CHAPTER SEVEN
. . . .
. . .
Karen put the phone down with a sense of relief. The department psychologist, while declining to meet with Carlton personally due to Carlton's long-standing bias against the man, had given her a referral to a doctor he assured her was very patient and at the very least wouldn't have to get past old grudges.
The appointment was set for Wednesday morning, and she felt better already.
Carlton had asked her to stay with him Sunday night. She'd hoped he would—hoped it wouldn't even be a question—but was prepared to back off and give him some room.
After dinner, standing at the patio door with a glass of wine while she curled up on the loveseat, he turned to her and simply said, "Stay."
"Yes."
A faint smile relaxed his stern features. "And for your trouble—"
"It's no trouble. I'll just have to leave here a little early to go by my place before work."
"For your trouble," he repeated, "I… I promise not to claim a leg cramp."
Karen was beyond moved. He was offering her the honesty she asked for despite what it would cost him.
Carlton lowered his gaze to the wine. "I won't promise to tell you what I dream, but I won't pretend it didn't happen."
She held out her hand and he came to her, setting his glass on the coffee table and sitting next to her, close and warm. "Thank you."
He shook his head. "Don't thank me until you've made it through the night unscathed."
Karen kissed his face, stroking the beard she was going to miss very much when he shaved it off. "I'll adjust my dayplanner."
When he smiled this time, it was full-out, and she thought again that seeing him happy—so many times in the past few days, despite his internal struggles—was the best gift he could ever give her, a thousand times better than any object a store could sell.
He was happy. And so was she, in a way she'd forgotten was even possible.
Stirred from her reverie by McNab coming in to give her some reports, Karen debated about whether to call Carlton or leave him alone awhile. Not like she didn't have five billion things to do, and maybe he was still sleeping. She hoped so. There weren't any incidents during the night, but he hadn't seemed very rested when she left him.
. . . .
. . .
Lassiter lay on his back, arm over his eyes.
It's just sleep, you idiot. Try it. Even a little is good for you.
He had kept his promise to Karen the only way he could: by not sleeping at all. He lay beside her, listening to her even breathing, and did not let himself fall asleep. It wasn't easy, because dear God he was so hellaciously tired, but he wasn't taking any chances. He was not ready to wake up in gasping shock—as he had the last two nights—and admit it to her while it was still so fresh.
After she left, he went back to bed, thinking now, now you can just give in, sleep until the dream comes and be done with it.
Nothing doing.
Every little noise in the condo was magnified. Every place the sheet touched him was annoying. The pillow was wrong. The curtains let in a shaft of light which pierced his eyes.
Think about Karen. Think about last night.
Making love with her was the single most perfect and fulfilling act of his life. It surpassed graduating from the Academy. It surpassed making Head Detective in his early thirties. For damn sure it surpassed every moment of his marriage including his wedding day.
Be fair, you ass; you did love Victoria.
Yeah, but not like this.
Oh, so now you're admitting it's love?
What the hell else could make me feel this way?
Then why can't you tell her about the dreams? About those last few days in the concrete cell? About how your mind went in manic circles for hours on end, remembering being about to kill Donny Fallon, remembering having his blood splatter on your face and clothes when Slick shot him first? About how you barely fought back when Blocky and Tooth came along the next day to administer retribution because you felt so guilty about everything even though you know damned well none of was even your fault?
Well. I did say he stank. Didn't exactly warm him up to me, did I?
You're an idiot.
Lassiter rolled over in bed again. Go back to thinking about Karen, he advised himself. There lay happiness. Respite. Peace. Deserved or not, it was happiness.
His cell phone rang and he grabbed for it; anything to stop the internal arguments.
"Carlton!" Juliet said happily in his ear. "How are you?"
"Hey, O'Hara. I'm good." So easy to lie.
Although, really, most of the time he'd ever said it, it was a lie. Eh, details.
"Are you busy? Did I wake you? I thought you might be resting."
The clock said it was nearly ten. "No, I'm up. Sorry I haven't called before now. I've been…"
She interrupted while he was still choosing the right word. "It's okay. I…Vick did tell me you'd had a rough time. I imagine you need to decompress. Listen, I know it's short notice but I'd really like to see you, partner. Can we have lunch today? My treat."
It seemed like a lifeline, an opportunity to get out of his own head for awhile, and she wouldn't push him… much… as long as he didn't let her get her foot in his mind's door. They set the time and place and he got out of bed feeling as if he were getting away with something.
Take that, bastard nightmares. Take that.
Karen called while he was dressing. She had a moment alone in the office, she said, and wanted to check in and see how he was feeling.
He told her very sincerely that she had a wonderfully warm phone voice and everything was better when they were talking.
Karen said, obviously touched, "What a remarkably sweet thing to say. You just made the Chief of Police blush."
It was true, too—even when she terrified him by behaving in a way contradictory to his previous experiences with women (meaning, she cared about him and let him make love to her and didn't seem fazed by his personality), he would still rather be terrified by Karen Vick than becalmed by anyone else.
She added, "Did you just slide past telling me how you were doing?"
Lassiter had to smile. "Sorry. I'm okay. Still tired. O'Hara called awhile ago. We're having lunch."
"She misses you."
"Hard to see why."
"Carlton," she said with exasperation, but let it go. "I set up your appointment. It's Wednesday morning at 9:30 with Dr. Matthew Gentry. I'll email you his address."
"Not the department hack?"
"Erlich is not a hack. You just never gave him a chance."
"Like I was about to bare my soul to the same man everyone else was baring their souls to," he muttered.
"Haven't you ever heard of doctor-patient confidentiality? Wait, don't answer that; I know you have, because as a cop you've run into that brick wall plenty of times. You know he doesn't discuss individual sessions with anyone. He can't. It's the law."
"Yeah, well, as a cop I've also encountered a fair number of people who break laws. Repeatedly."
Karen sighed. "Look, it doesn't matter. The point is you will go see Dr. Gentry and you'll be forthcoming with him. For... for our sake, Carlton."
God, she could twist at his heart with simple, honest… caring. He really did not deserve her.
. . . .
. . .
Juliet was sitting in the shade of an umbrella on the patio of the restaurant she'd suggested, looking fresh and pretty as she always did. Her glance slid past him when he approached the table, but zoomed back in as she registered that the guy with the beard and longish hair was someone she knew.
"Carlton!" she exclaimed, jumping up to give him a hug. "My God, I didn't recognize you!"
He took his wrought-iron seat across from her, tugging at the beard. "Better take a picture. It won't be around much longer. Department policy."
"I will," she announced, and got out her phone to snap a shot. "Wow. It's amazing. How are you, partner? I've really missed you."
He told her he'd missed her too and he supposed he had—of course he had; she was a perpetual ray of light—but the truth was it was mostly in the first few weeks of his assignment (before his conversations with Karen started; before his heart began to run amuck) that he'd felt her absence.
They placed their orders and got their drinks, and she leaned across the table to speak quietly. "How did the mission go? Other than... I mean, was it successful?"
Had there been an upside to his captivity, she meant. Apart from the incredible upside of his new relationship with Karen—and he suddenly realized she'd find out about them eventually. Crap on a cracker; he might have to tell his partner he was sleeping with their boss.
In love with their boss.
Focus. "Yes. They brought in most of the players and broke up the drug ring. It was a... qualified success."
"Qualified?" she repeated, dark blue eyes intent.
"One guy made it out."
Slick. Zach Boyles. The man whose face, as he fired the gun, was ever in Lassiter's dreams at night.
He realized Juliet was speaking again, and tried to focus, but then saw something behind her which made him give it up. On autopilot, he reached for his wallet and got out a twenty dollar bill, sliding it across the table.
She frowned at him. "What's that for? I told you I was buying."
"I know, and I appreciate it, but I can't let you pay for a meal I'm not sticking around to eat." He jerked his head and she followed his gaze.
Spencer was at the opposite end of the patio, thus far on the correct (street) side of the rail, having a discussion with a waiter who didn't seem inclined to unlock the gate for him.
Juliet's mouth dropped open in shock. "Oh my God. I can't believe he followed me here!"
Huh. I can't believe you can't believe it.
He stood up, taking one last swig of his iced tea.
"No, wait, Carlton, please. I'll get rid of him." She sounded determined. Pissed off, even.
"Nobody can get rid of Spencer, O'Hara." Lassiter knew it all too well. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"
He patted her shoulder and walked away rapidly, but before he reached the safety of the interior of the restaurant, he heard the start of their 'conversation.'
Spencer called out, as if genuinely surprised, "Hey! Where's Lassie going?"
Juliet's response was an angry, "What are you doing here, Shawn?"
Spencer expressed yet more surprise, and while Lassiter was impressed by the fury in O'Hara's tone, he was sure it would be to no avail.
I think I was better off single than she is right now.
So you're not single anymore?
He caught his reflection in the glass exit door, and saw he was smiling.
No. I'm not.
Oh. Then you're going to tell Karen about—
Shut up already. I'm working on it.
Juliet called before he got very far down the road.
"Carlton, I am so sorry. I told him I was having lunch with you but I never said where or when. I just can't believe he followed me."
Again: why not?
"I swear, I would never intentionally spring him on you like that."
"I know. It's all right. Listen, I'm thinking about swinging by the station later. Maybe I can take you out for coffee."
"Oh, yes, please, only I am definitely buying this time."
"At least you got good takeout from lunch."
"I would have," she said grimly, "except Mr. Tapeworm ran off with one of the boxes."
He couldn't even work up a snarky retort. He was too tired.
. . . .
. . .
Lassiter took care of a few been-out-of-town-awhile things like having his car serviced, then drove to the station. He texted Karen to warn her he was coming in, and she texted back that she would only let him stay long enough to tempt her and then he had to leave.
It was the damnedest thing, really. From the moment he walked into the station, he felt like he was surrounded by actors and actresses posing as his long-time co-workers.
They had to be fakes, because... because they seemed glad to see him.
Reactions to the beard were unanimously positive. He was shocked by the outright smiles from a couple of the women.
McNab wasn't the first to hug him—Dobson bear-hugged him before he saw it coming, and Miller backslapped him while grinning like he'd just found his long-lost brother.
Where the hell am I? he wondered. Did I get out of bed at all? Is this—holy ever-loving crap, is this a GOOD dream?
Dream or not, it was definitely good: Karen came to the door of her office, arms folded, expression amused. "Detective Lassiter. It is very, very nice to see you back on our turf."
McNab was beaming. Lassiter shook his head in wonder—thanking everyone with sudden deep embarrassment—before entering Karen's realm. She closed the door and took a seat at her desk.
"What the hell just happened?" he asked, totally confused. "What did you say to them?"
Now she was confused. "What do you mean? I didn't say anything to anyone. I didn't even know you were coming down until I got your text."
He sank into the chair, still stunned. "They're… they're acting like they missed me."
Karen laughed. "Most of them probably did miss you."
"But why? Karen, I swear my doctor said I didn't have any kind of head injury, so I know my memory's intact. Especially about whether people like me or not."
One eyebrow up, she said wryly, "Your memory may be excellent, but your perceptions are a bit skewed. I'm afraid you're going to have to man up and admit you're… just… not that bad."
His mouth hung open. "I can't do that, Karen."
She laughed out loud again. "I would really like to sit in your lap and do things to force you to admit I'm right. Look, you're not a sunny guy, and maybe you're not first in line to sign a birthday card or say good morning or be 'nice,' but they know you. They know you're hard-working, loyal, dedicated, and damned good at your job. They know you'll tell them when they do good work as well as correct them when they do wrong. They know you bring order to the department and they can look to you for leadership. You also have a wickedly sarcastic sense of humor and know how to tell a fish story." She pointed a pen at him. "In point of fact? You, Carlton Lassiter, are not reviled by your co-workers."
He blinked.
Karen grinned.
"That may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." He grinned back. "I wish you could come sit in my lap."
The look in her warm brown eyes was enticing and he had to take a deep breath—so did she—to compose himself.
"What brings you here?" she inquired more briskly. "You know you're on leave pending—"
"Pending clearance, yes, I know. I wanted to check in with Decker, mainly. I also told O'Hara I'd buy her a coffee."
"Didn't you just have lunch?"
He grimaced. "I bailed once Spencer showed up."
"What? She invited Shawn to lunch? My God, what was she thinking?"
Lassiter was startled again, this time by the ferocity of her annoyance. "She didn't invite him. He followed her."
"Good Lord. What's it going to take…" Karen trailed off. "Never mind. We can't solve that mystery."
"No detective can solve that mystery," he agreed. "How's Iris today?"
He loved seeing how she smiled at the thought of her daughter, and hoped this dream world with her would extend long enough to allow him to get to know the little girl.
"She and her father were on their way to the meteor crater. She saw some photos of it recently and wants to know how long it took the kids to dig it out."
"The kids?"
"Ancient kids," she elucidated. "She learned the word ancient recently from a DVD and uses it all the time. Even on me."
Lassiter laughed. "Don't disown her yet. I want to meet her."
Karen's eyes grew wide and then she blushed and... well, she looked misty. "I want you to meet her, too, Carlton. Very much."
Suddenly he couldn't quite settle his pulse, but he managed to say, "I assume she's a little taller than when I last saw her."
"A little, yes," she agreed, and paused to blow her nose. "Wow. I'm really having a hard time not jumping on you right now."
That sent a little electrical cavalry charging down his spine and around front to his nether regions, but he held her gaze. "Hold that thought until tonight, Karen."
"God, you know I will." Her voice was almost a whisper, and he needed to get out of here right now.
Standing abruptly, he headed for the door. "I won't stay long, I promise. Call me before you leave tonight and we'll make plans."
She nodded, and he left before he could stride back across to her desk and take her anyway.
. . . .
. . .
He and Juliet had their coffee without Spencerization, and she again apologized for the intrusion.
"He did invite himself, but I told him no." She gave him a sheepish smile. "He said he missed you."
"Of course he did. I'm his favorite target." He said it without rancor, and to her credit, she didn't bother to argue.
"It's been hard to control him on the job since you've been gone."
He raised one eyebrow. "O'Hara, that implies it's easy when I'm here."
She laughed. "Well, it's been harder. Henry reduced their pay on two cases because of how much food they ate from the victims' houses."
Lassiter was impressed. "Good for Henry." He and Karen had seldom discussed Spencer in their phone conversations, and never his casework. "I'll be back in a few weeks to clamp down on him for you."
"I won't be the only one thanking you," she said flatly.
It occurred to him that she might have roused the troops to their inexplicable show of support earlier. "Is that why everyone acted like I was a returning hero today? They just want me around to rein in your boyfriend?"
She was taken aback. "What are you talking about?"
"You told them I was coming by and asked them to pretend to be glad to see me?"
Juliet looked incredulous. "Pretend? Carlton. You've been gone two months. People missed you. I missed you. Buzz really missed you. I think even Chief Vick missed you!"
Even Chief Vick, he mused. "She pretty much said I was on crack for thinking everyone was… faking it."
"You are on crack if that's what you think," she declared. "Now when are you coming back to work exactly, partner?"
He said, "Not soon enough."
But he thought, I'm not ready.
And for Carlton Lassiter to not be ready to work alarmed him more than a little.
. . . .
. . .
They stayed at his place again, making love once before dinner and once again after, on the floor in front of the muted TV, and Karen could neither believe how much she wanted him nor conceive of how she could ever get enough.
A long, leisurely and oh-so-sensual shower led them on to his bedroom, where he wrapped his arms around her and murmured a quiet thanks.
"For everything," he clarified. "And don't tell me you haven't done anything anyone else wouldn't do."
"I hope you wouldn't let anyone else do you," she shot back, and kissed his smiling mouth.
"Not a chance." His tongue trailed across her lips as his ever-wandering hands moved on her back. "Never again."
She couldn't help but feel a flush of pride and possessiveness—and yet more arousal—at the way he said it. Like it was some immutable fact.
... like it was the same thing she felt.
Yes.
Karen touched his face, his temples; she kissed his forehead and his cheeks. He was clearly still so very tired and the dark circles under his incredibly blue eyes actually made them stand out more. "Double damned ditto," she whispered, and he smiled for her again.
. . . .
. . .
The bed was moving and someone was yelling and Karen had no idea where she was for a moment.
Then awareness kicked in: Carlton was sitting up, gasping for air as if he'd been running for hours. His hands were tight over his face and when she touched his arm urgently he was sweating.
"Baby," she pleaded. "You're okay, baby. I'm here."
His voice was hoarse. "What if you're here and it's still not okay?"
Karen grasped his arms, but he would not come to her. He would not uncover his eyes.
After drawing another shuddery breath, he spoke again.
"What if... what if it's never okay?"
. . . .
. . .
