A/N: I'm loving the reviews, everybody, thank you. Atmosphere is, I think, essential when writing stories but crucial when it's noir, so I'm glad everyone can feel it in the story. So thank you for letting me know that it's coming across.
We are getting closer to the end and I'm getting sad. Only 4 more to go, how did that happen?
Ch. 12: Everything I Have Is Yours
The rain had stopped a while ago but it didn't matter; I was already wet. Shivering like a scared wet cat, I stood outside his front door and pounded on it. I knew he was home because I could see the light on through the blinds that never covered the windows fully. He didn't need to. His windows were on the second floor, his house at the top of the hill on the corner lot. None of the other houses had a direct line of sight into his windows.
My worry was that he couldn't hear it. I'd knocked several times already to no answer. The meat of my hand was hurting and I was getting scared that maybe something had happened to him and that was why he wasn't answering. I was tempted to pull out my lock pick kit when the light above me on the porch turned on as the day slipped into night.
The door opened and he let out a breath as he saw it was me. He was still dressed in his blue dress shirt though his tie was missing and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He looked stressed before he smiled that soft smirk of his. My boss, friend, and the man that I was hopelessly in love with moved aside to let me in. He closed the door, took me gently by the arm, and led me down the hall to the bathroom.
He grabbed a towel and handed it to me. I took it and patted my face dry as he said, "Have a seat and I'll clean your leg."
My leg? I looked down and noticed my torn pant leg, the dirt and mud, and the cut on the side of my calf. I was bleeding.
"What happened?"
Sitting down on the edge of the clawfoot tub, I thought back about how I ended up soaking wet on his front porch.
I was running down the street. The rain was coming down so thick and heavy that it was hard to see the corner. It almost made it so I didn't know if it was rain on my face or tears. A puddle appeared in front of me and I took a step to run up the side of a yard and my foot slipped in the mud. I landed in the mud, grass, and puddle as I hit the steps that went up the sloped yard. Getting up, I continued down the street as I ignored the pain in my leg.
Getting to the corner, I dropped money into the call box and called for a taxi. There was a block away and it was enroute. Hanging up, he wrapped my arms around my chest and shivered. Yesterday it was near ninety with humidity and the rain would have been a welcomed relief. Today was cooler and there was no humidity, making it so much colder than it should have been in July.
The taxi pulled up beside the call box and I got in and gave him Gil's address. He looked me over and I stared at him. "You got a problem?" I wasn't in the mood for whatever that look was about.
Yes, my ex kicked me out of the house. I had already left him, but still. He'd taken the car. It was a nice car. Granted, it was his car, but he also had the taxi. And I had nothing except one bag of clothes in a motel room and my job. That was good enough for me. I loved my job and I loved the man that I worked with. Hank deserved to know it; so, I had told him.
As he drove me to Glen Park, I couldn't help but think of Hank's anger. His yelling had really startled me. He'd never yelled like that before. The fury in his eyes as he called me names, horrible names, like a cheat. I'd never cheated on him but in his mind I had. I'd fallen in love with someone else while we were together.
Okay, maybe that was cheating. Emotional cheating. I had really hurt him, dragging his heart along, making him think we had a future, a marriage, as I wore the ring he'd gotten me even though I hadn't said yes. He asked, he put it on my hand, but I never gave an answer. He'd thought I'd been too much in shock.
I was in shock, but not because I wanted to marry him. I was in shock because the moment he put the ring on my finger I knew I would never be his wife. Clarity hit like a ton bricks and I saw a man in front of me that wasn't my future. He wasn't my dream. Our dreams weren't the same. I should have told him then, at that moment, instead of waiting. It really had been my fault. Gil got punched in the face because I'd been too scared to tell Hank the truth.
The taxi pulled up to the curb and I stared up at Gil's house, saw the light on through the half-open blinds, and felt another chill settle into my heart. What if Gil's dreams weren't mine?
I paid the fare and got out into the rain that was finally lifting. Looking up, I saw the storm clouds clearing out and a darkening sky was settling in. The sun had already set behind the hills. Looking south, below the hills I saw the fog. It was creeping up the street like a slow moving wave, building in height. Getting closer and closer, bigger and bigger, until it was crashing down and flooding the street.
Letting out a breath, I walked up the steps to his front porch.
"I slipped. If you haven't noticed, it's been raining. Ground got pretty wet."
He gave a nod as he wetted a rag and grabbed the hydrogen peroxide and bandaids. He knelt down and used the wet rag to wipe the blood and mud off my leg. Then poured some of the peroxide on it before opening the bandaid. "May I ask why you broke off your engagement?"
Swallowing down my doubts, I told him, "I'm in love with someone else."
He didn't say anything but I heard his intake of breath before he forced a breath back out. His fingers stilled against my skin. "Gil?"
When he tilted his head to look up at me, I leaned down and kissed him. He sighed into the kiss and it was the best feeling, like it was something he truly needed. As I tried to deepen the kiss, his breath caught before he ended it as he tilted his head away and then dropped it to look at the floor.
I've seen that look before. It was when he'd kissed me in his office on the fourth of July. "It's okay—"
"Sara," he said a little breathlessly. I knew he was fighting within himself. Where this man got his self-control from I didn't know because I knew he actually didn't want to stop. He raised his head to look at me. In his eyes I saw a longing that I'd never seen in anyone's else's eyes. It made his blue eyes so much darker, sexier, and I knew what it was he wanted.
I tried to kiss him again but he stopped me. "What? What is it?"
Reaching out, he let out a breath as he touched my face. I covered his hand with mine. "I want more than just your body," he said.
"I know—"
"Let me finish." He rubbed his thumb against my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine, as he told me, "I don't want to rush into anything. You've just went through a breakup—"
"That's not a problem. I—"
He stared at me and I stopped talking. Feeling myself blush, I looked away. "We don't really know each other. I want to talk to you about more than just work, and spend time with you...Date for a while, before—...If we're together now, I'd feel like it's just...pent up lustfulness. I don't—Sara, I never want it to feel that way with you."
No one ever questioned me on why I loved this man, but if they ever did, this would be one of my reasons. Another man wouldn't care if it was lust or love that drove them to bed with someone else. It wouldn't matter.
With Gil, it mattered.
"I know that it wouldn't be because of pure lust. You love me. I love you," I said the words and meant them.
He smiled. The darkness was gone as his eyes shined up at mine as his fingers grasped my hand. "Still, I want to take it slow; do it right." As he stood, he brought me up with him.
"I know that it'd be for love, so why—"
"Sara," he put his hand on the other side of my face as he looked into my eyes and said, "it would be pointless for me to say these words and then go back on them."
At that moment, I realized he was right. He wasn't a man who just said things without meaning. If he said them, they meant something. He'd never say that he wouldn't kiss me only to kiss me. His words would become meaningless. He'd lose all the trust, honor, and respect that he so dearly held to be his most valued principles.
And if I knew one thing about Gil, he was a man of his principles. He wanted me to know that this was more, and would be more, than sex. The only way for him to do that was to do as he said: to date and to truly get to know one another.
I had to admit that he was right. I knew him but I didn't know him. For example, I had no idea that he was this conservative when it came to relationships, or sex. It wasn't that I thought he was promiscuous or anything, but the other day it had really surprised me when he said that I was the first woman he'd kissed since his wife. It'd been nearly ten years. And now this? I should be lucky that it wasn't marriage until sex.
Wait… "You don't want to wait until marriage, do you?"
He had a look on his face like I'd just killed his pet spider. Oh…God…"No," he suddenly said with a smirk.
I let out a breath and almost hit him. He chuckled slightly as he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.
Pulling me closer, he kissed my forehead then let go of my hand as he turned and left the bathroom to go into his bedroom, saying, "I have a t-shirt and sweatpants you can wear while your clothes are drying. They'll be big on you but it's better than nothing."
I didn't think clothes were better than nothing, but hey, if Gil thought so...he was an idiot. So, I let him be one. It was kind-of enduring.
He laid out the clothes on the bed for me and then left me alone in his bedroom. I quickly changed out of the wet clothes and was so glad the sweats had a drawstring. I hung my wet clothes on hangers to hang them to drip dry over the bathtub. I saw a fire burning in the fireplace as I headed back down the hallway barefooted. It felt warm, I felt warm, and Gil was in the sitting room standing in front of his record player with several vinyls in his hands.
Going into the kitchen, I found an unopened bottle of wine, two glasses, and the corkscrew. Then I spotted the can of beer on the counter. It was still cold. As I poured myself a glass of wine, I heard a song start to play. I'd never heard it before and as I stood at the counter, the glass of wine clenched between my hands, I listened to the words.
~"Everything I have is yours, you're part of me
Everything I have is yours, my destiny—"~
Gil walked into the kitchen and I thought he was going to pick up the beer but instead grabbed the wine and poured a glass.
"You don't want the beer?" I asked him in case he'd forgotten that he had opened it. At work he'd often forget that he'd gotten a cup of coffee and would get a second one and then have to give me the other one.
"Beer's a lonely drink. Whiskey, even lonelier. Wine's meant to be shared." A smirk appeared on his face before it slipped away.
I didn't know why the long face. It was a nice saying, and the wine tasted good. "What's wrong?"
"Nelda told me that once." He swirled the wine around in the glass then took a drink.
~"I would gladly give the sun to you
If the sun were only mine—"~
The lyrics to the song came back to me and I felt a sudden hesitation. This could have been a mistake. I knew Gil liked me, even loved me, but he had also been completely celibate since his wife's murder. What if he was still hung up on her? How do you compete with a dead woman?
She would never grow old, never fall out of love, and never become a regret over time. Never make you walk in the rain. In memory, she was forever…perfect.
His hand appeared in front of me. He wanted my hand. Giving it to him, he pulled me to him as he intertwined our fingers briefly before letting go as he wrapped his arm around my waist. His other arm hung at his side as it held the wine glass.
Hooking my arm around his shoulder, we swayed to the song together.
~"Everything I possess, I offer you
Let my dream of happiness come true—"~
"Why this song?" I asked him even though I was scared to. What if he said he and his wife used to dance to it together? Or that it was their wedding song?
What if our dream wasn't the same dream?
"I've always wanted to dance to it with the woman I love." I felt my throat tighten as doubt built back up into my chest, gripping me with fear. Then he let out a deep breath of contentment as he rested his head against mine and said, "I finally got my chance."
My arm tightened around his neck as I felt the burning of the tears that blurred my eyes. I knew right then that as long as I had Gil's heart, and he had mine, that I'd follow him anywhere he wanted to go. And we could take as long as he wanted to get there. He was worth it.
~"Everything I have is yours, my life
My all…"~
We were worth it.
End of Sara's POV
July 7th, 1955
They sat on his couch, she was laying across it with her feet up in his lap, glass of wine in hand, and he was leaning his head back, eyes closed and listening to the crackle of the fire and Frank Sinatra's voice crooning out moody love songs throughout his house.
~"I see your face before me, crowding my every dream. There is your face before me; you are my only theme. It doesn't matter where you are; I can see how fair you are, I close my eyes, and there you are…always—"~
He'd been stressed all day since she left his office with tears in her eyes. Seeing her so relaxed and safe made him smile. She was okay. They were okay.
It made it easier for him to finally relax. There was so much that was barreling down his way but he'd deal with it all in the morning. Tonight, he just wanted this. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. The woman he loved beside him as they lived within the comfortable ease of one another. Contentment. It was a wonderful feeling. One he'd missed dearly.
In all the years he'd been alone, he never thought he'd fall in love ever again. Then, there was Sara. She'd stolen his heart the moment he saw her, but over time she had stolen more than his heart. His life, his dreams, and all the walls he'd put up to keep her at bay. He could easily give in and rush into bed with her. It would have been so easy, but he didn't want to. Regret wasn't something he'd want to ever exist between the two of them. It'd break his heart.
After she'd left his office with those sad guilty eyes, her quivering lip, and the "I'm sorry," it'd hurt. Those words had haunted him all day. That was until she told him that the reason she broke off her engagement with Hank was due to the fact that she was in love with someone else. She loved him.
Despite knowing it, it was something else to hear it and see it in her eyes. It put him at ease, into this peaceful contentment, but it also pulled at all his insecurities and doubts. He didn't want to rush into it. They had to be sure they wanted the same things out of a life together. He didn't envy Hank. He felt so sorry for him to lose a girl like Sara.
He wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even his worst enemy.
Lifting his head up off the back of the couch, he opened his eyes and took a drink of the wine. Turning his head, he peered over at Sara who was resting back into the cushions of the couch with her eyes closed.
He still remembered how she'd looked when he opened the door. Cold, shivering like a wet cat, but also worried. Scared. Right before her shoulders dropped with relief. The same way her shoulders had dropped that day they'd first met when Hank arrived at the Princess Inn. She was glad that he was there. Everything became better.
Finishing the wine, he placed the empty glass on the coffee table then eased back into the cushion. He was so tired. All the stress of the day was gone and it felt like he could finally sleep. Moving her legs, he stood up as she opened her eyes to peer up at him. He removed the nearly empty glass from her hands and placed it next to his on the table then took her hands in his.
Pulling her to her feet, he kept a hold of her hand as he led her down the hallway to his bedroom. There was no intent on his part to go back on his word. He always kept his word. They both needed sleep. He only let go of her hand long enough to pull off his dress shirt and pants. He always wore an undershirt and he had on shorts but pulled on a pair of sleep pants anyway before climbing into bed beside her. Wrapping his arms around her, he found her hand in the dark and closed his eyes as he let out a breath into her hair.
The morning came too quickly as he was aroused from his deep sleep by a hand on his face. A touch on his cheek and then a kiss.
Blinking his eyes open into the morning light, he saw her sleepy brown eyes watching him. His mouth twisted up into a soft smile before he closed his eyes again. She moved closer to him and he held her tighter. Breathing her in, feeling her warmth, he didn't want to get out of bed for the rest of the day.
He kissed her head, then her forehead, and then her nose, and cheek, and then her lips found his. They were soft, lazy morning kisses and he found himself loving those more than any other ones. Then it got extremely hard to keep his word as she moved her body against his to get closer. Maybe sleeping in the same bed wasn't a great idea.
Then she laughed. He pulled away as he looked at her as he wondered what she was laughing about. He cupped her face and she turned her head to kiss his palm. This was a horrible idea. There she was, with a certain look in her eyes, wearing clothes that were too big for her body, hair a mess and lips full from kissing, and it was all so…adorable.
He kissed her again.
She started laughing again.
Rolling her onto her back, he stared down at her as he finally asked, "Why are you laughing?"
Her eyes were bright and beaming up at him as she touched his face. Fingers rubbed over his jaw, his cheek, as she said, "I've never been kissed by a man with a beard before. It tickles."
He did need a shave, but he'd hardly call the scruff on his face a beard. Smiling slightly, he leaned down and kissed her again. She laughed again. It was a beautiful laugh.
Laying back down next to her, he let out a breath as he tried to ease his body down. He really couldn't be breaking his word. She was just too cute for words. At least for his words as all kinds of poems ran through his mind as he looked at her in the morning sunlight.
Then new words filled his head as he touched her face, rubbing his thumb against her skin as he felt himself falling into her beauty. "O, what would I give to you if I could give you me? My breath, my thoughts, the heart that beats only to the tune of our song. O, what have you become to me? The sun to my day, the stars in my night…O, I would give you the world, but I'd settle for these words..." Upon seeing her look, one of awe and surprise, he smiled as he told her, "You inspire me."
He kissed her again. That time she didn't laugh as he felt a wetness on her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb before deepening the kiss.
He may have given his word about no sex, but he said nothing about no necking. Nor not kissing her neck. He found a spot that made her catch her breath and he licked it. The way she gasped and moved under him, her hands tightening in his hair, on the back of his neck, was sending him over the edge. If he didn't stop now he'd lose his control.
Before he did anything he wasn't going to regret later, the phone started ringing. It was probably Greg calling to let him know that the pictures were ready. Then there was the possibility that it wasn't Greg. He needed to get one of those answering machine things that Brass was talking about.
With great effort, he ended the kiss and pulled himself away from her beauty as he let out a breath and rolled out of bed. It was a good thing too, she was dangerous. When he looked back at her, seeing her sprawled out over the bed where he'd been laying, watching him, he nearly ran into the door; that's how dangerous she was.
Padding his way down the hall and into the living room, he saw the sunlight coming in through the blinds. It was getting warm in the house, that meant it was getting warmer outside. It was going to be a hot one. He heard a noise and looked back to see Sara going into the kitchen.
He grabbed up the phone as he said, "Hello?"
"Mista Grissom, it's Cassidy."
His eyes shot open as he heard who it was calling. "Yes, Cassidy, how can I help you?" He heard a silence on the line and hoped like hell he hadn't gone deaf. Then he heard her breathe out and realized she was still there, but hesitating.
"It's all my fault. Thomas being killed...It's all my fault." Through the phone, he could hear her guilt and tears. It'd finally caught up with her.
"Are you still in San Francisco?"
"I'm outside the city, down by Monterey."
Monterey was a two hour drive. Checking the time on the clock on the mantle above the fireplace, he saw that he could be there by nine-thirty, ten at the latest. "I can be there by ten. Is there somewhere…?" She gave him the name of a local diner and he wrote it down. "It'd be alright," he told her and hoped he wasn't lying. He never lied. Hanging up, he turned around and saw Sara standing there and smelt coffee. "I'm going to have to get the coffee to go. That was Cassidy. I think she's ready to talk."
"Aren't I going with you?"
Walking over to her, he said, "You took the cameras to Greg, you can pick up the pictures from Greg." She went to protest when he pulled her to him and kissed her forehead. "You're a licensed P.I. now." Stepping away, and letting her go, he told her, "The training wheels are off. You get a lead, run with it."
"I no longer have a car."
He stopped in the hallway, turned, as he thought about it then said, "Get a taxi."
He headed into the bathroom to get cleaned up. He walked in, saw Sara's clothes including bra and underwear on his tub, and groaned as he closed his eyes and shut the door.
The first thing he did after changing clothes was to get the murder weapon out of his house. Taking the camera out of his trunk, he took pictures before removing it. Putting a brown paper bag on the floor under the gun taped to the back of his sink in the basement, he used a pair of pliers to remove the tape and watched as both gun and duct tape dropped into the bag. Then he closed it up and put it in his car along with the camera but after he removed the film. He'd put a new roll in it later.
Sara came down the steps and handed him his hat and thermos. He handed her the film, saying, "Give that to Greg."
He looked at her, still dressed in his clothes, and felt himself smile as he gripped her hand as he leaned down and kissed her.
"Good luck."
"You too."
He opened the garage door and then got into his car and backed out into the street. Sara stood at the entrance of the garage and watched him leave.
He went to the only place he could think of to go with the gun: Ray Langston's house. Checking the time, he hoped he hadn't missed him. It was hot in his car even with the windows down, so he took his jacket and hat off and left them both on the seat as he parked and got out. He grabbed the bag with the gun and went to knock on Ray's door. He listened but couldn't hear much of anything, which wasn't new and didn't mean anything.
The door opened and Ray's eyes shot up in surprise. "Grissom."
He walked in and waited until the door was closed before handing over the brown paper bag with the gun inside. "I found this in my house. It's the gun that killed a dock worker named Trevor under Madame Masque's Palace a few nights ago."
Langston took the bag as he eyed it like it might grow wings and fly away. "Come with me to my office. I'll put it in the safe."
He followed him through the dining room and into the hallway that ran along the length of the house. Down at one end of the hallway, at the front, was a bedroom, in the middle a bathroom, and at the opposite end was the office.
"How'd it end up at your house?"
"The murderer R.B. Grayson put it there," he told him as Langston moved around his desk and bent down to where the safe was located. While he did that, he looked around the room. There were bookshelves along the walls. A chair and table behind him with a reading lamp. "I took pictures and didn't touch it. Hopefully the guy who taped it left prints on the tape." He didn't know if it'd been Grayson or the accomplice with the gun who'd taped it. Either way, it wouldn't be his prints. "Brass is dragging his feet making an arrest and coming to you or anyone else in the D.A.'s office because he knows as of right now, I'm the only one who can be placed at the scene of the murder. I was there. I told him I was."
"All evidence points to you?" Langston asked.
"As of now, yes." He eyed the bookshelf and saw several framed pictures between the rows of books. One of Langston's days with the 92nd Infantry Division. He'd been stationed over in Italy during the war.
Then he spotted a case with a coin inside of it. The only reason the rare coin caught his attention was because he'd seen it before.
It was a Brasher Doubloon. Ten years ago it was worth $10,000.
When he was in his office and asked Ray if he had a thing for cars after seeing the model of the '35 Duesenberg SJ Town Cabriolet, he told him, "I have a thing for nice things."
The coin collection that had been stolen with that rare coin inside of it had belonged to Mrs. Joseph Parker, mother to Joseph Parker Jr. who he had believed took the coin collection in order to pay off his debts to Alex Hardy.
"Ray," he asked as he turned around, "where'd you get--"
There was a gun pointed at him and he instinctively grabbed his gun, pulled it and fired as he jerked to the side as another gunshot rang out.
The lamp behind him shattered.
Ray Langston fell back into his chair behind the desk, gunshot to his chest.
Staring at Ray, and seeing the blood that spread over his white shirt, he suddenly realized what had happened. Hurrying over to him, he grabbed Ray's tie and undid and yanked it off his neck and pressed it into the wound. His hands were shaking. "Ray?"
Langston coughed and he saw blood on his lips. "The safe," he grunted out. "Everything's in the safe." He was fighting for breath as his hand reached for the phone. Then it fell.
He felt his body still as the light in his eyes went out. Reaching up, he checked for a pulse but didn't find one.
Closing his eyes, he felt the pain and anger shoot through his head. Damn it, Ray.
He sat on the floor and let out a shaky breath. The sweat was soaking through his shirt as he sat there for a long time thinking.
Sitting on top of his portfolio was a sheet of yellow notepad paper—the one he'd taken from Ray Langston's secretaries desk—and he had used lead from a pencil to shade over the imprints from the message that'd been written on the page that had been above it on the notepad. The shading made the words visible and he read: Grissom knows about Mr. Harcourt, camera w/pictures. Mr. Murphy hired him to find Mrs. Murphy.
Langston was supposed to tell him about the camera and Harcourt. The note by Miss Patty Rose was left for him on purpose. He'd follow it to Cohen, to Reiman's house.
Asking D.A. Scott Reiman about Langston, he said, "He worked under you for over ten years. You don't think he should be the new D.A.?"
"I think he's too arrogant—"
"At least he's honest," he said as he matched the five before the river card was played.
Reiman laughed, nearly choking on the smoke. "Let me tell you a secret, Grissom, no one's honest in the court of law. Whether it's the prosecutor or the defense attorney, you're trying to trick the jury into believing your side of the story. To do that, you have to lie."
Langston had worked under Scott Reiman for ten years. Why on earth didn't he think that they were playing on the same team?
Of course the only person he'd trust to go to with all the evidence would be Ray. They all wanted him to trust him. And he had.
He was his friend.
The gun in Langston's hand was the one he'd taken out of his house. He'd used it to try to kill him. The gun, the bullet, would be a match to the killing of Trevor. The police would think that Ray was the one who'd killed him. Ray was protecting Grayson; taking the blame.
He shook his head as it started to pound. Damn it, Ray.
The safe. Ray said everything was in the safe. It was open under the desk. Reaching in, he removed all the files and folders. Taking them with him, he left the house. He didn't know who was coming or when, but he knew well enough not to be there when they got there. He'd call Brass once he could and tell him everything.
The only thought on his mind right then was Sara.
He had to get to her.
TBC...
Disclaimer song mentioned: "Everything I Have is Yours," by Billy Eckstine. "I See Your Face Before Me," sung by Frank Sinatra.
PS: Poem credited to me.
