Chapter 14

AN: I thought this was going to be the last chapter, but I think there should maybe be an epilogue. Perhaps. Possibly.

"You know, if I'd been of a frame of mind to see it, what happened at Old Sonora would have made everything so obvious."

Carlton turned his head to meet Karen's gaze. She sat beside him on her mother's sofa, one hand lazily playing through his hair and teasing the back of his neck , the other resting on a sleeping Iris' back where she lay sprawled across both their laps, exhausted by a full day at the beach, showing him everything she loved. He'd hunted for seashells, explored tide pools where he'd been introduced to a vast world of unique sea creatures—some of which might even serve good purpose in frightening Spencer—and had observed a vocal colony of harbor seals and sea lions he was absolutely certain were mocking his fair Irish skin, recognizing it for the bizarre anomaly amongst native Californians that it was. Freckles he hadn't seen in thirty years had popped out across his windburned nose and cheekbones, he'd gotten the legs of his once pristine and sharply-creased khakis well and thoroughly splashed, and it was a very real possibility he'd never get all the sand out of the Fusion.

All in all, close to the most perfect day he'd ever experienced in his entire life.

"Everything about what?"

"About what happened with Dad." A wistful half-smile turned up the corner of her mouth.

He drew his brows together, failing to decipher her logic. "How do you figure?"

"As hard as you fought to save Old Sonora, when it looked like Hank might be the perp, you unhesitatingly made the hard choice despite what it cost you." Her thumb trailed a deliberate line along his jaw. "I watched you confront Hank, Carlton—examining his weapon and looking like your world had just come crumbling down around you, yet you never once wavered from doing what you thought was right."

Carlton's chest tightened at the memory—the intense disappointment and faint scorn etched across Hank's weathered face as he abdicated the duties of cuffing to O'Hara. The sick resolve he'd experienced as he walked away, the Colt with which he'd first learned to shoot weighing heavily in his hand. But he'd had to—had been so damned certain he was doing the right thing because the evidence was clear and there, dammit.

For the second time in his adult life he had abandoned all Hank had instilled in him—lessons on trusting his gut and his heart, on how instinct was the most reliable indicator a man possessed and he'd do well to pay it mind—had ruthlessly turned his back on all that had been offered to him out of love in support of what had appeared to be the truth of cold, hard fact and then the damned facts had gone and betrayed him. Exposed his greatest weakness.

I told you it wasn't me, Binky, but you don't wanna listen no more.

"I should have listened."

Her caress to his neck took on a soothing quality as if knowing he meant more than just Hank. "Words are easy, baby—and it's not your way to trust easy. You've been too deeply conditioned to rely on what appears to be tangible."

Carlton retrieved his wine from the end table and stared moodily into the pale gold depths, seeing again a young, desperate Karen, holding herself tight as she begged him to stay—to talk—to believe how much she loved him.

"What more tangible proof did I ever need than you and Hank—the only two people who have loved me unconditionally and unquestionably more than anyone in the world—asking me to do nothing more than listen, yet when you both needed me most, I turned away."

"You did what you felt was right."

He drained his glass in one long swallow. "Don't forgive me for this, Karen."

Her lips teased the rim of his ear, her breath warm and sweet with wine and the chocolate pie they'd shared for dessert. "Too late."

"I don't know how you can."

"I'm sure I can find some hoary cliché to cover it." The obvious smile in her voice coaxed a reluctant one from him, although honestly, he didn't know how in the hell she could forgive him. Instinct, however, demanded he shut the hell up and accept it for the gift it was. Turning his head, he captured her mouth in an unbearably sweet kiss—one that would have deepened into more if not for Iris' restless stirring.

Karen drew back with a rueful smile. "Duty calls."

As she made to stand, Carlton put his hand on her shoulder. "Easier for me to get her." Carefully, he slid out from beneath Iris' legs and gathered her into his arms, his heart doing funny things as he felt her squirm slightly, her head burrowing into his shoulder as he adjusted her weight.

Karen smiled, her eyes dark and suspiciously bright. "Told you you'd be fine."

Reserve and the caution that warned such things were entirely too good for the likes of him had him quietly reminding her, "It's only one day," even as Iris sighed, her small hand splayed across his chest like a starfish.

"I know." She gently pushed Iris' hair from her face and dropped a kiss to her forehead, her own hair brushing Carlton's arm with the delicacy of a bird's feather. Lifting her head, she brushed her lips against his. "First of many."

Once again, instinct prodded him in the ass, urging him to embrace this as his new reality. That really, dumbass, it was okay—he was entitled to happiness as much as the next snarky, paranoid, socially awkward dolt.

After closing the door on a deeply sleeping Iris, Karen took his hand and silently led him down the hall to her room.

"I need to go," he protested, as she pushed the door closed.

"No you don't," she said, slipping a button free on his shirt and nuzzling his chest.

His head fell back against the door with a muffled thump. "Your mother—"

"Is out." She drew back and met his gaze with a cheeky grin. "With a gentleman friend with whom she's grown rather close. I suspect we won't see her until tomorrow." She lowered her head back to her task.

"But work," he managed weakly as two more buttons came free, her mouth warm and soft on his skin.

"You barely slept last night, had a full day today, and even if you left right this second, which I have no intention of allowing to happen, you wouldn't get back to Santa Barbara until well past midnight. And what sort of Chief would I be if I neglected to look after the well being of my best detective?" Her breath blew in a damp trail across his chest as she opened his shirt wider, her teeth lightly scoring across first one nipple then the other, making him sink more fully against the door, his hands fisted in her hair. Whether to hold her there or try to stop her, he wasn't sure.

"I'm robot cop," he sighed as her tongue soothed the sting of each bite.

"You're mine," she murmured with conviction. "They can do without both of us for one more day."

At those words, Carlton managed to push her back slightly—not without effort, but at the same time, she'd given him the perfect opening—

"You're coming back then?"

She looked up, eyes wide and deep brown and without an ounce of guile. "Of course."

"But this morning at breakfast, your mother said…" He took a deep breath. "She said you'd mentioned maybe looking for a new position closer to here."

"My mother has a big mouth."

Carlton couldn't help but chuckle at the obvious consternation drawing her brows together into a near-unbroken light brown line. "I think maybe she was just making certain of my intentions."

Her expression relaxed enough for one of those perfect brows to rise. "Oh?"

He shrugged, "I told her wherever you went, I hoped you'd be willing to hire me."

"Oh." She stared at him, obvious wonder softening her features into those of the girl he'd known so long ago. "You'd leave Santa Barbara for me?"

Carlton held her hands against his chest. "In a heartbeat."

"That's it." With a decisive motion, she pulled her hands free, undid the final button and pushed his shirt from his shoulders. "You're not going anywhere." Reaching into his front pocket, she fished his cell phone out and handed it to him. "You'd better text O'Hara and let her know you won't be in until Tuesday."

With a laugh, he did as directed, then all laughter ceased as he turned off his phone and turned his attention to Karen. Slowly, he undressed her and lay her down on the bed, stroking and kissing every inch of her body, then laying back as she did the same to him before they came together. They made gentle, quiet love, allowing their bodies to simply feel. To luxuriate in the sensation of how perfectly they fit together and bask in the knowledge that this moment—all the moments going forward—belonged to them.

Afterward, Carlton lay with Karen's head on his chest and meditatively stroked her hair and realized he wasn't simply happy—he was… content. Kind of an unheard of sensation for him.

"You said this morning you hadn't said anything in the wake of my divorce because you thought you had no right."

"Yeah."

"Does that mean you were aware of me?"

He smiled at the hesitant shyness in her voice. In the dark it was so easy to forget all the years that had passed but, he realized, he didn't really want to. Karen Vick was different in many ways from Karen Dunlap, but no less alluring and desirable.

"How could I not be?"

"I don't mean just because I was your boss—"

"How could I not be?" he repeated, gently tugging on her hair. Responding to his request, she tilted her head back and met his mouth with hers. After a slow, thorough exploration, he eased back onto the pillows and settled her head against his chest once more.

Staring at the shadows cast by the moonlight streaming into the room he slowly said, "When Iris was a baby and you were searching for a nanny, you read me the riot act one morning about not having finished some reports in a timely fashion. Asked me if my other arm was in a sling."

"Oh, dear God, I was such a raging bitch," she groaned.

"Yeah, you were," he agreed, laughing as she smacked his chest—lightly, he noted. "But all I could think as I watched you root around, desperate for coffee, and wounded to the core that no one had made a new pot, was that I wished I could be a part of it. Be there, you know?"

"You are aware I very nearly ran my husband over in the driveway that week, right?"

"To be honest, it sounded kind of great." He shrugged, breathing deep at the weight of her leg thrown over his and increasing heat her body gave off as she burrowed closer. "Terrifying, but great."

And even though it was true he'd been increasingly aware of Karen from the moment she joined the SBPD, Carlton knew he hadn't really answered her question. The one she had really asked. Scrolling through memories accrued over the past seven years he found there actually was a moment—an unexpected moment—that had probably sealed his fate, even though he'd had no idea of it at the time.

"You went with me," he said abruptly, his gaze focused on the hulking shadow of the armoire in the corner.

"What?"

"When Yang took O'Hara and Abigail Lytar, you could have gone with Henry and Shawn. Junior did realize where Abigail was before we left and according to protocol, you should have gone with them—but you went with me."

"I—"She momentarily stiffened, then relaxed. "I never considered otherwise. All I could think was if the worst happened—if we didn't get to Juliet in time—you'd be…" Her voice trailed off then resumed, low and steady. "I knew Shawn would have Henry if anything happened to Abigail, but you—" She sighed and continued. "I… I just couldn't leave you to potentially face that alone."

Carlton remembered how it had felt—holding O'Hara, shaking and sobbing as the sky had lightened around them, his own terror held at bay by the adrenaline that had kept him going. After the sobs had subsided and left her spent, he'd led her unresisting form down the long flights of stairs and to the street where she'd finally allowed herself to be examined by medical personnel.

The bustling of city workers anxious to fix the clock and the elevators, and the forensics teams anxious to comb the area for clues that would give them any lead on the sick son of a bitch who'd taken one of their own had given Carlton the cover necessary to duck into an alley where he'd sagged against the wall, his face buried in his hands. After he'd collected himself, he'd stepped back out into the staging area and found Karen waiting, looking every bit the Chief until one got to her eyes—huge and dark and filled with unmistakable worry.

For him.

"That was it," he admitted, capturing her hand in his and toying with her long, slender fingers. "My conscious mind kept you firmly in place as my boss, but there was a little corner that remained aware. That wanted you so bad, I could hardly sleep most nights which only pissed me off more. I was primed to make a huge mistake if only to prove I could move past you again—never realizing I'd never moved past you in the first place."

"Huh." In the dark, her voice was thoughtful. "I kind of feel as if I should apologize."

Before he could protest she was being ridiculous—he was the asshat here—she rolled over onto him and pressed her fingertips to his lips, silencing him. At least verbally.

"But I'm not going to," she said. Her hands cupped his face. In the faint light she was a study of pale skin and dark eyes, of softness and an unmistakable strength that held him close, in all ways. "I can't. Because mistakes and hurt and twisting paths and... all of it, you and I, Carlton, are exactly where we're supposed to be. No doubts."

Carlton closed his eyes and held her close, feeling her heart beating in sync with his.

"No doubts," he echoed. "No hesitation. Ever again."