Brenda was rattling around Sharon's house by herself on a Sunday morning. The brunette had left hours ago to run a few errands (including a drop off at the dry cleaners that was going to cost them both a ridiculous amount of money), and to collect a 'surprise', so Brenda was curled up on Sharon's couch with personnel reviews and the beginnings of yearly divisional statistic paperwork, waiting.
It was a little weird being alone in Sharon's house, but not because she was uncomfortable - she was very much at ease here among Sharon's things and the memories she had of them together, and Sharon was comfortable leaving her here alone - but Brenda was lonely. Even if Sharon was here, they would both be working, but Sharon's presence at the kitchen table or her cozy built in desk or leaning against the other arm of the couch was sorely missed. Brenda liked working with Sharon around, even if she wasn't as productive as she would be working by herself. Her Captain made all of these adorable little noises while she was going over paperwork or reviewing policy changes or reading case law that pertained to her work for the LAPD or the shelter. The cute little 'mmmmm's' and grunts that issued from Sharon's pretty mouth as she concentrated were well worth a little bit of wasted time.
Brenda was hunched over the coffee table, filling out Buzz's yearly personnel review when she heard the sound of tires on the drive. She finished her final sentence, recommending the civilian tech for promotion, but leaning on the fact that he was an integral part of her team, hoping that he would get the raise he deserved without going anywhere. Brenda signed her name with a flourish and capped her pen. One of Sharon's, actually - a fancy Montblanc rollerball with silver inlay. She tucked it into the pocket of her long heather gray grandfather-style cardigan. Maybe Sharon wouldn't notice its absence; she did have a few others, equally nice, that she used regularly. Brenda liked the little luxuries that had picked up from Sharon, and fine writing utensils was just one of them. She slapped the folder she had just finished with on top of her 'done' stack, stood to stretch, then smoothed down her cantaloupe colored cashmere shell and buttoned the top button of her lightweight gray wool pants. It was about time for lunch.
The door opened and Sharon stood in the entryway, an unbleached canvas bag of groceries in one hand. She smiled fondly at Brenda.
"Can you get the other bags out of the car, honey?" She tossed the keys to Brenda, who fumbled, but managed to keep them from crashing to the coffee table. Brenda brushed past Sharon, pausing for a brief kiss on the lips. She was halfway down the walk before she noticed that the car Sharon had left in (a five year old Lexus sedan, nice but not flashy) was not the car that was sitting in the drive next to Sharon's Crown Vic. Brenda took the two bags out of the passenger seat of the little midnight blue coupe (it was a Jaguar) and pressed the lock button on the key fob, checking to make sure the locks engaged.
"Shari, baby," Brenda called after she kicked the door shut behind her. "Did you make a purchase other than groceries when you went out today?"
Sharon was offloading items into the pantry. "Mmmm, no. My father wanted to surprise me with an early birthday present. I wouldn't let him get me something for my fiftieth, so he doubled down for sixty."
Brenda put the bags down and bent to fish out anything that needed to go into the refrigerator. "A sports car?"
"Fast cars were always Donald Raydor's one extravagance, and he can't drive anymore, so I guess he's living vicariously through his only child."
"I guess!" Brenda exclaimed, putting a bag of shelled, fresh sweet peas in the crisper drawer. "Is it fun to drive?" Brenda had a compelling picture in her head of Sharon behind the wheel of that car in one of her shorter work skirts, stomping hard on the gas pedal.
"It handles very nicely, and the built in USB for my iPod and bluetooth for my phone is useful. Its hard to tell much else on the surface roads. I was thinking we could take a drive up the PCH - maybe have a late lunch in Malibu and take a walk on the beach?"
"That sounds like a lovely idea." Brenda had begun her year end review and finished 2/3 of her personnel reviews in one morning; a little reward for all that paperwork was more than due.
Brenda locked the door and pulled the keys out of the deadbolt where Sharon had left them for her. Her lover was leaning against the car, waiting. As much as Brenda loved Sharon's work wardrobe, it was casual clothing that made Brenda's heart skip a thrilling beat every time the brunette wiggled into a pair of jeans or pulled on a oft-washed polo shirt or put on a pair of shoes that didn't have heels.
Sharon was wearing a faded, mint-green button down with the sleeves rolled up to expose her forearms, tucked into a pair of dark wash, boot cut jeans that fit her like a second skin. A thick brown belt matched the well-worn Frye's on her feet. Brenda loved those boots. Gleaming brunette hair was held off Sharon's face by large, square tortoise shell sunglasses.
She handed the keys to Sharon and leaned herself against the pretty Captain. "Hot woman, hot car," Brenda hummed into Sharon's ear, then nibbled delicately on the lobe. Her Sharon had very sensitive ears - which was probably why they weren't pierced, and why she never had to worry about sucking the backs off Sharon's earrings when she centered her affections there.
"So you like it? It's not too ostentatious?" Sharon sounded like she was on the fence about the whole sports car, thing.
"Welllllll," Brenda hedged, "I can guarantee that I'll enjoy watchin' you drive it. You'll have to decide anything else, darlin'."
"I guess we'd better get driving then - I have a week to make up my mind and I'm sure as hell not taking this to work."
"You could make all kinds of new friends in the parking garage with this ride, baby," Brenda teased.
"I could also bring it back covered in dings and key marks because IA isn't allowed to have nice things. The rank and file'll assume I'm taking payment from the Mayor or the people who file lawsuits against them," Sharon groused, frowning. Brenda kissed the little furrow that formed in between Sharon's brows when she knit them together, and the tension that had momentarily stiffened Sharon faded away.
"Come on, Brenda Leigh." Sharon pushed gently at the blonde's hips. "I have something for you in the car."
The Jag was much lower to the ground than anything Brenda had ridden in in a long while, and it didn't have that slightly chemical tang that seemed to be universal to new cars; instead it smelled like good leather and ionized air. The doors shut with a muted thump, and all of the suburban street noise disappeared.
Sharon opened the center console and pulled out a tiny, white cake box, festooned with yet another lime green silk ribbon. Brenda untied the loops of the bow, and nestled where the ribbon crossed over the white cardboard was a silver key. She unthreaded it from the ribbon and gripped it tightly in her palm. Sharon wrapped her hand around Brenda's that was clutching the key.
"I know we've been spending most nights together, but I want you to feel welcome here all the time, even if I'm out." Brenda leaned over to kiss Sharon, her tongue flirting with the brunette's lower lip and edging minutely into Sharon's mouth. She pulled away when Sharon tried to deepen the contact; they could make out in the car later.
"Mmmmm, I think you promised me lunch, Shari." Sharon chuckled, though her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly, savoring the kiss they had shared.
"There's something in that box that should tide you over till we get to Malibu." Inside the white cardboard was one perfect cupcake, smoothly iced with dark frosting. Brenda dipped a finger into the icing and brought it to her lips. Dark chocolate ganache.
"You are so thoughtful, Sharon Raydor. If the rest of the world knew how sweet you are…" She trailed off, a slightly goofy smile on her face. "I'm so lucky to have you in my life." Sharon blushed brightly and turned the key in the ignition. The powerful engine came to life with a deep growl.
Sharon backed the car down the drive, pausing to let the road clear before bumping slowly down the curb. One three point turn later, they were headed towards the 10. Brenda was licking the icing from the cupcake, head bent awkwardly over the box to keep any crumbs from the ivory leather seats. Sharon very much enjoyed spoiling her Brenda Leigh - she got so adorably giddy about little gestures (especially if those gestures involved chocolate) and often rewarded Sharon's efforts with excellent kisses.
She found herself having to curb her impulses when it came to showering Brenda Leigh with gifts. A daisy print Marc Jacobs sheath was a temptation Sharon had had to drag herself away from. She had, hidden in the closet of one of the guest rooms, a pair of delicate Prada pumps in that shade of teal that Brenda favored. Also tucked away were a trio of silk and cashmere blend cardigans in some of pastels that populated Brenda's wardrobe. Sharon had been unable to resist the soft fabric, clean lines, and attention to detail along the placket and at the cuffs. This most recent gesture, the gift of a simple, silver key that had cost $2.50 at the hardware store a few blocks away had been the most frightening impulse of all: she had wanted to give Brenda that little sliver of metal and beg her to move in and never leave, but she couldn't. It was too soon, and Brenda wasn't yet actually divorced, only separated, and neither of their families knew what was going on, but all the reasons why she shouldn't didn't stop Sharon from wanting.
In deference to her desire to give her lover sumptuous and beautiful things, but unsure of how expensive gifts would be received, Sharon had bought a few dozen of those individually wrapped truffles that Brenda adored and would pepper them around places for the blonde to find; one on her keyboard in her office during a long workday, one taped to the leftovers Sharon left in the Major Crimes break room refrigerator, one on the pillow she left behind when she woke for her morning swim. Sometimes these little gifts would elicit a spontaneous visit from her Chief, and behind the closed door of her office, Sharon would get to kiss the taste of expensive chocolate from that broad mouth, and they could just coexist, alone together for a few moments, in the quiet of that seldom traveled corner of Police HQ. As much stress and anxiety as Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson had caused her in the past, now Brenda Leigh kept Sharon centered, and in a professional position she was becoming more dissatisfied with each passing day, a little bit of 'zen' in her life made all the difference.
"Is the icing any good?" She had chosen the chocolate marshmallow cupcake specifically because of the icing: Brenda Leigh loved dark chocolate ganache, and she figured Brenda would indulge in the frosting and leave the cake. If the woman wasn't nearly constantly hungry for almost anything, Sharon would swear she was a hummingbird, between her metabolism and the sheer amount of sugar she consumed.
"Not as good as yours. The texture is different." Brenda licked her lips in consideration, but failed to remove all the frosting from them. "And a different percentage of cocoa for the base, I think." She put the slightly mangled baked good back in the box and tucked the box between her knees. She settled back in the seat to scrutinize Sharon's operation of the car. Sharon made a right turn and then immediately changed lanes to dodge around a slow truck.
"It rides fairly comfortably - the suspension's not so stiff that the LA potholes'll rattle your teeth out." Brenda remarked, and Sharon made a general noise of agreement. Her focus was mostly split between the road and the intense attention Brenda Leigh was paying her legs. She sped-up a little to shoot under a light that had just turned yellow. The on-ramp to the 10 was visible a block away.
The acceleration of the little Jag onto the freeway pushed both women back into their seats, and Brenda gave an excited little squeal. Sharon had a huge grin on her face; it would be a hard thing to return this car at the end of the week. She switched smoothly into the leftmost lane, keeping one eye on the speedometer; nine miles over would probably have to be her limit in this car. Sharon was well aware of how much cops enjoyed pulling over expensive cars for moving violations.
"Make yourself useful and get out the manual. It's in the glove box." Brenda mock sneered at her and fished the little leather bound volume out of the compartment.
"What am I lookin' up?" Brenda flipped the book open to the index.
"Cruise control," she stated, and Brenda made a noise of outrage. "I don't want to have to badge my way out of speeding ticket, Brenda Leigh." The blonde muttered something under her breath, probably something unflattering about how every cop everywhere badged themselves out of speeding tickets, but turned the pages anyway.
"Controls are on the left steering wheel - the button second from the top turns it on, top button sets and changes the speed." Sharon set the cruise control and took her foot off the gas. The glove compartment clicked shut and then Brenda Leigh slid a hand across the center console to rest on Sharon's thigh. The blonde had leaned back in the seat and her eyes were shut, lashes a dark fan on her pale cheeks, the loose honeyed waves of her hair pulled over one shoulder. Sharon took Brenda's hand in hers and settled in for the drive.
When Sharon pulled into a parking space outside Geoffrey's in Malibu, Brenda was asleep, snoring softly, hand still on Sharon's leg. She tended to do that during rides longer than 30 minutes; or at least she did when Sharon was driving. Sharon had a hard time picturing Brenda falling asleep in the passenger seat if Gabriel or Flynn were behind the wheel. And she didn't much like the idea of Brenda's squad being familiar with the noises and faces Brenda Leigh made while she was dozing - she felt very possessive of such things.
"Brenda Leigh," Sharon cooed, reaching out to cup a soft cheek. "Wake up, honey." The blonde's eyes fluttered open and she smiled a sweet, sleepy smile at Sharon.
"Was I out the whole way?" Brenda asked, lifting her shoulders and wriggling to work out the kinks in her spine. Sharon hmmm'ed and leaned across the car to brush her lips against Brenda's. Her tongue snuck out for a taste, almost of its own volition; Brenda tasted like chocolate.
Sharon and Brenda followed the hostess onto a broad deck overlooking the ocean. They ducked under the giant umbrella that shaded their table and Brenda looked at the place settings with dissatisfaction. She pulled the chair that was to be hers about 110 degrees closer to Sharon's, moved the silver and water goblet and menu, and sat down, well pleased with herself.
"Classy, Brenda Leigh" Sharon said in a low voice as she took her own seat.
"Well," Brenda sniffed, eyes sparkling, "I wanted to sit closer to you. Now I'm wonderin' why I even bothered." Sharon appropriated one of Brenda's hands and brought it to her lips, bussing the knuckles gently, then entwined their fingers.
"Because you love me," Sharon stated smugly.
"I guess," Brenda grumbled, giving Sharon's hand a squeeze before letting it drop and picking up her menu. "Now get to orderin'. I think my blood sugar's low," Brenda poked fun at her tendency to get a little cranky when she was hungry
Meal chosen, (they were going to split appetizers of coconut shrimp and baked brie, then chicken picatta for Brenda; Sharon couldn't decide between sea bass and scallops), Brenda turned her attention to their surroundings. It was a little late for brunch, so the restaurant wasn't terribly crowded. Excepting a couple in their Sunday church best, their fellow diners were as casually dressed as they were. At the table next to theirs, sitting in a chair on his knees with his back to the ocean, a little boy of maybe 5 was enjoying a view of a different sort. The pad of paper and crayons on the table in front of him forgotten, he was staring at Sharon, utterly enraptured.
"Someone has a crush on Sharon Raydor," Brenda singsonged.
"Old news, Brenda Leigh." Sharon said, still smug, her attention still on the menu. Brenda swatted her on the shoulder.
"I'm not talkin' about me, you jerk. The little boy at the table next to ours is makin' some serious goo-goo eyes at you."
"Mmmm," Sharon looked up to make eye contact with Brenda and smirked. "I saw him when we walked in - I thought he was looking at you. I guess you were too busy staring at my ass to notice."
Brenda blushed, but smiled wickedly. "I like those jeans," she purred. "Gimme a smile; I wanna see what your admirer does." Sharon rolled her eyes, but smiled at Brenda, partly because Brenda had asked her to, but mostly because her Chief was being ridiculous, and that was always worth a smile.
At the other table, the little boy blushed furiously, picked up a crayon and began to draw on his pad of paper, intent. Brenda chuckled and leaned in just a little bit more for a kiss.
"Oh, it's definitely you he has his eyes on, Shari. That smile lit him up like a little red Christmas light." She chuckled again. "I know exactly how he feels - when you smile at me like that, it makes me wobbly in the knees and all fluttery in the heart."
"You're sweet and ridiculous."
"It's the truth!"
The little boy was peeking at them again when the server finished taking their order. Sharon winked at him over the rim of her water glass. He giggled.
"Should I be jealous?" joked Brenda.
"Jackson was a horrible flirt when he was that age - we would walk into a restaurant or into the grocery store or where ever and he would bat his eyes and smile and have everyone wrapped around his little finger in a minute. Made for excellent embarrassing story material when he got older. I would trot it out whenever he got too big for his britches." Brenda laughed; she was nervous as hell to meet Jackson, but at the same time, wanted desperately to met him and the rest of Sharon's family - she wanted to be included.
Brenda was nibbling on a piece of puff pastry filled with soft, melted brie when she felt a tug on the sleeve of her sweater. Sharon's little toe-headed admirer was standing at her elbow, an apprehensive look on his round face.
"Hello there," she said, smiling. He motioned at her to lean closer, and she did.
"Is your friend a movie star?" He whispered - his voice was lightly accented; British, she thought.
"She is awfully pretty, isn't she?" Brenda replied, fighting a case of the giggles. He nodded, his expression serious. "I dunno, though. You'll have to ask her yourself." He blushed to the roots of his white blonde hair, but stiffened his spine and squared his shoulders. Brenda couldn't risk a glance at Sharon without losing it completely. She glanced at his parents who had one eye on their son and another on their nearly finished appetizers and smiled reassuringly. The gentleman turned his full attention back to his oysters, but the woman was still focused on her child interacting with total strangers.
"Miss," he asked, polite and solemn, across Brenda's lap. "Are you a movie star?" Sharon shook her head gravely.
"Just a regular, non-famous person, sorry." Sharon voiced in that alto thrum of hers. The boy hung his little head, looking very disappointed. "But you know," Sharon continued, "movie stars have been known to come to this restaurant, especially for brunch on Sundays." He perked up.
"Really?"
"Really," Sharon said with a firm nod. "I used to bring my kids here on Sundays, and we saw Luke Skywalker and Mary Poppins."
"Luke Skywalker!" He exclaimed, excited now, his little body vibrating. "Star Wars is awesome!"
"It is pretty awesome," Sharon agreed. Brenda totally forgotten, Sharon's new friend planted himself next to her and they embarked on a detailed discussion about movies that Brenda had seen once, ages ago. She was way out of her depth. The little boy's mother was listening in on the conversation, relaxed fully. Apparently sci-fi geekery was very non-threatening. She pushed her chair back and stood; if Sharon was going to make a new friend, than so was she. The little boy's mother made it easy on her.
"Looks like those two are sympatico," she said. She had a strong accent: definitely British, but Brenda couldn't tell the flavor. "He'll talk about Star Wars for hours."
"Her, too. It's like another language to me." She held out a hand, the other woman took it. "Brenda Johnson. And Sharon Raydor," she indicated her geeky girlfriend with a jerk of her head.
"Amelia and Jonathan Kinlan. And Marcus, enthralled with your girlfriend." The Kinlan's were both tall, even seated, and dressed in that nearly universal casual weekend uniform of khakis and polo shirts, though both had sweaters on in deference to the fall wind coming in off the ocean. Mr. Kinlan was almost absurdly rangy, the cuffs of his thick oatmeal colored cardigan didn't quite reach his bony wrists, and he had a thick shock of straw colored hair that fell into his eyes. Amelia's hair was a messy bob of pale gingery ringlets that framed an open face with a slightly crooked nose and a small bow of a mouth. Brenda found her quite charming.
"She has that effect on children. I think it's the hair," Brenda deadpanned. Amelia and Jonathan chuckled.
"Do the two of you have any spawn of your own?" Jonathan asked, curious. His wife shot him a scowl.
"Not me; childless and fancy-free, or something to that effect. Sharon has two; a boy and a girl."
"I suppose they'd be a little old to be buddies with Marcus, he's had trouble making friends since we moved here." Jonathan pronounced mournfully. It was Brenda's turn to chuckle.
"You could say that. They're 28 and 30. Though Jackson does share his mother's taste in movies."
"You're joking," Amelia said, incredulous. "There is no way that woman has children my age."
"She does. And she'd kill me for telling you this, but she's just shy of her sixtieth." Brenda looked over at her beautiful, kind Sharon, Marcus now seated on her lap, taking a tentative bite of gooey brie and pastry.
"She must be the pied piper, because I've never been able to get him to eat cheese that wasn't perfectly square and packaged in transparent film." Amelia was goggling at her son. Brenda couldn't disagree with the notion that Sharon wound a potent spell around the object of her attention.
"Mummy, brie is good!" Marcus exclaimed loudly from Sharon's lap. He wiggled his little feet down to the deck and shot out from underneath the table. Jumping in place next to his mother, he asked (he really had good volume control for such a young guy, especially considering how excited he was), "Mummy, mummy, mummy, can Sharon eat with us?" Sharon caught Brenda's eye - she wanted to say yes. Brenda nodded once, just slightly. Sharon beamed at her, and Brenda's heart skipped a beat.
"You'll have to ask her and Miss Brenda if that's ok with them, Marcus." Amelia told her son, her tone serious. He nodded enthusiastically and turned back to the brunette.
"Will you eat lunch with us, Miss Sharon? And you too, Miss Brenda? Pretty please?" Marcus's eyes were wide and hopeful.
"We would like that very much, Marcus," Sharon intoned, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. He clapped his hands together with glee, bouncing in place a few more times.
"Why don't we just slide an extra chair up to your table," Brenda suggested. Sharon rose, scooped up their bags and did just that. Brenda picked up their water glasses and silver, and sat down. She was crowded next to Sharon on one side of the square table, and that was just fine with her. Marcus took his seat again, very pleased with what he had orchestrated.
"Sharon, Amelia and Jonathan Kinlan. Jonathan, Amelia, Sharon Raydor." Sharon smiled congenially at them.
"Mummy, Miss Sharon and Miss Brenda are police officers!" Conversation was easy with an excited child to choose the topics. "Do you catch bad guys?" he asked Brenda.
"I do, and so does Miss Sharon."
"Are you detectives?" Jonathan inquired. Sharon answered for both of them.
"We're investigators. Brenda handles high profile cases - unpleasant stuff. I'm in Internal Affairs, also unpleasant stuff." Brenda rummaged around in her bag for her badge and passed it across the table to Marcus.
"Wicked," he said, running a tiny finger across the relief of Los Angeles City Hall in the center and then the words that arched over the detailed representation of the building. "Dep, Depu," he struggled to sound out the unfamiliar words. "I don't know these words. What does it say on the top?"
"Deputy Chief," Brenda said. Marcus mouthed the two words, silently, a few times, familiarizing himself with the way the letters on the badge related to the sounds. Then he pulled a face.
"What does that mean?"
"Well, it means that sometimes I get to boss Miss Sharon around, because she's only a Captain." Brenda was playfully haughty, and Marcus giggled at her, eliciting a mock scowl from Sharon.
"All police officers have ranks. Our boss is the Chief," Sharon explained, patient, but not condescending. "And his right hand man is the Assistant Chief. Below him are the Deputy Chiefs, then the Commanders, then Captains, Lieutenants, Sergeants, Detectives, then Officers."
"Oh, it's like army guys, but with different names," Marcus realized, and Sharon nodded. "Daddy and I were watching this show about the American Civil War on the History Channel and they talked about the generals and colonels and the other ranks. I don't remember them all, though." Brenda rummaged in her purse again till her fingers found one of her extra star pins, loose at the bottom of the bag. She leaned over Sharon and the table and stuck it through the collar of Marcus's polo shirt and fastened the back on.
"There, now you're a Commander and can boss Miss Sharon around, too."
"Double wicked," Marcus enthused, fingering the pin.
"So you two are like, big time in the Los Angeles Police?" Jonathan blurted, and Sharon laughed.
"I don't know about big time." The Captain demurred.
"Sharon's being modest," Brenda boasted. "I might be ranked higher, but she's been in charge of her own division for over a decade. The first woman in the LAPD to have her own command, too." Brenda was proud of Sharon's accomplishments - achieved by tenacity, intelligence, an encyclopedic knowledge of Federal, State and City law and law enforcement regulations and by making herself indispensable not only to LAPD brass, but to the Inspector General's Office and the Federal offices that monitored state and city FID divisions.
"That's impressive," Amelia added. "I guess you really never know who's going to sit down next to you at a restaurant."
Sharon and Brenda left the restaurant with the Kinlans. Marcus bounced down the stairs ahead of them, pleased that a tour of Police HQ and another meal with Sharon Raydor awaited him in the near future. Brenda was replete, leaning into Sharon with a hand in the brunette's back pocket, a little amazed that she had so enjoyed a situation that, in the past, would have had her faking an urgent phone call from work. Watching Sharon charm a lonely little boy with police and sci-fi talk had made for a relaxing afternoon. And now, she had a walk on the beach and a sunset to enjoy with her lover.
They strolled into the parking lot, and before following his parents to their Volvo station wagon, Marcus threw himself against Sharon's legs for a hug. Sharon grasped his shoulders gently, prying him away and crouching to give the child a proper hug. Marcus wrapped his little arms around her neck and squeezed. Sharon squeezed back.
"Come on, Marcus, it's time to get home," Amelia called, and Marcus released Sharon reluctantly.
"I'll see you soon, kiddo, okay?" Sharon said, her face still at his eye level. He nodded, then hugged her again.
When he stepped back, he looked up to Brenda. "Thank you for the Commander pin, Miss Brenda." Marcus turned and scampered to his parents' car. Amelia lifted him into a booster seat in the back, and shut the door. She waved before climbing into the passenger seat, and Sharon and Brenda returned the gesture. When the Volvo began to back out of the parking space, they turned away to put their bags into the Jag. Sharon relocked the car and, arm snugged around Brenda's slender waist, lead them towards the beach.
Jonathan made a low whistling sound as they pulled out of the parking lot.
"What?" Amelia asked her husband, more focused on making sure Marcus was wearing his seatbelt properly than anything that was going on outside the car.
"Those are two interesting women. We certainly didn't get the whole story, because that car runs…" he paused to do the math in his head, "about $100000 US. That British car," he said, a note of approval in his voice. Amelia rolled her eyes. For someone whose professional reputation involved characterizing and categorizing human behavior, her husband could be a little dense.
"Of course we didn't get the whole story, Jon. Two of the most powerful women in southern California law enforcement would hardly be open books, even if they were very friendly." She pulled out her phone and opened the web browser - 'Brenda' she typed in to the search bar.
"They spell Johnson with an 'h' over here, don't they?" Jon shrugged. 'Johnson LAPD' she finished typing and then hit 'done.' The first search result was a link to a bio on the LAPD website - a bunch of links to new articles followed. She pressed the link for the bio. A picture of Brenda in her blue uniform cover, stars at her collar, sat next to the text. She read out loud:
"Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson heads the Major Crimes division of the LAPD. Trained by the CIA in interrogation and deception detection, she worked previously for the Atlanta Police Department and the DC Metro Police Department. Major Crimes has a 95% case closure rate, and a 80% conviction rate."
"CIA? That little blonde woman with the accent straight out of Gone With the Wind?" Jon asked.
"Seven years, it says here. BA and MA from Georgetown in Russian and Slavic languages respectively."
"Russian speaking CIA in the late 80's and early 90's? Serious stuff." Jon was duly impressed by Brenda's academic credentials, even if her work history was a little frightening. "I guess you really don't know who's going to sit down next to you at a restaurant." He shot a glance to the phone. "Google Sharon now." Amelia dutifully typed 'Sharon Raydor' in to the search bar. She was still curious, but she didn't really want to learn enough to make her nervous around two women that had been so nice to her son. Amelia opened the link to Sharon's LAPD bio. Sharon wasn't in uniform in her photo. She was wearing a smartly cut black suit jacket over an emerald shell, a pearls and platinum collar around her neck. Her brunette hair was straight and sleek, the section at the crown of her head pulled back. Dark frame glasses were perched on her nose. She looked stern and absolutely unapproachable - 180 degrees from the woman that Marcus was flirting with.
"Captain Sharon Raydor heads the Force Investigation Division of the LAPD. She joined the LAPD after earning her Juris Doctor from the Law School at Stanford University. She is also the LAPD's Women's Coordinator and sits on the board that chooses candidates for the Chief of Police and the Police Commission."
"She also speaks fluent Star Wars geek with five year olds in beach side restaurants," Jon remarked pithily. "And is now our son's new friend."