CHAPTER TWELVE: Respite
. . . .
. . .
Carlton realized he'd never known the true meaning of 'bonkers' until he was driven there by wondering what the hell was happening with Juliet… for two hours and forty long-ass minutes.
She'd been gone since noon, the hit was supposed to be at 2:03, and after fleeing the scene, she was off to complete her ordinary, domestic little errands. He knew she'd be home by four, but it was only 2:40 and he honestly thought he might have to put his foot through the wall just to have a proper distraction.
Plus the cursing would liven up Hugo's recording.
But no.
No.
He. Had. To. Wait. Quietly.
He could do almost anything quietly for his job. When quiet mattered, Carlton Lassiter was The King of Quiet.
But he hated waiting quietly when the waiting wasn't his choice, and having to wait quietly while Juliet faked the murder of a man under the direction of the FBI, now that she was his lover, now that she was his… that wasn't working out so well.
Quietly, he padded to the kitchen and poured a quiet bourbon and quietly drank it down fast.
He started to pour another but stopped, because he might not stop at two and it was doubtful Juliet would understand him being snockered, quietly or otherwise, when she got home.
Home.
He did so love the idea of "when Juliet got home."
Feeling three to four percent better, he quietly put the bottle away, quietly rinsed the glass and returned to the living room, quietly giving the finger to the bug as he passed the table.
Then he picked up the laptop and scarpered off to the bedroom, closing the door firmly against Hugo's mechanical ear—no keyboard tapping sounds, thank you—and set out to quietly look for breaking news about public murders of alleged criminals.
. . . .
. . .
Karen Vick knocked on the door of #536, replaying the day's events thus far.
The most recent interesting thing was the three-line email she'd gotten from Carlton half an hour earlier which inquired as to the official listening range of a specific brand of eavesdropping device. That was the first line. The second line said, "Bring Starbucks." The third line said, "If you don't mind, please."
His voice came from inside: "Who is it?"
She was about to ask why he couldn't just look through the peephole, but fortunately her brain returned in time. "Karen Vick, bearing coffee."
Carlton opened the door and stepped back; his dark glasses were on. "Hi. I wasn't expecting anyone, but coffee always gets a free pass." He pointed to the table, making an 'under' motion to show her where the bug was.
"That's why I brought it. Is Juliet here? I got three just in case."
"No, she went out to run some errands. She should be back soon."
He closed the door and Karen set the carrier on the table, bending quickly to see where the device was. She had emailed him the technical information, and glancing around the condo judged the sofa was within range, but around the corner into the kitchen might be safe. Out on the patio with the glass door firmly shut would probably be okay too, if they spoke quietly.
"It's very nice outside," she said. "Coffee on your patio?" She pulled two of the cups from the carrier, and gestured meaningfully.
He led the way, made some vague remark at the glass door as he pretended to fumble for the handle, and was quick to close it behind them.
They sat in chairs set well away from the door, and Karen handed him his cup. "We'll use our 'inside' voices."
Pocketing his sunglasses with a nod, he drank deep of nirvana, and she thought he looked rested in a way she'd never seen before, while at the same time clearly agitated about Juliet.
"When did the… insect arrive?"
"Personal installation yesterday afternoon. He wanted her to think it was just a drop-in intimidation but I spotted him planting it."
"Good." She sipped her coffee. "Everything happened on schedule, so far as I can tell from the breadcrumbs Berman calls updates. We got the 911 call but the Feds didn't let our team past the perimeter, saying they had it covered, and thank you very much."
Those bright blue eyes zoomed in on her. "I was checking online but didn't find anything. Suspects?"
"Not at present." She smiled. "Sounds like it went according to plan."
"God, I hope so," he breathed, and took another slug of coffee.
With his head tilted back, she could not help but notice a small bruise at the base of his throat on the side.
Ahhhhhh…
This brought her back to the first very interesting event of her day. "Everything okay here, before as well as after the extra ears arrived?"
Carlton glanced at her. "Yeah. We've been careful. I don't think we've said anything to blow our cover."
Karen nodded. "And between you and Juliet?"
His expression changed ever-so-slightly. "Everything's fine."
Mmm-hmmm. "Just… fine?"
"Yes."
"I see."
With familiar impatience, he demanded, "Karen, what? I told you we'd work out our issue the other day, and we did. Everything's fine."
She nodded. "That's what I heard. More than fine, in fact."
Slowly, red crept up into his cheeks. "What the hell does that mean—Spencer. Dammit." He sank back into the chair, pissed off. "Whatever he's saying about Juliet, you take it with a salt block. I don't care what he says about me, but Juliet is off limits."
"You're both off limits, as far as I'm concerned."
When his vivid but now unnerved blue gaze came back her way, she reached over and patted his arm.
"It's okay, but I do need to know what's really going on. I'm fairly certain his version lacks that thing we like to call… hmmm, what is it… oh yes, truth."
Half-smile, half-scowl. Only Carlton could manage that precise look.
"What did he say?"
She decided to grant him a little leeway; at least he'd be honest when he did answer, which was something she could never count on with Shawn Spencer. "He turned up in my office this morning to wail about a huge travesty, a horrifying injustice, and a matter of grave concern. I think that's a quote. He went on to explain you'd gone all Svengali on Juliet, and he thought I should step in to be sure you weren't taking advantage of her kind nature in your time of trauma, which, he further offered, should be dealt with by professionals out of state, preferably Maine, and he'd help you pack and move personally, as early as next week, because there's a Val Kilmer film festival this weekend he just can't miss."
Carlton stared at her, frowning. "And I'm the one who needs help?"
Karen grinned. "He said he'd suppressed this information as long as he possibly could, but the time had come to speak out."
"What, forty-eight hours before he cracked?"
"Actually it was more like eight. He started leaving me voicemails Saturday night, but since he never said what the emergency was and I was fairly confident I had police staff on duty who could assist him like any other citizen, I decided not to come back early from a weekend away with my family."
"Good," he muttered. "Svengali? Seriously?"
"Yep. He said the two of you invited him and Victoria over for lunch, but no sooner did they arrive than you started shouting at everyone and forcing Juliet to agree with whatever you said. He said she was obviously cowed by your apparent psychotic break but was too starry-eyed about being your savior to see how far gone she was. He begged me to intervene."
Carlton's frown was impressively thunderous.
"Begged," she repeated, allowing a small smile.
The frown cleared slowly. "And how much of this steaming crock of crap did you believe?"
"The begging."
He smirked. "Try this version. He showed up with Victoria uninvited. She insisted I let her take care of me, and then began insulting Juliet. I called her on it, Spencer interrupted to explain that Juliet was really heartbroken over him, Juliet called him on that, and we threw them out."
She tilted her head. "Much more plausible."
"Thought so," he said with satisfaction.
"Except for the part where he insisted there was something going on between you and Juliet."
The faint red returned to his face. "I don't—"
"And it hasn't been that long since I gave one of those to my husband," she added cheerfully, gesturing vaguely toward the hickey on his neck.
"Son of a bitch," he snapped, but not really at her. He got up and paced a minute while she placidly sipped coffee, but returned to the chair and threw himself down. "What do you want me to say?"
"Well, I'd like the truth, because it won't be too long before you're back to work, and as your supervisor, I should really be kept apprised of things like this."
Carlton hesitated.
"You don't agree?" she inquired. "I'd have thought your natural inclination to follow protocol would kick in around now."
Still he hesitated. "If there's anything to tell, we should tell you together."
Interesting.
"If?"
He let out a heavy sigh, and set the coffee on the patio floor. "Karen. If it were up to me I'd screw protocol and expectations and just… be with her, and the hell with my career."
She was surprised he'd so quickly admitted the truth at all, not to mention that there was a time he wouldn't have even considered bucking policy again—if not to protect his own career, then to protect Juliet's—which told her exactly how deeply he cared for her.
"If?" she repeated, keeping her tone gentle.
"I can't think of any reason Juliet would…" He stopped, staring at the tile, or at his hands, or at his feet.
Karen waited a few moments and then prompted him with, "Why?"
Shaking his head, he pinched the bridge of his nose wearily and sat back again. "You know me. You know her. Truth is, there's a chance she could be motivated by guilt. You remember I told you I was in the hospital about six weeks ago?"
"Yes, and I only just found out you didn't tell her at the time."
He shrugged. "Where she went, Spencer would tag along. I didn't need that, so I didn't tell her. I had no plans to ever tell her, but somehow I seem to be completely unable to stonewall that woman when she's determined to find something out."
Karen smiled. Who'd have thought Carlton 'Tough Guy' Lassiter could be such a pushover? "Then you trained her well, Detective."
A trace of amusement brightened his face briefly. "Anyway, she's got a lot of unwarranted guilt about that weekend. How she should have known. How she should have been there. Now this case is all about me being incapacitated and having to rely on her, and I think it's possible that when it's all over, she could see things differently."
"You mean, she could see the two of you differently. As a unit."
"Yeah." He rubbed his temples. "Just know that if she wises up and breaks it off, you don't have to worry about me having hysterics in your office the first time she dates someone else."
"Glad to hear it," she said dryly. "But don't underestimate her heart, Carlton. Juliet doesn't strike me as a woman who makes rash romantic decisions. Granted, Shawn Spencer was an odd choice, but in her defense, he did have to work on her for years. And now that it's over, I don't see her rushing into a new relationship unless she's very sure it's the right one for her."
Carlton was staring at the floor again, pink—but a hopeful pink.
"We are, I presume, talking about a relationship and not merely a fling?"
"I hope so." There was a raw honesty in his voice which touched her.
"Okay, look. I'm confident you two will conduct yourselves professionally in the workplace and as I said last week, you're going to have to depend on each other in the weeks following the closure of this case. Truthfully, the closer you are, the better off you'll be. And the better off you are, the better off your supervisor is, and as you know, it is ultimately all about me."
He chuckled, relaxing again, and studying him, she thought Juliet O'Hara was a remarkable woman to have tamed this remote, reserved creature—as a friend first, and now as the keeper of his heart. She didn't have to ask him how long he'd loved her, nor how long he would. She only hoped Juliet knew these things about him already and would be exceptionally careful with the treasure in her keeping.
After a while, they moved back inside and stood by the table, having an entirely false conversation for Hugo's benefit. Carlton thanked her for the coffee, and she patted his arm before she left, thinking it would be good to have him back at the station, and fascinating to see how he'd handle being in a settled, loving relationship with the partner no one ever thought would last so long at his side.
. . . .
. . .
Juliet found it disconcertingly easy to 'come back' from shooting a man to more domesticated activities. She followed the plan to the letter, discarding the wig in the designated trash bin and the gun down the designated storm drain.
After a brisk four-block walk north, she caught a bus to take her to the grocery store close to Carlton's place.
Before she went inside, she called Berman from the secure phone. She wished she could call Carlton, but they'd agreed to keep up the charade that he'd need to relearn how to use his phone as a blind man, and not doing so at this time meant they could put off him having to talk to anyone unless she was there to handle the logistics—at least for Hugo's snoopy little mechanical ear.
"All done," she said when Berman picked up.
"And done perfectly," he answered. "We'll be in touch."
"So will I." Disconnect: the plan was for her to make contact later, as soon as she heard from Hugo as to his satisfaction with her completion of the task.
Then back to the mundane. Juliet shook her head somewhat wonderingly. This sort of high-stress double-life wasn't something she wanted again any time soon, but it was nice, professionally, to know she had done it well.
And of course, she thought as she collected a grocery cart and headed for the produce section, there was nothing mundane about being in love with Carlton, nor anything mundane about the man himself.
Or his eyes. Or his heart. Or his… she sighed.
Yeah, girl. You're besotted.
It was scarier than having to shoot Damski… but a lot more satisfying.
Shopping complete, she called a cab to pick her up, and the closer they rattled toward the condo, the lighter she felt despite the over-laden bags surrounding her on the seat.
By the time she was in the hall outside his door, the bags might have been filled with cotton.
She set one bag down, fished out her key and unlocked the door.
"I'm home," she called out, seeing him already coming toward her, all blue-eyed lean intensity. "Got groceries and library audios and all."
"Hey," he said, his voice husky. "I missed you."
"I missed you too." Damn, she really had. "Hold out your hands and I'll give you two of these bags."
Together they carried her spoils into the kitchen, setting them on the counter, and Carlton pulled her close against his body and kissed her with a searing intensity which by rights should have left scorch marks on the floor below and ceiling above.
"Oh, God," she managed. "You did miss me."
Carlton's hot mouth closed over hers again, his hands sliding up under her blouse, and just like that, Juliet had to have him.
"Here," she gasped, tugging at his jeans. "Take me here."
"No," he growled, pressing hard to her. "Groceries away. Then the bedroom."
Juliet pulled free and grabbed the bags, stuffing all of them into the fridge, cans and boxes and audiobooks and all, and Carlton started laughing and retrieving them again. "We don't need to chill the Cheerios," he whispered, too low for Hugo.
Impatiently, she helped sort the chaos, and yanked on his arm to tow him out into the main room and down the hall to the bedroom.
Door closed, she pushed him back toward the bed and started to take her shirt off, but Carlton caught her hands. "Slow down, sweetheart."
He put his arms around her and kissed her slowly now. Gently. Lovingly.
Juliet sank against him, loose and melty and so very warm.
"It went well?" he asked, the rumble of his voice pleasing to her ear, which he was nibbling.
"Mission accomplished." She shivered at the feel of his tongue tracing a path from her earlobe down her neck. "Please make love to me."
"I am," he assured her. "You're okay?"
"Yes. Please, Carlton."
He smiled, and unbuttoned her blouse slowly, his blue eyes lit with what she knew was love, because it made her weak in the knees as it filled her heart to bursting.
His fingers brushing against her skin brought her back to a more lustful plane, and that was very good too.
But he didn't pick up the pace, for all the ferocity of his kitchen kiss. He very slowly and deliberately undressed her, article by article, letting her clothes puddle on the floor around her, and then he kissed her, head to toe, kneeling before her as if she were a goddess for him to worship.
Juliet trembled with each kiss he bestowed upon her flesh; each touch of his tongue to her skin increased her desire for him, and by the time he rose and began to take off his clothes, she almost couldn't move for fear of falling into a heap.
Carlton lifted her unresisting body and deposited her on the bed—their bed—and resumed his all-over kisses, leaving her gasping anew as little shocks of pleasure coursed through her.
She needed to touch him, and finally found the energy to lift her boneless arms, to pull him up to meet her, mouth to mouth, body to body. Stroking his back, his ass, his sides, his shoulders, she parted her legs underneath him and made him as welcome as she knew how.
His kiss intensified but she met him more than halfway, the building fire returning strength to her movements, until it was his blue eyes which opened wide with unspoken pleasure—as he realized she was claiming him as much as he was claiming her.
He may have been on top, but he was at her mercy—and she had all the mercy in the world for him. All the need, and all the desire to give him everything she had.
So along with the intimacy of her body owning his, she gave him the finest words she knew. "I love you, Carlton. I love you."
. . . .
. . .
