A/N: Thank you to Rica for the quick and insightful beta.
Chapter Ten
THE BOYS WERE CROWDING GIL, but he didn't care. Their interest in fingerprinting and enthusiasm about having a real-life crime scene investigator on the case of the stolen bike made them hanging over his shoulders bearable. Besides, the Sherlock in him never rested it seemed, and the opportunity to teach their young minds a subject he loved brought back an edge of excitement that had been missing from his job in recent years.
And then there was Sara. It occurred to him that he could have been picking weeds out of the garden with Billy and Sean—a chore he had hated as a child and avoided as an adult—and thoroughly enjoyed it because she was there. And the softness in her eyes a moment ago when he glanced up and caught her staring at him had made his heart flutter. He'd liked the feeling.
But his heart's erratic behavior wasn't what made him thankful that he was sitting at Sara's patio table under cover of the hard, textured glass top. He'd never wanted to be that dime-a-dozen guy who couldn't look at an attractive woman without picturing her naked, sweaty, and under him. He liked that he could appreciate a woman's beauty on a much more intellectual level. But around Sara, self-control—at least where a certain part of his anatomy was concerned—was tougher to sustain.
He couldn't even pretend that the short shorts she was wearing, which showed off her perfect legs, and his vivid memories of how they felt wrapped around him, were responsible for his sudden, unexpected arousal. Almost from their first meeting in a crowded lecture hall, he had wanted her naked, sweaty, and under him. And maybe he had resented her a little over the years for reducing him to the lowest denomination of men.
Sara smiled now as she took a seat across from him, and heat of a different kind swelled in his chest. He hadn't known what to expect after their awkward moment in her bedroom, but her smile was once again warm and welcoming, as it had been on his first day here. In fact, her behavior toward him was so unpredictable that he constantly teetered between walking the proverbial tightrope, and crowing like a confident cock. Most of the time, though, he was stuck somewhere in the middle. Confused. For all his arrogant assumptions the night before that she wasn't over him, the truth was, he couldn't be sure.
After serving them cold drinks, Sara handed him the pestle and mortar. While he crushed pencil lead into powder, she picked up the blush brush he and Billy had purchased at Buck or Two and twirled it between her fingertips with the delicate touch of a pro. The boys looked on, impressed.
Gil smiled. "You haven't lost your touch."
"Like riding a bike," she said, looking up at him with a quick grin.
So beautiful.
Gil sighed. "Well, you are one of the best I've seen."
Sara beamed at him, then her expression changed as she looked at the boys, brows seriously knitted. "That's called buttering up the help, guys. It's Gil's way of shifting the responsibility of finding your bike on to me."
"We know we're not going to find it," Billy said. "Doesn't matter."
"Really?"
"They just want to know how it's done." Gil put the mortar aside and wiped a glass with a handkerchief before setting it on the table. "Pick it up," he instructed Sean, and once satisfied he'd captured his prints, told him to put it back.
Sara dipped the brush into the powder and swirled it on the surface of the glass, making a clear impression of Sean's fingerprints. Gil then lifted it with clear tape. Working silently, as they often had in the past, they repeated the procedure with Billy. And finally, they printed the lock. Before long they had lifted six clear prints from the lock and matched five of them to Billy's and Sean's.
With a self-satisfied grin, Gil showed them the impression of the sixth print. "And this is your suspect."
Billy and Sean leaned closer to peer at the crisp impression of a thumb.
"I bet it belongs to that jerk who's always picking on little kids at the beach," Sean said.
"Dirk," Billy agreed. "Yeah, he's a real piece of shi—"
"Billy!"
"Dad!" Billy rushed to greet Dan who was coming up the garden path. "Gil showed us how to lift fingerprints. See…" Another leap brought him back to the table and he yanked the tape from Gil's fingers. "Some guy cut the lock on Sean's bike and stole it. Me and Gil went to get a bunch of stuff at Buck or Two, and then he made us hold these glasses to take our fingerprints and Sara brushed the black powder on them and the cable lock and—"
"Whoa, whoa!" Dan laughed. "Take a breath, son."
"We got the guy," Billy said.
Sara rescued the tape from Billy's fingers and smoothed it down on a sheet of white paper. "Actually, all we have is this fingerprint, kiddo. It could belong to anyone." To Dan she said, "How's your patient?"
Dan pulled a chair. "He was in surgery when I left, but the prognosis is good."
"How did you get back?" Gil asked.
"Chopper Dave."
Sara got up and laid a hand on Dan's shoulder. "Can I offer you a cold drink? I have some iced tea on tap."
Dan smiled crookedly up at her. "Iced tea, huh? I guess that'll do for now."
She went inside and Dan leaned over to Gil. His gaze flicked over to Billy and Sean who had moved to the edge of the patio to whisper over the suspect's thumb print. "What have you done to my son?"
Gil shrugged, and then, keeping his voice low, said, "The better question is, what did you do to him? A week ago he couldn't bear the sight of me. Now he's telling me to make my move on Sara before Armstrong shows up."
"Really?" Dan's laugh started deep in his throat, then blew out long and loud, distracting the boys from their tête-à-tête, and when Sara came back with another glass and the pitcher of tea, she gave them a quizzical look.
"Did I miss a joke?"
"Yeah, Dad, what's so funny?"
Still chuckling, Dan said, "You are, little man."
"What did he do?" Sara asked as she poured Dan's tea and refilled Gil's glass.
"He grew up. Hey, who's up for lobster? My treat."
"Me!" Billy shouted. "Where are we going? Can Sean come, too?"
"We're not going anywhere. I brought back a case for a backyard barbecue. And yes, Sean is invited if his mother says it's okay."
"I 'm gonna call her," Sean said, and with Billy close on his heals, he ran into the house, nearly barreling into Stephanie at the door.
"What's the fuss?" Stephanie asked.
"Lobster dinner," Dan said. "I've got plenty; you up for it?"
"Uh… It sounds great, but—"
"You have other plans," Dan chimed in, a sarcastic edge in his voice. "Surprise, surprise."
Stephanie rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm done," she said to Sara, but Gil suspected those words were equally meant for Dan.
When Stephanie left, Dan watched her go, then said to Gil and Sara, "So the two of you interested?"
"Count me in," Sara said.
"Gil?"
"One condition. You let me pay for the lobster. I can't expect the two of you to feed me for the rest of the summer."
"Nonsense," Dan said. "What are you going to do? Eat out every night?"
Sara looked at him. "You know," she said, "you could use the kitchen if you want."
"I thought you didn't like guests in your kitchen."
She smiled. "Well, I can make an exception for a long-term stay."
Gil liked the idea, not only because he didn't particularly look forward to eating out all the time, but because it would give him another opportunity to get close to her. "Okay," he said, "I'd like that."
"Settled, then," Dan said. "But tonight, it's my treat."
THE SUN WAS quickly disappearing behind the horizon when Dan came out of the house. He'd gone in to answer the phone and returned with the bottle of cognac and three glasses.
"That was Billy. He's spending the night at Sean's."
"Did they run into that guy?" Sara asked.
He shrugged. "Didn't mention it."
Sara looked at Gil, her eyes mirroring his concern.
Dan had steamed the lobster in a large stock pot over the gas grill in his back yard, served them at the picnic table on disposable plates, and they'd washed them down with a chilled Riesling they drank from crystal glasses. The lobsters were a nice size, but not too big, so with a side of garlic butter and lemon, they had consumed two each. The boys had gone for a third, but most of it had remained on their plates. After declaring himself full, Billy had asked his father if he and Sean could take off.
"Take off where?"
"To the wharf. We won't be long."
"I want you home before dark."
Gil could feel the excitement nipping at the boys' heels. Their motive for going to the wharf was obvious to him, but Dan appeared oblivious. He figured that two very dry vodka martinis and several glasses of wine would do that to a man.
"Billy…if you see that guy, don't approach him," Gil cautioned.
The boys exchanged a look. "We won't," Billy murmured.
"Gil's right, kiddo," Sara added. "If he did steal Sean's bike and you let on that you know, it could get ugly. You're better off staying away from him. You can always replace a bike, but we can't replace that handsome mug of yours."
Dan chuckled. "Not without very expensive plastic surgery, anyway."
After a promise to be careful, the boys had left.
Sara and Gil had cleared the table, disposing of the paper plates in the trash bin at the back of the storage shed while Dan topped off their wine glasses, which they'd barely touched. He, on the other hand, had polished off the second bottle.
Watching his friend uncork the Cognac, now, Gil's concern over Dan's drinking grew. He covered his own glass with his hand. "None for me, thanks."
Sara did the same.
"C'mon you guys. Just a little to loosen up."
"I'm loose enough," Sara said. "Besides, getting up at the crack of dawn to get breakfast for ten people is much less fun with a hangover."
"Party poopers." Dan poured himself a generous portion and recapped the bottle.
"Not everyone needs alcohol to enjoy themselves," Gil remarked smoothly.
Dan cut him a look. "True. But some of us could use a little buzz once in a while if only to drop our inhibitions. Let's take you, for example—"
"Let's not."
"—Have you ever dropped that iron control of yours and just gone for it?"
"I've had my moments."
"Really?" Gil saw Dan's eyes flick over to Sara and he tensed. "I find that hard to believe. Why else would you still be pining for—"
"Dan!"
Wincing, he said, "Sorry, buddy," and tipped his glass to his lips as Gil's warning hung in the silence.
Gil casually glanced at Sara who was eyeing Dan speculatively. And then, she rose to her feet.
"Well, guys, I'm going to call it a night."
"It's barely eight-thirty," Dan whined.
"Yeah, well, you two seem to have a thing going on here that doesn't concern me."
"That's where you're wrong. It very much—"
"Okay," Gil chimed in, having had enough of Dan's runaway mouth. He stood up, and to Sara said, "Go ahead. I won't be long."
"Take your time." Sara dropped a kiss on Dan's cheek. "Goodnight, and thanks for dinner."
Dan grinned. "'Night, gorgeous," he said and they both watched her leave through the back gate.
As soon as Gil deemed Sara out of earshot, he glared at Dan. "What's the matter with you?"
"Aw…come on, Gil. Do n't get all jealous on me."
"Jealous? Jealousy has nothing to do with this."
"Are you sure about that? Pay attention and learn, Gilbert. Aren't you supposed to be good at that?"
"What's gotten into you?"
"Maybe if you learned to loosen up a bit, Sara wouldn't still be running away from you."
"I don't see Stephanie chomping at the bit to spend time with you, yet you're pretty much loose twenty-four seven."
Previously full of mischief, Dan's gaze suddenly burned with something so painfully bright that remorse kicked at Gil's gut. Dan had an excuse for being a jerk. Gil didn't. But what Dan said had grabbed him by the throat. Maybe hit a little too close to home. Was it only a week ago that he wished he hadn't closed himself off to the people he cared about? The booze had turned Dan into an asshole, but at least he was an honest asshole.
"Look, Dan, I don't know what's going on between you and Stephanie, or why you seem hell bent on numbing yourself with booze, and I know you're in no condition to see this now, but there are more problems than solutions in the bottle." After a reflective pause, during which Dan sneered at him, Gil added, "I hardly recognize you tonight. This isn't who you are, Dan. We wouldn't be friends if it were. So, think about that, will you, before you alienate everyone who cares about you."
"Finished with the sermon, Father Grissom?"
Gil shook his head, exasperated. He wasn't getting through to him and probably wouldn't while he was drunk. Getting to his feet, he said, "Okay. Go sleep this off. I'm done."
"Aye, aye, Sir!"
And stop acting like a child. Gil wisely kept that thought to himself. Instead, he wished him goodnight and started to leave.
"Carol didn't love me anymore." He looked up and gave an unaffected shrug, then swallowed the rest of his drink and pushed the glass away. "The reason she went to New York with my parents that weekend was to get away from me. To think, she said."
Gil slumped back into his chair.
"I neglected her, our marriage, Billy. All I thought about was making a name for myself. The next promotion. The next newspaper article that sang my praises. The times I slept at the hospital, even when I could have come home." He shook his head. "Carol used to joke that the hospital was my wife and she was the mistress. Except that she wasn't joking. She was sending me a message, but I was too preoccupied with my career to get it. Actually, I think I did get it, but it was easier to pretend I didn't and laugh it off."
He dropped his head and quickly raked his fingers through his hair. Then, he uncorked the bottle once again, and Gil frowned but decided he'd already beat that horse to death. Anyway, Dan was talking, and Gil knew that was much more important than the headache he'd have in the morning.
After Dan had poured himself another generous drink only to down half of it in one gulp, Gil said, "She may have been lonely, Dan, but that doesn't mean she didn't love you."
"Ah! Well, guess what? That's exactly what she said. Her exact words were, 'I need to figure out if I can still love you.'"
Ouch. "I'm sorry."
"The bitch of it is, Gil, if I had been a better husband to her, she would have come to the Cape with me instead of going to New York, and she'd still be alive."
And there it was, not the survivor's guilt Gil had often suspected drove Dan, but guilt in its purest form, and much more difficult to overcome. "Accidents happen, Dan. They're random. You can't blame yourself. You weren't behind the wheel of the car that hit them."
"No, but I'm the one who put her in that car," he said, and Gil sighed, out of pop psychology platitudes, which wouldn't help him anyway. "You know, I keep telling myself that she probably would have gone even if she'd been Carol Brady. Carol loved New York. But I still feel like crap."
"Drinking won't make you feel better. It may even ruin your life, and Billy's if you're not careful."
"You think I drink to feel better? Maybe I did at first, but now it's just a habit."
"All the more reason to stop."
"Yeah…maybe I'll do that. Tomorrow," he added, giving Gil a quick smile. "You know, we're not so different you and me. We both chose work over a woman. Only difference, you have a second chance to make it right, and I can't stand watching you piss it away. Would telling her how you feel be the worst thing you've ever done?"
"I wish I hadn't told you."
"As if you had to."
Gil sighed. "Well, you're probably right about her still running away from me. I don't think she'd be receptive to big declarations of love right now."
"She was six years ago?"
"I think so." Gil motioned to one of the empty glasses. "Maybe I'll have that drink after all."
AN HOUR LATER, Gil was debating whether to go for a walk or go back to his room to work. He'd left Dan's through the back gate, and the clear night sky and gentle lap of waves along the beach beckoned him. Plus, he needed to think about how to resolve his situation with Sara. As under the influence as Dan had been, he had said some things that struck a nerve, and as the evening wore on, Gil surprised himself by opening up a bit more to him about his past relationship with Sara.
He had also turned to the bottle to numb his pain and loneliness after she left Las Vegas. Adjusting to looking at another face on his right during case briefings, and to not knowing where Sara was or whether he'd ever see her again, had not been easy. But eventually, through sheer force of will, he had pulled himself together and gone on with his life.
Eight months to the day after Sara left town, he slept with another woman. He didn't even know her. She was an ADA, new in town, one of many beautiful women who crossed his path almost daily in the course of his job. And although he had bedded her, he didn't really remember much about her. She had red hair, that he remembered, and unusually long eyelashes framing large green eyes. Or maybe they were blue. The lashes he remembered because the first time she batted them at him, he came close to looking over his shoulder to see who was standing behind him. And when she sought him out a few days later after his court testimony and suggested a drink, he thought, why not? He hadn't had a drink in two months. He hadn't had a woman look at him that way a lot longer than that, and as most lonely, desperate men stories went, three scotches later, he was in her bed screwing her. The post-coital bliss lasted about as long as he had, which could be counted in seconds, and he couldn't even bring himself to care about his poor performance.
After that emasculating experience—because he doubted it was normal for a man to feel shame after having sex with a beautiful woman—he didn't have sex again for over two years. Until Anita came along. She wasn't as beautiful as the ADA whose name he couldn't even remember now, but she had an attractive quality about her. She was a psychic whose help Brass had reluctantly accepted in the case of a missing nine year old girl. In fact, Brass hadn't welcomed her in their fold at all at first. His instinct had been to investigate Anita. But Gil was more open-minded and he valued her input. Once cleared, it was Gil who worked closely with her. He was impressed and a little in awe of her powers of perception. Plus, she had a nice smile and an uncanny ability to read his mind, which she did quite regularly in the course of their investigation, several meetings over dinner, some more casual than others. It took two months, but they did find the girl's body buried in a shallow grave in the forest near Lake Mead. Anita had led them to her.
There really wasn't any reason to keep in touch with her after that, but they had built a rapport that Gil was reluctant to let go. He enjoyed her company. Two weeks later, he found the courage to call her and she agreed to a date, the first of four which eventually led to her bed. With her, he'd been so sure he could relive the magic he'd experienced with Sara. But it hadn't happened and it had made him feel sad, and remorseful, but Anita had taken it in stride. "Your heart belongs to someone else," she'd told him. "I've known that since the first time we had dinner together." Gil didn't deny it, but he asked her why, knowing that, she had slept with him, and she laughed, said something unexpected, and at the same time, key to his celibacy ever since. She said, "Because I wanted to. I have powers, Gil, and most people don't understand them. You did. Besides, I'm human and you're a very attractive man and I was horny. But this woman you love, she's out there, and your paths will cross again some day."
Perhaps she had given him hope. Gil only knew that from that day on, he had looked for Sara everywhere he went.
Shaking his memories of Anita, he looked at the sky. It was still early, but with all that had happened since coming back from Boston yesterday, he had neglected to contact his agent as promised. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose his momentum on the book and miss his deadline. On the other hand, as important as the book was, he would gladly push off the deadline if it meant spending more time with Sara. He'd wasted six years of his life regretting choosing his career over her, and Dan was right, this was his second chance, and he wasn't about to let anything get in the way.
It was her voice coming from her back yard that made him forego a walk. Darkness had fallen, turning her colorful garden into various shades of deep gray, except at the patio, where bright halogen lights sparkled. Sara was sitting at the table with someone, a man he didn't recognize until he was almost upon them. And then his step faltered.
What the hell was he doing there?
TBC