CHAPTER NINE: MOVING FORWARD

. . . .

. . .

Karen woke alone, but Carlton wasn't far away. She could see a light from under the bathroom door, and heard the shower running.

She knew she had made a mistake last night. She'd terrified him. Second time they were together and she threw feelings at him—idiot! Classic New Relationship Blunder!

He'd made love to her with fierce passion and she knew those feelings were there for him too: she felt it in every motion of his body against hers. But Carlton wasn't a man to trust feelings—unless they involved crime—and he was probably obsessing about what she'd said.

She had a daughter, she was the Chief of Police, she was his supervisor, she was supposed to be making a damn decision about how to handle Spencer in relation to Carlton as Head Detective. She wasn't someone he would expect to easily transition from all of that reality to… a lover.

A love.

Muffling curses into her pillow, Karen berated herself for speaking so freely.

It was just that ever since this started… ever since his ultimatum and their afternoon with Robbie… she'd just… known.

It was like discovering Dove Dark chocolate after a lifetime of M&Ms.

Like discovering Kona coffee after police station swill.

Like discovering home-grown tomatoes after pale grocery-store imitations.

Like discovering Carlton… after any other man.

She sighed profoundly.

Carlton came out of the bathroom and back to the bed, bending to kiss her. He was still damp, and the towel around his waist would have looked much better on the floor.

But he was in get-dressed-mode; the clock showed it wasn't much past five and he was no doubt trying to get out well before there was any chance Iris might see him.

Karen held on to the edge of the towel as he stepped away, tugging it free easily.

Carlton turned back, grinning.

"Nice butt," she said appreciatively.

"Thanks. Wait until you see my 'however.'" He returned to kiss her again, more meaningfully. "I have to go."

"Not yet. Please. You're just too… yummy."

Carlton blushed, which she loved, and she sat up enough to draw a line with her fingertip from his sternum to his nether regions, making him shiver. He was tempted, and she knew it.

"Karen…"

"Carlton…" she cajoled.

"Dammit." He got back into bed with her, all clean and damp and warm, and she sullied him up good, making him laugh and sigh and find great pleasure, the same he gave to her.

"I was right," she commented afterward, his arm draped across her midriff and his lips nuzzling her shoulder. "I did know how to relax the hell out of you."

"I don't know myself," he agreed. "Criminals will laugh in my face today and I won't even care."

"Well… now you're just scaring me."

He scared her a little in the next moment because he rolled over suddenly and pinned her down, capturing her wrists up by her head and staring at her, his impossibly blue eyes mesmerizing her like they always did.

"You…" he sighed. "You're changing me, Karen. You're making me… hopeful."

Karen heard, in those words, an answer to what she'd said a few hours ago—maybe the only answer he could give right now.

So she considered her response very carefully, even as the look in his eyes held her still more firmly than the pressure of his body or the strength of his hands.

"Wow," she said with a gentle smile, "that must really, really suck."

Carlton laughed, oh he laughed, and how it tugged at her heart to hear it. He kissed her deliciously, promisingly, and slid out of bed over her protests.

When he was dressed, his overnight bag in hand, he said, "You'll have to come down and close the garage door after me."

Take a chance. "Stop in the kitchen and check the drawer under the spice rack. There's an extra garage-door opener there."

He hesitated. "I'll… give it back to you at the station."

"I won't accept it." She smiled, sitting up in bed, letting the sheet fall, and Carlton shook his head warningly. But he couldn't fight both battles—opener vs. temptation—so he only nodded, and closed the bedroom door behind him when he left.

. . . .

. . .

Time was a little short, so Lassiter skipped his morning run (feeling certain he'd had a sufficient amount of cardio-vascular exercise during the night), and ended up at the police station earlier than his usual 'early.'

He briefly considered going down to Holding to check on Spencer, but rejected the idea. First, the days when it would have amused the hell out of him were gone; second, Spencer would no doubt regard it as gloating, and third… it didn't matter. Nothing would change who Spencer was. Smart, resourceful, even witty at times… but married to his independence and refusal to grow up. He was damn lucky to have Guster and Henry stick by him—and Lassiter hoped Spencer would appreciate the time he'd had with Juliet as well as understand what he had done to lose her.

Settling in with his coffee, he pondered how he was going to keep the images from last night out of his head. Or hormones.

Not just the images: what Karen said. The way she made him feel.

The garage door opener, and what that bit of plastic might represent.

Maybe he should have gone for his run after all; Boss the cat might have offered some insight.

Karen made it in at her usual time—fresh and collected and elegant as always—but no sooner had she cast a smile down the hall at him than Henry Spencer appeared behind her, calling her name peremptorily.

Hmmm…

Henry pointed down the hall at Lassiter. "You too, in here, now."

Karen looked between them, wary, but nodded for Lassiter to join them in her office.

Refusing to sit, Henry paced for a moment and then said, "Okay. Karen, you gave me a message for Shawn a few days ago. A message about change. Now he's sitting in one of your cells—and don't get me wrong, he deserves it; he broke a law deliberately for a dumbass reason—but I need to know, not just as his father, but as the consultant liaison, what the hell's going on."

She stared at him a moment.

Lassiter said, "You're making demands before she has a cup of coffee?"

"She's tough," Henry scoffed. "Let's hear it, Karen."

Her eyebrows arched. "I'm not comfortable with you making demands of any sort. You do work for me, remember, and I'm not technically obligated to explain anything to you. 'Please' goes a long way, though."

When he started to speak, she held up her hand.

"Relax. It's very simple. Shawn's behavior has gone unchecked long enough. Everything we've tried has failed, including sending him and Gus to the Academy. But there comes a time when the crap just has to stop, Henry. And that time is now."

Well said, Lassiter thought, and glanced at Henry's inscrutable expression.

"My immediate plan is to drop the charges and have him released within the next hour. The next thing I'm doing is figuring out exactly how to implement the changes which must occur if Psych is going to keep working with us. Beyond that, I don't know what else to tell you that you don't already know."

Henry let out a breath, and finally sat down. "Look, he's my boy, and I admit I have a hell of a lot to do with how he turned out, but some of that is good, Karen."

"A lot of it is good," Karen agreed. "However, you're not responsible for his choices. You haven't been responsible for his choices in a long time." She stood up. "Now, I really have to get some coffee, but here's the thing. I'm done expecting my people, let alone the citizens we assist and/or arrest, to adapt to Shawn. It's time for Shawn to do some adapting. That is, if he wants to get paid."

She gestured to the door, and although there was a pause, Henry went out without objection.

Lassiter rose, and held her warm brown gaze. "I've never had the nerve to tell you this before," he said, "but you kick ass."

Karen's smile was slow and as warm as her eyes. "Thank you for noticing. Would you escort me to the coffee bar?"

When they got there, Juliet was at her desk, and she turned to give them a quiet good morning. She was a bit pale, maybe a bit puffy-eyed, but she was steady, and Lassiter hoped she was still okay with her decision about Spencer yesterday.

"Vander's lawyer is here," she told them. "He's ready to talk."

Lassiter looked at his watch. "That was fast."

"I have a feeling he knows a loss when he sees one."

"Let's find out." He slugged back some of his own coffee, surreptitiously brushed his hand against Karen's, smiled when she surreptitiously brushed his back, and followed his partner down to Interrogation A with the casefile.

The lawyer was eyeing his client with some unease when they came in. "Larry Larson," he said. "You're Lassiter and O'Hara?"

"O'Hara here," she said, sitting opposite him. "Shall we begin?"

"Ah… yes."

Vander was sullen, but calmer than yesterday afternoon.

"My client is willing to admit to voluntary manslaughter in the death of Mr. Nalley."

"Let's hear it from him." Lassiter slung himself into the other chair, hands folded on the table.

Vander kept his eyes on the floor. "Nalley was trying to mug Specht or something. I walked up on it right as he stabbed him. I shot him to stop him from doing it again, but it was too late."

"Where are their wallets?" Juliet inquired.

He shrugged. "I threw them away."

"Why?"

No answer.

Lassiter suggested, "Did Specht carry a lot of cash regularly?"

Vander met his gaze briefly. "I don't know. We just played chess. We didn't talk about wallets."

No, but other people in the park had. Lassiter flipped through the casefile and found some statements from park denizens who knew Specht and mentioned that he did tend to carry cash. No one knew much about Nalley, but he had been arrested several times for brawling.

"Why do you suppose Specht was out in the park so late at night?" asked Juliet.

"He went for walks sometimes. Had trouble sleeping."

Park regulars had said so too. But something was tickling at Lassiter's brain now. Something Spencer said the day Lassiter went off on Karen. He looked at Juliet, frowning; she frowned back.

"I need a minute," he said abruptly.

"What—"

"One minute," he promised, and went out fast.

Spencer was still in Holding, slumped back against the wall, legs out in front of him. Half-asleep, or maybe just sulking; it was hard to tell. At least he had the cell to himself.

"Spencer. Memory test time."

"I always pass those tests, Detective," he said without opening his eyes. "How much longer am I going to be in here? Or did you just come to—"

"You said Nalley was right-handed."

"Yes." Spencer yawned. "That was easy. Give me another one."

"But the knife was found in his left hand."

"Ding ding ding. So he didn't kill the other guy unless he knifed him, switched hands, and then got shot." One eye opened. "Seriously, dude. I'm starving."

How could I have forgotten that? How the hell could I have forgotten—

Oh yeah. Ultimatum. Karen. Everything… Karen.

"You'll be out soon." He started to leave, and then turned back a moment. "And… thanks."

Ignoring Spencer's "What the hell? You just thanked me?" and subsequent pleas for breakfast, Lassiter strode back to Interrogation A and sat down again next to a puzzled Juliet.

"Mr. Larson," he said briskly, "I don't think voluntary manslaughter's on the table anymore. I think we're up to murder in the first degree."

Juliet was startled. So was Larson.

Vander scowled. "What are you talking about?"

"Yes, Detective, what are you talking about? Mr. Vander admits to causing the death of Mr. Nalley, but that's—"

"Mr. Vander," Lassiter interrupted coolly, "like many other regular park visitors, was well aware that Mr. Specht took late night walks and carried large amounts of cash. Mr. Vander, who I see in this file is left-handed, decided to join Mr. Specht that night and liberate him of all that cash. It was Nalley who interrupted, probably on his way home from a bar. Vander stabbed Specht, then shot Nalley and planted the knife in Nalley's left hand after wiping his prints off. He took both wallets—Specht's because of the cash, and Nalley's because it made more sense to take both if it was going to look like a mugging gone wrong."

Larson muttered a curse.

Vander snapped, "You can't prove any of that."

"Oh no? I bet if we search your place, and check out all your clothes and shoes, we might just find traces of Specht's blood. There sure wasn't much on Nalley. We might even find two wallets or some of their contents." Lassiter grinned at O'Hara. "Sound like search warrant material to you?"

"Why yes! Yes it does!" Her smile was broad. "I think I'll go get that started. Of course, if Mr. Vander here would admit to any of this—"

The man just scowled again. "I want a lawyer."

His lawyer grimaced. "Yeah. You're gonna need one."

. . . .

. . .

Ahead on Karen's agenda was a conference call, a meeting with the station manager who wanted a serious discussion about employees not requesting supplies in a timely manner, and a meeting with the Ventura PD chief about a proposed joint task force for drug activity at the county line. And oh yes, let Spencer out of jail as promised.

Ordinary day.

Not so ordinary, Carlton tapping at her door with a rather interesting expression on his lean face. Which she had kissed quite a lot last night. "Detective?"

"Would you like to release Spencer for a more official reason than simply deciding he's learned a lesson, which everyone knows he hasn't?"

"I think I would like that very much. Got one?"

He walked around her desk to look out her window. "He just helped break the Vander case."

"From his jail cell?"

"Vander killed Specht and Nalley. The motive was robbery and Nalley was just collateral damage. Spencer's the one—that very first day—who pointed out Nalley was right-handed, but held the knife in his left hand."

Karen glanced toward the door, where Juliet stood now.

"Carlton's the one who put it together, Chief. He flew out of Interrogation to get Shawn to confirm."

Carlton shrugged. "I've had a lot on my mind. Couldn't trust my memory."

Karen and Juliet both shook their heads. "It's okay to take credit for doing your job, Carlton. And no, I don't mind using Shawn's assistance as a better excuse to drop the charges. How solid is the case otherwise?"

"I think the DA'll like it. O'Hara just took a quick look at Vander's financials and he seemed to have a bit of a gambling problem. Getting Specht's cash during a late-night mugging might have seemed pretty attractive."

"Plus, when we talked to Nalley's friends and associates, no one can recall him owning a knife. He used his fists when he had trouble with anyone, as well as the occasional beer bottle." Juliet smiled. "Vander's good for it. His lawyer just fired himself."

Karen was amused. "That's encouraging. All right then. Please have Mr. Spencer released and delivered to my office at your earliest convenience."

Juliet bit her lip. Carlton said quietly, "I'll do it."

Her nod was grateful, and they left together. Karen hoped their partnership was back on track for good.

When Shawn Spencer was escorted in a short while later—by McNab, who closed the door as he left—he sank into a chair and looked at her with what appeared to be genuine worry. "Did I just use a Get Out Of Jail Free card?"

"Something like that. I was informed that information you brought to our attention was what helped solve the case."

"Well, yeah… wait, what?" He stared at her. "You mean Lassie… Lassiter coming to my cell actually broke the case?"

Karen allowed a small smile. "Not that Vander's admitting to anything, but it all fits. Now, I'm not saying you're going to be paid even one dime, considering you weren't hired and were warned off several times and went on to impede a police investigation, but I'm willing to drop the charges."

He let out a huge sigh, sinking further into the chair. "Thank you, Chief."

"This time."

"There won't be a next time," he assured her.

"Regrettably, I'm sure you're wrong. Listen, Mr. Spencer, I'll be meeting with you and Gus and Henry soon to discuss the changes I advised you were coming. Until then, you need to stay out of my police station and away from anything which even remotely resembles a crime scene, up to and including reruns of CSI. Are we clear?"

He frowned, and she could almost see him thinking. "All of them, or just the original?"

"Goodbye, Mr. Spencer."

"Uh… okay." At the door, he paused to say "Thanks."

You're not welcome, she thought.

. . . .

. . .

One of Juliet's favorite places for lunch was a beachside joint, and if they went early enough they were always given a table. She said it was one of the few times she took advantage of the preferential treatment sometimes afforded to cops, and made up for it by over-tipping.

Lassiter wanted to take her there to get a real grasp of how she was doing post-Spencer. It had only been one day, but if she was going to relent and take him back, he wanted to know now. It was not for him to ask, and she was unlikely to say, but he knew her pretty damn well so he might be able to suss it out without a direct inquiry.

But Juliet was still steady. "I realized last night that even if I miss Shawn sometimes—and I probably will—my life just got a lot simpler. A lot less aggravation." She looked at him over her iced tea. "I understand a little of how it was for you, you know. Trying to keep your cool and be the adult all the time."

He shrugged it off. "We're moving forward now, O'Hara."

"No… not just yet. I still feel the need to really apologize to you. I know I haven't been your partner or friend—not like I should have been—for a long time. And it would be easy to blame Shawn, but it was me. I let things slide. I thought you were wrong for being upset when you found out we were dating, but I the one who was wrong."

"Do not forgive me for the polygraph," he muttered.

Juliet laughed. "I won't. Not completely. But I handled it badly and I'm sorry. And nothing like that is ever going to happen again, Carlton. I promise."

He met her dark-blue, earnest gaze. "So do I, partner."

"Now, like you said, we move forward. Do you have any idea what the Chief's decided? It seems like you've been in her office a lot lately."

Thank God she was cutting a piece of her enchilada at the moment, because Lassiter felt himself blushing. "I don't know for sure, but Spencer getting arrested for obstruction probably works in my favor."

"You think?" she laughed, and pushed the bowl of chips closer.

"Pretty sure," he agreed with a grin.

Yeah… moving forward looked do-able.

. . . .

. . .

Carlton called her at nine p.m. and asked if she wanted company.

Karen told him she would like nothing more.

She let him in the garage door, made a mental note to give him that key as well, and up in her bedroom they undressed each other wordlessly and made love for hours.

It was unthinkable that it should not always be so.

She stroked his hair as he lay beside her, trailing her fingers down his shoulder and arm, and his sleepy blue eyes showed emotion she knew she echoed.

Someday you'll tell me.

Because someday you'll admit to what I already know is true

and I can wait as long as you need me to wait.

. . . .

. . .