my way. O'Lassiter seems legit. You know, like my accent." He grinned, and Lassiter couldn't help but grin back. "Now why are ye tryin' to poke holes in yer head?"

Lassiter sighed. "Give it your best bartender guess."

"But ye were just in here, what, two days ago, and she was pressin' up to ya!"

"She got closer," he said grimly.

Mac laughed. "Usually that's a good thing, boy-o."

He relented, and knew Mac didn't miss the smile. "I am so screwed."

"Aye, maybe. Wait. Is that a double meaning?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Look at me, Mac. I'm not the guy who gets the girl."

"But it sounds like you got the girl."

"For one night, sure. One…unbelievable… incredible… oh my God, I can't even find words for it night." He felt goosebumps just thinking about it.

Mac surveyed him seriously. "Let me guess. You are a man who doesn't trust what's in front of him unless he understands it from every angle."

Lassiter nodded. "Damn straight."

"But… but O'Lassiter, it's a woman yer talking about. You can't understand a woman from every angle. It's ne'er been done by any man who lived to tell the tale."

He had to smile, and took a swig of his Coke (wishing it were a Jack Daniels). "Doesn't really help me out there, Mac."

Mac leaned across the table. "Well, let me put it this way. Ye said she had a big heart, aye?" He waited for the nod. "And I'm guessin' she's your partner at work. How long?"

"Six years."

"And she used to be with the gel-hair lad?"

"Yup." Damn, he wanted a Jack.

"And she ended it with him—because ye only have to look at a girl like that once to know laddies don't end it with her—when, exactly?"

"Six weeks, give or take."

"So she's not exactly on the rebound. And she knew ye before. And she likes ye now—which means she liked ye before."

Lassiter frowned. "Your point?"

"Would ye admit I'm an observant fellow, O'Lassiter?"

"Aye," he said deliberately, and Mac grinned.

"I told ye I remember her bein' in here with him. I also remember how she was with him. She was uncomfortable. She thought he was too loud, needin' too much attention, and payin' none to her."

"You think," Lassiter amended. "You think that's what you saw." But he knew it was probably true; he'd noticed Juliet's discomfort with Spencer himself as the end of their relationship neared.

"If ye mean am I just tryin' to butter ye up, yer wrong. I make my livin' readin' people, boy-o, and anyway, since she did break it off with him, yer hardly in a position to argue my observations, now, are ye?"

He sighed. "Can we get to the part where you say something profound to make me rethink moving to Montana to live in a hut on the plains?"

Mac laughed. "O'Lassiter, every word out of my mouth is profound. I'm tryin' to tell ya to give this a shot. She's a pretty lass, she could have anyone, and she chose you. Or she's choosin' ye now, anyway. Do you regret last night?"

Lassiter swallowed. "No."

"Do you anticipate regrettin' it?"

"God no." He finished off the Coke, dodging mental images of being with Juliet.

"Then let's say you take a chance on this—but in a week, or in a month, or in a year, she wakes up and decides yer a nasty beast and she's got to be free."

He felt sick.

"Stay with me now, laddie," Mac said more softly. "The question is, would ye regret havin' that year of happiness? Or that month? Or that week?"

He stared at Mac, an ache in his chest, and let out a sigh. "No. I wouldn't regret one second of it."

"Then get the hell out of me bar, man, and go be with the lassie." Mac got up, slapped Lassiter on the back, and added, "Don't forget to tip yer waitstaff, either."

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Juliet jumped when her phone beeped, and grabbed it up, relieved and happy to see it was Carlton. The screen read, "Come down to Observation."

She was on her feet two seconds later, trying not to be obvious about hurrying.

He was standing in the unlit room, arms across his chest, and he looked up—blue eyes so intent, so vivid—when she came in. "Hey."

"I hope you called me down here to make out," she said bluntly after the door shut behind her.

"I did," he said, and opened his arms to enfold her.

Juliet breathed in the scent of his shirt, his warmth—him—in the seconds before his mouth found hers. His hands dropped to cup her derriere, and he pulled her close against his body. It wasn't long before she felt his arousal, and when his hands moved to slide up under her blouse—mouth still searching, plundering—she was delighted.

Oh, for solitude; real solitude… she ran her hand lightly across the fabric below his belt, and Carlton took in a sharp breath. Yes, he was definitely aroused.

So was she. "We have to lock the door," she murmured.

"We can't," he murmured back. "Not here."

"We can lock a door anywhere," she challenged, and felt that rumble of laughter against her throat. "I want you, Carlton. I've wanted you all morning. I've wanted you like crazy."

"I want you too, but we can't," he repeated, but since he had just slipped his hand under her bra to cup her breast, his tone was less sure.

"How about we do, and pretend we didn't?"

"Hussy," he said sternly. "If I get caught hoodling your whatzit here, we're both fired on the spot."

She responded by repeating her hand-across-his-zipper maneuver, and Carlton sighed. "Maybe you don't understand how much I want you."

"Oh, I understand," he growled, and lifted her up to sit on the table against the wall. "I'm just pointing out the risks."

Juliet unzipped his pants. "Tell me more. I'm listening."

Carlton leaned in close, gasping as she touched him. His breath was warm on her face and she could see the look of utter desire in his blue, blue eyes. "Juliet," he breathed.

Her shoes fell from her feet, and he kicked them away; then he reached over to lock the door.

"That's better." She licked his lips, wrapping her legs around his hips, and yes, she knew how dangerous and job-risky this was but… but she had to have him. Stupid horny girl, she admonished herself. You have to stop.

But she didn't stop.

This had to happen. Now.

Carlton, whatever his sincere personal misgivings, was apparently able to get past them under her continued and persistent bad influence. He hiked up her skirt while her hand was busy inside his pants, tugged her panties out of the way, and before too long they were doing that thing they shouldn't do.

And it was good.

With her legs locked around him, his mouth devouring hers to keep them both relatively silent, that thing they really weren't supposed to be doing got well and truly done.

It was foolish, unprofessional and undoubtedly tacky.

But, oh, oh, oh, oh, Juliet thought dimly, it was damned deliciously good.

He kissed her harder, deeper, as she went over the brink; the table edge hit the wall repeatedly but it wasn't so loud—she hoped—as to attract attention from outside the room, and really, at this point it just didn't matter, did it?

Nothing mattered except being with him, and she couldn't believe the years she'd wasted getting to this point.

He rested his head on her shoulder as he recovered. Juliet clung to him, breathing hard, hearing his equally labored breaths as the fading waves of pleasure bathed them both.

"No thinking," she whispered.

"No point," he said roughly, and kissed her again with force, half-melting her with the heat of it.

She was glad he felt the same way.

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Four o'clock.

Lassiter spotted the address, made a mental connection, verified it and barked out, "O'Hara! I've got something!"

She spun in her chair and got up to come see his screen, but was stopped by one of the other detectives for a moment about another case.

He took a breath as he watched her, still in a state of post-coital shock.

No regrets, though; he was going to try to take Mac's words to heart. Okay, Mac probably didn't intend for him to schtup Juliet at work, but the point was. The point was.

The point was, God, she was irresistible. He'd put both of their jobs on the line down there in Observation, but… his mind wandered. So soft, pliant and sexy. So freakin' desirable. She was killing him just standing there discussing blood spatter results with Reynolds.

Yeah, Mac, he said, you can be sure I'm not running away from this. Ever.

Finally Juliet was free, and came to join him at his desk. "What is it?"

Her hair was still a little mussed from earlier; she'd made quick repairs in the ladies room and advised him to check his face and neck for lipstick and love bites. He made himself concentrate.

"This warehouse employee, Keith Maxwell, shares the same address as one Allie Orson, who works for Hughes & Fenner." He grinned at Juliet. "Would you like to know what position Ms. Orson holds?"

Juliet smiled widely. "If you tell me she works the reception desk alongside our friend Meredith, I'll be a very happy cop."

"I hope it's always that easy to make you happy," he said, and enjoyed the look she gave him. "Maxwell isn't assigned to warehouse inventory per se but he's been on staff for four years. Easy to imagine he knows how to track shipments and storage locations of said shipments."

She was quite pleased. "Good eyes, partner. Who do we want to talk to first?"

"Oh, I'm feeling magnanimous, partner. I say we bring them all in—including Meredith—and have a party."

Juliet glanced at her watch. "Now, or tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning. Actually, let's talk to Scott and Brett Tanner first. They should be able to shed some light on this, because even if Spencer's right and Brett's not involved, someone gave our fake aliens the security code to Galway's house."

"Now, or tomorrow morning?" she repeated.

"Tomorrow morning. I have plans tonight."

She gave him a sharp look. "They'd better be with me, Lassiter."

Lassiter knew he was smirking, but she didn't seem to mind. "Who the hell else would spend time with me?"

"Stop that crap," she warned.

"Stopped." He smiled. It felt real. She was real. This was real.

Juliet smiled back, and that was all he needed.

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