The night was alive with the song of chorusing crickets. A light wind whistled through the trees, creating a restless quality to the evening refrain. It provided a fitful backdrop to the emotional discord, close at hand, and ever-mounting.
As if on cue, the curtain of clouds parted, spotlighting silvery moonbeams across a sprawling estate until they fragmented through the beveled glass of a darkened office window. The dissonance within the study reached a fevered pitch until a single, staccato gunshot split the night.
All went silent.
COMMITMENT
D of The DA's Office
(Voiceover)
Webster's dictionary defines "commitment" as 'something pledged' or 'the state of being obligated or emotionally compelled.' In relationships, commitment is key. It is an art and a science, requiring a delicate touch. When honored, it has the power to bind two souls together. But when disregarded, the results...can be deadly.
Sergeant Rita Lee Lance surveyed the spacious den as a uniformed officer clicked off preliminary details about the victim and scene. Her gaze reached the grandfather clock across the room, its Roman numerals heralding her exhaustion as daybreak was still two hours away. Rita closed her eyes tightly for a moment to alleviate their burning.
Despite the wretchedly early hour, the detective was a vision. Her cream-colored blazer and skirt, with maroon blouse and matching pumps, stood out in elegant contrast to the mahogany furnishings. Rita tucked her black leather binder under one arm as she donned a pair of latex gloves. Smiling, she greeted the burly Coroner Assistants who would be bagging and transporting the body. "Hi, Jared. Hi, Matthew. Do you know where Keisha is?"
The two CAs merely grinned and shook their heads side to side.
Crossing in front of the ornately carved desk, Rita glanced at several pieces of paper. They appeared to be a letter, penned in a woman's handwriting. The body of that presumed woman was lying face-up on the marble floor, just beyond the desk. Rita bent down, cataloging every aspect.
The blondness of the lady's cropped hair made the apparent gunshot wound above her ear easily visible. Rita studied another defect on the opposite side of the head and frowned. Turning her attention to the handgun, her expression did not improve. The pistol was a 9mm semiautomatic Beretta – with its slide locked slightly backward, and a spent shell casing jammed in its ejection port. Rita looked over her shoulder to the impressive gun display case. Along with several long rifles were a Sig Sauer P226, a Cabot 1911 Jones Deluxe, and a Desert Eagle MkVII. There was one empty space, and the cabinet's glass door was open.
Looking back to the body, Rita noted the diamond-encrusted Rolex and six gold bracelets, which glinted in the soft lighting.
With seemingly feline grace, she straightened up, training her eyes over the whole scene for anything she could have missed. "None of this makes sense," she murmured. She shifted her attention back to the note on the desk, reading it thoroughly.
A lilting female voice came from behind her. "Hello, Rita bonita..."
Rita froze.
There was just one person in the whole world who ever addressed her that way.
She slowly turned around – only to come face-to-chest with a jumpsuit-clad CA. "Wait, Jared?"
"Yes, Sergeant?" was the innocent reply.
A gorgeous face with dark, upswept curls peaked out from behind Jared's side.
"Diana!" Rita cried, elated to see the Medical Examiner who had been reassigned to Broward County. "What are you doing here?!"
The two women embraced, and Diana explained. "Keisha is training with us for the next two weeks, so I volunteered to cover Palm Beach for her. It is sooo good to be back up here!"
"Well, it's 'sooo good' to see you! I know we've talked a ton, but I've missed you."
"Let me look at you!" Diana remarked, studying Rita intently. "Ah huh. You're running on, what? One hour sleep? Two hours max?" Stunning brown eyes danced with mirth. "And, I've never seen you so happy..." She offered Rita another hug. "I'm thrilled for you and Chris, you know that, right?"
"Shh," Rita laughed, bringing a finger up near her lips and winking. Her own sea-green eyes reflected the depth of bliss she had never known before, but she finally gave her head a quick shake to get back into business mode. "Okay, okay, task at hand... Diana, help me out here."
Rita knelt back down next to the body. "Her watch and all of her bracelets are on her right wrist. I know I'm tired, but this is stippling, isn't it? On the right side of her face?"
Dr. Roth nodded.
Rita gestured to the gun in the decedent's left hand.
Dr. Roth nodded again. "That's why I called for Homicide. A lot of things just don't add up for me."
"Keisha!" Sergeant Christopher Lorenzo bellowed the name from the hallway as he neared the den. "It's too early for thi–"
Mirroring his partner's reaction, he stopped dead in his tracks. "You're not Keisha," he beamed.
"I'm not?" Diana volleyed in return.
Chris resumed his slow saunter so he could fully embrace his long-absent friend. "Good to see you, D..." He lifted Diana off her feet and spun her in a circle. "I missed you! After all we had, you don't call, you don't write – I feel so, so...cheap!"
"You're still bad," Diana chuckled, shaking her head as she cuffed Chris playfully on the arm.
Chris looked back and forth from Diana to Rita. "So, what have we got so far?"
Rita led Chris over to the body. "Jennifer Cresswell, 34. There's a three-page suicide note on the desk there, but she appears to be lefthanded with a close contact gunshot wound near the right temple."
"The right side, huh? And, it's not contact?" Chris hitched his gray slacks as he crouched down, moving his blue sports coat away from his black dress tee.
"The shell casing is stove-piped."
"Ahh, somebody didn't oil the slide very well, now did they?"
"Exactly. But, check out the armory behind you."
"Hmm, that's quite a collection. A grimy Beretta would seem kind of out of place in there."
Rita picked up the letter and slowly leafed through the pages. "Something about this note bothers me, too. I just can't put my finger on it."
"Who found the body?" Chris asked, rising to his feet.
Rita turned back a page in her organizer. "Her husband, Eli Cresswell. He's waiting for us down the hall."
"Alright, let's go see what Mr. Eli has to say. D? Do you have a preliminary time of death?"
"Rigor, lividity, body temp on a marble floor…I'll give it between 8 and 9 o'clock last night."
"That works. We'll see you back at the shop. Cool?"
"I'll be there!"
Eli Cresswell paced his living room like a caged tiger. The former rugby player kept a death grip on his double shot of whiskey, the crystal glass in danger of shattering at any moment. His attire of tuxedo shirt and pants appeared formal enough; however, his previously gelled-back blonde hair now fell forward, the product of running his hands through it too many times over the last several hours. Grief, shock, and anger pulsated in a continuous cycle over his hardened face.
"Mr. Cresswell?" Rita asked as she and Chris entered the room. "I'm Sgt. Lance, this is my partner, Sgt. Lorenzo. We're sorry for your loss, sir, but we need to ask you a couple of questions. Can you tell us, please, the last time you saw your wife alive?"
"It was last night, around 5pm. I own a computer graphics firm called CBI Ink...it was the company's annual expo and gala. Between employees and our supplier reps, there are about one hundred to one hundred and fifty people in attendance each year. Jennifer and I were supposed to attend it together."
"Why did she stay behind?"
Eli sank down onto the couch, the action sparked more by defeat than by gravity. "You might as well know, we argued."
"Over what?"
"Over an affair Jennifer had about two months ago. The issue…had been virtually resolved, but then last night she was refusing to attend the gala. Ergo, I assumed 'he' would be there because Jen had never missed a work function. Ever."
"Was fidelity an on-going issue?"
Eli downed the remaining whiskey in his glass and sighed. "No. In the ten years of our marriage, in the thirteen years we have been together, she claims – I beg your pardon, she claimed – this was the only time. It was supposedly a one-night stand: alcohol involved, a slip of judgment, if you will. She was angry because I was away in London on business. While she came clean about it as soon as I returned, she would never tell me his name...she refused...to tell me his name. That has eaten away at me every second of every day. I could not let it go."
Rita exchanged glances with Chris, and he continued, "the 9mm Beretta in your wife's hand, did that come from your gun case?"
"I don't even own a Beretta, Sergeant. Neither did Jen. She didn't own any. Guns were only my thing."
"What should be in the case?"
Eli listed off each weapon. "Every piece in there is beyond 'custom-made:' I personally oversaw production at each factory."
"Is there a key to the gun case? Did your wife have access to it?"
"It's kept in the middle drawer of the desk in the study. She knew it was there; I suppose she could have used it at any time."
In an effortless volley, Rita took the lead again, inquiring, "sir, was your wife lefthanded?"
"Yes."
"Did she keep a journal or a diary?"
"She used to keep one. I haven't seen it in a while."
"Can you describe it, please?"
"It's black and has 'Cambridge' written in large, red letters across the cover. That's where we met."
"Okay, thank you, Mr. Cresswell. We'll be in touch." Rita turned to leave but paused and looked back at him. "Just to clarify, sir, did your wife usually remove her jewelry before going to bed?"
"Her bracelets and watch she would have removed. Her wedding ring –" Eli's face contorted with pain. "She never took off her wedding ring."
Out on the front walkway, Rita glanced back at the mansion one last time. "Well, if Cresswell is telling the truth on resolving things, we could be looking for a jilted lover. If not, the jealous spouse angle is looking good, too."
Chris was pensive and remained mute. He trudged along, his demeanor and swagger thoroughly dejected. Suddenly, he stopped, putting a gentle hand on Rita's elbow until she turned and faced him. "You know, if people would just keep their promises to each other, we'd damn near be out of a job. So things are going wrong – just work them out or part ways. What's so bad about being faithful, anyway?"
Rita smiled affectionately at her noble Sam. "You, Christopher, are honorable, and your word means something. That...is why we will never have to worry about such things."
Chris inhaled deeply, full out staring at Rita as he exhaled his frustration. He knew she was right. Ever since becoming a couple, they consumed each other's thoughts and could never be like Jennifer Cresswell or the countless other people who took their commitments for granted.
Realizing they were finally alone together for the first time in several hours, Chris played with a lapel of Rita's blouse.
"You look beautiful, Sam. Tired, but beautiful."
"Well, thank you," Rita replied, sweeping an appreciative eye over her soulmate. "A very...affectionate...man kept me up late, but we both seem to have cleaned up pretty well. Next time, though? I get to sleep in, and you get the jumpstart on the early case."
Chris flashed Rita a brilliant grin, cocking his head and nodding, as was his way. "Deal."
With a quick squeeze of each other's hand, they parted ways, heading to their respective cars so they could head up to the bullpen.
The beautiful blue-glassed exterior of the Palm Beach Police Department gleamed in the late-morning sun. Inside, three colleagues converged from separate directions into the bustling hallway of the Homicide Division.
Diana was the first to speak. "Well, we were right about the close contact wound. There is definitely stippling, and the beveling of the bone beneath the defect is consistent with that of an entrance wound. The injury on the left side is your classic exit wound. Oh, and the grip that your victim's left hand had on the gun? There's no way she could have created that angle of entry. Besides, both hands tested negative for gunshot residue. She never fired a gun before she died."
"And, speaking of guns," Chris continued, "there's a Desert Eagle still missing and unaccounted for from the display case. As for the Beretta, Eli Cresswell was at least telling the truth that it didn't belong there. It's not even registered to him."
"Who's it registered to, then?" Rita asked, her curiosity piqued.
"Surprise, surprise. It's registered to a Trevor Williams who reported it stolen three weeks ago. Mr. Williams just so happens to be Cresswell's Vice President at CBI Ink."
"Surprising, indeed; which, brings us to the note. It's a copy. It is Jennifer Cresswell's handwriting, but she didn't actually write on those three pieces of paper. The lab guys said it's a compilation from at least five separate sources that was then scanned and printed into one note. Sounds simple enough for a computer graphics firm, don't you think?"
Diana tapped the files she was holding. "I've gotta head back, but it's definitely Homicide on my end."
"And you are killer in that dress, D."
"I can't believe I miss this," Diana laughed. With a raised eyebrow and an amused expression, she countered, "Rita, this charmer belongs to you. Can you rein him in, please?"
Chris froze.
"It's a full-time job," Rita sighed in jest. "Down, boy. We'll see you later, Diana. Noon, for lunch."
"See ya'," Chris stammered.
Rita turned fully to Chris. "Well, what do you say we pay Mr. Cresswell and Mr. Williams a little visit, huh, Sam?"
Still subdued, Chris seemed a million miles away.
"Sam? Earth to Chris. You look like you just lost your best friend," Rita joked.
Chris hung his head at the comment and mumbled, "come here." With a hand on the small of her back, he led her toward Interrogation Room 3.
The instant the door clicked shut, he threw his arms around her, gripping her tightly.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Chris murmured against Rita's hair. His hands were now splayed across her back, anchoring her petite frame to his muscular one. "You're right. I'm a Neanderthal."
Though thoroughly enjoying the embrace, Rita remained clueless as to its necessity, and equally confused by the need for such an apology. "Ah, okay?" Snickering, she added, "well, you know what they say about accurate self-analysis. It's the first step toward meaningful change."
Chris laughed half-heartedly and drew back only enough to gaze into Rita's eyes. "No, I'm serious. What I just pulled with Diana... I'm sorry, Rita."
"Chris, you always joke like that with Diana."
"Yeah, I know, but... That, that was before. You and I are together now. She called me out; she's right. I belong to you. To say something like I did to Diana – right in front of you – that crossed a line."
Rita ducked her head in humble fascination. Had anyone ever loved her this much? Only her Christopher would worry about such a thing, ever ready to defend her even if she, herself, had not perceived a threat – even if it meant defending her from himself. His steadfast loyalty and devotion never ceased to take her breath away. Sliding her arms down his shoulders, she placed both hands on his chest. Several moments passed before she spoke again. "Only you, Sam..." she whispered softly. Adoring green eyes locked with penitent blue.
Rita was eager to alleviate Chris' self-reproach, needing for him to understand. Already knowing the answer, with all her heart and soul, she gently asked, "would you ever go beyond teasing each other?"
"God, no! Of course not."
"Then, we have no issue here."
Chris sighed, and Rita smiled as she watched him internally weigh their opposing points of view. "Look, Chris, Diana is our friend. She's beautiful, and you don't need my permission to tell her so. I'm okay with your joking, Sam."
...
Chris' mind raced. What bothered him most was not the joking itself. Yes, he and Diana had always enjoyed a lighthearted friendship – until a private moment of shared grief when they thought Rita had been murdered. It was only after then that Chris' teasing went into flirtatious overdrive, his efforts doubled in sheer desperation to reclaim that which had been so carefree. It was harmless counter-balance to 'shop talk' where he utterly respected Diana and her skills. No, it wasn't the actual joking.
Chris' thoughts turned to his critically-acclaimed actress mother and silver-tongued lawyer father. It was genetically impossible for the son of Anna Alexis and Benny Lorenzo not to exude charm. However, the grounded, compassionate upbringing he had received from Grandma Rose tempered that predisposition with an iron-clad moral compass. He would not end up like his parents – forever manipulating situations and people for his own gain.
In the past, Chris would never have given another woman such a roguish, blatant compliment while in the presence of someone he was dating. So, now, with Rita... She of all people deserved better from him. Because, let's be honest:
Rita was not his "girlfriend."
That term had sufficed for every other lady. But, certainly, not for his Sam. Not for the most important person in his life. In every facet of his life.
That – was the difference.
That was the difference, Chris realized, stunned by not only the epiphany, but the fact that it could even be an epiphany. Why hadn't it come to him sooner?
"Hah!" Chris laughed, bringing both of Rita's hands up to his lips as his expression drastically relaxed. "No, Sam, only you," he exclaimed, turning her own words around on her. "See, I was kicking myself for making a comment like that in front of you. Anyone else I have ever been with before?" Chris shook his head side to side. "A situation like that could never have even come up. Why? Because they had such a small part of my life and my time. But, you..."
He toyed with the Irish friendship ring he had given her years ago, that she always wore as "taken." The crown, he had told her, was because she was the most loyal partner a cop could have. It didn't matter that he had originally said that the heart and two hands were because he loved her like a friend – they had gone on to rightly separate love and friendship. "...You fill every important role in my life. You are everything to me, Sam."
"Christopher…" Rita removed her right hand from Chris' grasp and lovingly cupped the side of his face.
The Sams had been very diligent not to show affection at the office – well, no more than they always did as best friends – but now, neither could resist a quick kiss, sealing the end of their exchange. It proved sufficient enough, until they made eye contact afterward. This simple gesture, from the moment they had first met, possessed the power to suspend the very laws which governed time itself. The sheer depth and surging of emotions it evoked remained too overwhelming for eight years, but in the last year was finally welcomed, required, and craved.
With one accord, Rita tugged on Chris' jacket and he simultaneously leaned forward, pressing her to the wall. Their bodies took over the exploration opened by the windows of their souls. Hands traveled freely, and this time the kiss they shared was deeper, tender yet mind-numbing. An unspoken validation of their commitment and connection to each other, not to mention final penance and absolution. Lips and movements gradually slowly as commitment to duty finally resurfaced.
Rita reluctantly removed her hands from under Chris' jacket, and straightened her own. "Mmm," she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes as she tried to exhale her lingering desire.
"I love you, Rita," Chris promised with fervor.
"And, I love you."
Chris and Rita strolled side-by-side toward the entrance of CBI Ink. When they passed the row of cars parked closest to the door, Chris suddenly halted, whistling with reverence as he held out his arms in awe. He gaped in sheer admiration at the motorized vision before them.
"Aw, see, Sam? Some guys have all the luck. Do you know what this is?"
Amused, albeit indifferent, Rita played along and shrugged.
"This is a Stornoway Silver Aston Martin DB7. Right off the line...production just started this year. Probably one of – gotta be no more than a handful – to have hit the U.S yet."
"That's...great, Chris."
Chris uttered a final, "man!," before wrenching himself away.
"You saw whose parking spot that is, didn't you?"
Once again, Chris stopped – then about-faced. His 'need' to know drew an extra snicker from his partner. "Reserved Parking for Vice President," he recited.
"How about I take Cresswell, and you take Williams, Sam."
Cocking his head in Rita's direction, Chris sighed in contentment. "I love you…"
Happy to placate him, Rita simply smiled and nodded in reply, tugging on one of his arms so they could continue with the job at hand.
Still oblivious to Rita's unimpressed reaction, Chris enlightened her on every single spec he could list off in the short distance between the British beauty and the building's entryway.
After parting ways with Rita, Chris was led by the secretary to Trevor William's office. He thanked her, missing the gaze of lust the attractive redhead shot his way as he entered the enormous space.
"Mr. Williams? Sgt. Lorenzo, Palm Beach Police Department."
Chris took quick note of the vice president's dark blue, Giorgio Armani suit and his spiked brown hair that was frosted blond at the tips. As Trevor approached, Chris' head dipped as low as if he were addressing Rita wearing flats. The observation was nearly dismissed – until they shook hands. Never in Chris' entire life had he received a weaker handshake. For a split second, he narrowed one eye ever so slightly, fighting the urge to wipe his palm on his jacket. He quickly changed the subject. "Is that your DB7 out in front?"
"You know your automobiles, Sergeant," Trevor beamed. He continued at length on the extravagant options he had chosen, clearly only interested in retail value rather than the performance of the impressive machinery.
Trevor's focus shifted to the sleeve of his suit coat, and he removed a nonexistent piece of lint before moving to sit behind his desk. "You must be here about Jennifer. Tragic... Eli called me last night – well, this morning – to let me know. So, she killed herself?"
The high back of the expensive leather chair made him appear even more diminutive, and his jacket – though obviously tailored – lifted from his shoulders, proving that even the Italian masters had their limits.
"It looks that way," Chris supplied. "How long have you known the Cresswells?"
"Eli and I pursued the same program at Cambridge. He met Jennifer there before we graduated so you're looking at...thirteen years?"
"Do you know if she had any enemies, sir?"
"Jennifer didn't know how good she had it. But, no, Sergeant. I do not know of any enemies."
"Do you know if the Cresswells were having any marital problems?"
Trevor stared, seemingly surprised at the question and even intrigued. "How interesting. Yes, there had been a change as of late. Jennifer used to frequently come here, but not in recent months. Tension seemed high whenever Eli would mention her. He appeared very angry with her, but I never pressed him for details. We do not have that type of friendship. Jennifer was a distraction to him; I needed his focus on the business."
"When was the last time you saw her alive?"
"Several months ago. As I stated, she stopped coming by the office since she and Eli began having issues. I assumed she was going to attend last night's festivities, but alas..."
"What time did you leave the gala?"
"Eli and I had conference calls with Beijing at 10pm, and London at 2am." Trevor fiddled with his silk tie, as if to emphasize its jacquard "GA" logo pattern. "I left shortly after the London call was completed."
"Did you leave at all prior to those calls?"
Trevor's face hardened. "No. Sergeant. I have entertained this absurdity long enough. Your lack of ambition places you in the role of public service, and you are wasting my time and money. Furthermore, it is a waste taxpayers' money to investigate a suicide."
Chris casually moved the left side of his jacket and rested a hand on his revolver. He was unintimidated by the superiority complex, but definitely interested at the sudden defensiveness. What Trevor lacked in height he more than made up for in arrogance. He let the smug little man continue ranting.
"You, yourself agreed with me that she killed herself."
"I said it looks that way."
The mingling of Chris' voice with Rita's laughter echoed softly in the hallway as they reached her apartment. The key was turned, and the door opened.
"I'm just saying it could have been smog."
Rita entered first and dismissed the ridiculous notion with a hearty chuckle. "Oh, please, Chris. Did I miss our move to LA? There was no smog – that, my friend, was smoke. The Detroit Magic is turning on you again. You pick: burning oil, burning rubber...I just know it's still on me." Since her hands were full, Rita simply turned back and exposed her neck to him.
The intoxicating floral scent that wafted up from the slender expanse was far from any motor oil Chris had ever smelled. All thoughts of their car discussion promptly left him, trailing with his eyes as they followed the shapely siren walking away from him. He blindly kicked the door shut.
Chris barely registered Rita's crack about riding in a blender, too caught up in watching her deposit her armful on the counter by the fish tank, check on her beloved Alfred, and give him and his friends a sprinkling of food. Chris continued to observe as she set the mail aside and put her keys and black binder in a separate stack. How could he be so spellbound by menial tasks he had witnessed a thousand times before?
As Rita took off her blazer and untucked her blouse, she turned toward him and, unaware of her own gracefulness, sauntered back over to him. Bracing herself by alternating hands on his shoulder, she removed her high heels. Article by article, Chris remained mesmerized as the detective disappeared and 'Rita' emerged.
"Now, that new Aston you love? The one that costs more than most people spend on a house? Not for you, Sam."
...
Rita was caught off-guard as Chris' hands snaked around her waist, pivoting her around and guiding her back gently against the front door. For the second time today, she was pinned in such a way by his body, and it shot a jolt of pure desire straight through her. Her senses were in an uproar as the silk material of her blouse easily registered the heat of Chris' touch and the coolness from the metal door. The stark contradiction caused her breath to catch and her already quickening pulse to race.
In the meantime, Chris ran a slow, strong hand down the side of the neck that had bewitched him, following it immediately with his lips. He drank in Rita's essence, murmuring against the soft skin, "what were we talking about, Sam?"
Rita didn't respond at first. She had allowed her eyes to close, the sense of sight a distraction from his caresses and her own reaction. Now she was trying to comprehend what she was hearing. Her laugh came out as a sigh. "You don't know, I don't know...no more talking." Unable to last a single second longer without the feel of his lips on her own, the pumps dropped from her fingers so she could frame his face with her hands and crush his mouth to hers.
The contact became further skin on skin, as his hands crept under the silk and fanned out over her ribcage, causing her to groan into his kiss.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to keep my hands off you all day?"
"I do," Rita purred. "Everyone thinks mixing business with pleasure is all fun – nobody says it's easy. But! We're off duty now. You have me all to yourself. Whatever will you do with me?"
"Hmm...the possibilities are endless."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Laughing, she retrieved her shoes and jacket. "In the meantime, I am going to go finish changing, and then we can work on dinner."
"Or dessert."
"Or both!"
Rita's thoughts drifted back to the discussion in Interrogation Room 3, and she found herself suddenly curious as to when this day had actually begun for her and Chris. They had been awakened while intertwined in Rita's bed, spent sixteen hours on the job together, and were now set for a leisurely evening just hanging out, before things would inevitably heat back up and they'd be entangled in each other's arms once again. How was it that they moved so effortlessly and continuously between the various roles they played in each other's lives? It was a breathtaking kaleidoscope, aligning these vital capacities with three basic elements, equally essential for survival.
Brain. Heart. Soul.
In flawless fluidity, the proportions of each simply fluctuated between partners, best friends, and soulmates. With a single thought, a single touch, a single look, the lens could shift and pull one of their roles to the forefront – or merge all three together. It was a fascinating puzzle with pieces forever changing.
Snapping out of her affectionate reverie, Rita smiled as she quickly closed her eyes and shook her head. Her grin turned sly as she opted for her favorite silvery-gray dress shirt – Chris', technically – and a pair of black leggings. Nothing more.
...
As Rita descended the stairs, Chris was bounding up them. "Hey, guess what?" he asked as they converged in the middle of the narrow spiral. "'Double Indemnity' is on at 10 tonight!"
"That's great! However, I make nooo promises on being able to stay up that late." Rita laughed and handed Chris his white tank top and black shorts. "One was on the dresser; one was behind the bedroom door." She intentionally slid her body down the length of his as she reached the same step.
Her efforts were rewarded with a heady groan. Chris brought his lips to Rita's, one hand bracing her back while the other trailed down over her hip.
Rita felt his movements falter in their journey, thrilling her immensely, as he realized which two articles of clothing were missing from her attire.
"Seems like you forgot a couple items when you changed, Sam," he growled in appreciation.
Rita nuzzled his ear, taking it briefly between her teeth before countering in a husky whisper, "very good, Detective – but are you sure I 'forgot' them?"
Dinner dishes completed, Chris exited the kitchen and made a beeline for the couch. He held off propping his feet up on the coffee table, waiting for Rita to join him. When she remained in the kitchen, he called out to her, "hey, Sam, do you remember that clown Brinkman from a couple years ago? Who had that boat the 'Sex on the Beach' and killed J. Hendy Moss?"
Rita emerged into the living room, chuckling. "The one who needed a crayon to write down my name?" She half-flopped, half-rolled onto the couch, sprawling out with her head on Chris' lap and her body across the length of the sofa. "Yeah, I remember him. Why?"
"Well, I've been thinking about Trevor Williams. The way you pegged Brinkman – as 'charming in a smiling, cobra kind of way:' that's Williams. He comes across very meek and charismatic, but he oozes arrogance. There's definitely hostility and some deep-seeded resentment toward both Cresswells, too, I'm willing to bet."
Chris laughed and shook his head. "Man! I never put much stock in stereotypes, but 'Small Man Syndrome'? Williams fits the bill. I totally understand the car now. Besides, your handshake is a million times stronger, Sam. My grandma used to say that if your word is your bond, you'd better have the handshake to back it up, or people will think you're dishonest. This guy shakes hands like he's a dead fish."
Rita snickered at Chris' imagery. "Didn't you say he also jumped on the topic of marital problems between Eli and Jennifer?"
"Yep. You know..." Chris snapped his fingers in the air several times. "Williams could be the jilted lover. Eli figures the guy Jennifer had an affair with was part of the company. We need to find out if Trevor was on that trip to London."
"And," Rita added, "since his car is so noteworthy to you, maybe it was to the valet company the night of the murder as well. DMV lists Williams' Aston as the only DB7 in the state of Florida. Besides, even in a crowd of one hundred people, I don't –"
Rita's voice caught as a warm hand slipped beneath the open vee at her chest, taking full advantage of the roominess in the shirt that was several sizes too big. "I don't see Eli's absence going unnoticed for the time it would take to go home, kill his wife, and come back. But, mmm..." That same hand began kneading her right breast, making speech nearly impossible. "If we can prove that Williams left and came back…"
"You know what else is bothering me, Sam?"
"Yeah, that gun that's missing from Cresswell's case."
"Right. By stealing the gun and throwing down his own, reportedly stolen one – Trevor sets up Eli. My money's on that gun resurfacing to try and kill Eli. There'd be another supposed suicide. Once Williams went off on his little ego trip this morning, I didn't even tell him we knew the Beretta was his."
"Annnd," Rita drawled, attempting to ignore the growing warmth, sparking deep within her, "twenty bucks...we find Jennifer's missing journal, we find the source of the doctored suicide note."
Chris switched to the lightest of caresses, skimming over Rita's soft skin and drawing intricate patterns to entice her nipple into a hardened peak. Claiming his prize between a gentle thumb and forefinger, he was rapidly losing interest in the work conversation. But, at last, he mustered up enough curiosity to ask, "what was it about Jennifer's jewelry that struck you?"
Rita herself did not reply. She was enjoying the tender ministrations. The most she could finally offer was a languorous and dismissing side-to-side movement of her head. "Don't think it's important now," she purred. "If we had more issue with time of death or Eli's story, it might have come into play. Most women wouldn't wear that much jewelry to bed. She was in a dressing gown, so was she interrupted while getting ready for bed, or had she changed her mind and was she getting ready to head up to the gala? Tune in tomorrow to see if it matters…"
"Right now, it sure doesn't... You know, Sam," Chris pondered half-joking, half-vulnerable, "how is it that you aren't sick of me? I mean, you've been around me constantly."
...
They were always so in sync. Had even an hour passed since she had asked herself that? Rita knew she shouldn't be surprised, yet here she was: marveling at the intense connection that had their thoughts mirroring the other's. She arched her back, pressing up into his hand. "You mean, how is it that after having dinner and hanging out together like best friends, we are talking shop like partners, all the while you have your hand inside my shirt – well, it's your shirt, that you left here, that I claim – because we are lovers?"
"Hah! Yeah. Yeah, that's pretty much what I mean."
Shrugging from her place on Chris' lap, Rita gazed up at him intently. "When have we known anything different, Sam? We were instant best friends, and instantly in love. It was only...out of fear – for our friendship, for our partnership – that the intimacy part took so long to develop. Now, we can't live without all three..."
The truth behind her logic spoke volumes to them both. "Yeah..." Chris exhaled, brushing the fingertips of his free hand gently across Rita's forehead and through her hair.
Rita moved to stand up, then languidly straddled Chris' legs. She placed one hand over his heart and the other behind his head, while he rested both of his on her hips. Forehead to forehead, a calming silence settled on the pair, and they closed their eyes. Desire would always simmer. Passion would always flare. Yet, it was this serenity and devotion that would always define their link.
"Sam..." The precious syllable had been whispered in unison by both soulmates, but it reverberated around them as effectively as if they had shouted it in a canyon.
Hearts skipped a beat.
"Rita, I love you..."
"I love you so much, Chris."
His hands stroked the length of her thighs. It was a simple gesture, and yet, could any touch of theirs be described as simple? The pressure of the massage increased, his thumbs meandering in slow circles ever closer to her center.
"What about Double Indemnity?" Rita teased.
"You may think the actors burn, Sam, but I like to think we've got them beat."
"This is true." With the fire rekindled, Rita offered Chris a predatory smile as she slinked off his lap and started to head toward the stairs.
Chris moved to close the gap between them, and before contact was even made, Rita sighed with anticipation. The heightened sensitivity had less to do with years of police training and more with a bond to this man that reached the atomic level.
When he finally grasped her arms from behind, he pulled her flush against his aroused body, his hands sliding across her breasts, before reversing down again along her hips. "I want you," he rasped as her head fell back onto his chest and he kissed her neck.
No greater fuel to passion exists than to be desired by the one she loved with all her heart. Of this, Rita was certain. As they neared the top of the steps, her head was reeling, and the spiral of the staircase had only intensified the spinning with feral effects. She whipped around to Chris, claiming his mouth with wild abandon as her hands trailed over every inch of him within her reach.
...
Chris was caught off-guard as the breath was stolen from his lungs, and the vixen in his arms raked her long nails through his hair and down his chest, before delivering an intimate squeeze to the throbbing bulge in his shorts. A cascade of electricity shot up and down his spine. This level of intensity, unsubsided for nearly a year, was staggering. Maybe they were making up for eight years of missed opportunities, Chris didn't know. He just prayed it would never end. The four barriers separating them were four too many, so he began with the path of least resistance. His fingers hooked around the bottom of Rita's oversized shirt, lifting it off her body in the time it took for his heart to beat once. With her help, their remaining garments were frantically discarded, and he was free to roam everyplace his lips and hands desired.
...
Rita opened her eyes – when had they closed? An impassioned gaze of blue fire glowed back at her, holding her hypnotized with a primal hunger that matched her own. Chris urged her to continue up the stairs, but she resisted. "No, now."
Untamed need held them captive and they sank down to the steps, their bodies joining instantly. Rita threw her head back in ecstasy, Chris' guttural growl vibrating through her wherever their skin touched. They matched each other's strokes with perfect give and take, soaring ever higher until their combined release threatened to shatter them both into infinite pieces.
Lightning exploded behind two pairs of tightly clenched eyes.
Morning dawned much later for the sated detectives than the previous one had. After an unhurried, joint shower, with all the fun that usually entailed, Rita wrapped herself in a towel and headed back into the bedroom. She sighed in contentment as she stared at the two outfits hanging on the outside of her closet doors. On the left were taupe pants, a textured beige dress tee, and a red blazer. On the right, a turquoise skirt suit with a white blouse.
The "his and hers" feel merited a lopsided grin, which broadened as Rita realized that breakfast was dependent on being dressed and downstairs before Chris himself would exit the bathroom.
As Rita reached the top landing, a snicker escaped out loud. She was no stranger to descending these twisting, turning stairs in high heels; however, the preceding night's escapade somehow seemed more a risk to life and limb. Talk about intensity... It never ebbed, and it never ceased to amaze her. Lost in the thrilling memory, she bent down to retrieve the clothing that had been disregarded with such haste.
Chris made a scolding sound from behind her. "Freeze. Not on the stairs. Besides, it's my turn. You picked up yesterday." He let Rita reach the safety of the ground floor before gathering up the items, including his tank top that was wrapped in an impressive knot configuration around a spindle of the banister. He disappeared with them, en route to the hamper in the bedroom, before strutting down the stairs with a huge, roguish grin plastered across his face. "You're fun. Let's do that again."
"Let's not push our luck, Sam," Rita chuckled. "Come on, I'll drive. You promised me breakfast at the café."
Rita hung up her desk phone and jotted down a few remaining notes. Reaching for her coffee mug, she held it from the top and unconsciously tapped an index finger on the rim as she watched her partner seated across from her. Well, he was more reclined. Leaning as far back in his chair as he could, his feet up on his desk, phone cradled between his ear and shoulder as he dictated information. If given the chance, Rita could watch him all day.
But, instead, she diverted her gaze to van Gogh's "Irises," which encircled her cup, and drank down the last swallow of black coffee. The cold temperature caused her to make a face. Rising, she bent across Chris' desk and picked up his infamous "U of M" mug. Rita paused until he nodded at the gesture, and she headed to the carafe for refills.
Chris righted himself as his conversation drew to a close. "See ya'! Oh, and tell Owens I said to grab his floaties and take a really deep breath." Laughing, he placed the handset back on its receiver.
As Rita returned, she perched herself on the corner of desk previously occupied by his heels. "So, what did you get?"
Chris kept two fingers on his phone for emphasis and replied, "Harbor Patrol surveillance cameras picked up a guy, mid-thirties, throwing something off Middle Bridge. They got the car and license plate as well, and they're faxing over the images. Rumor has it, it's a DB7. Dive Team has been dispatched, and they'll let us know if they find anything. What about you?"
"The car company used for CBI's gala was Via Valet. The two kids who worked the event are up at the store right now ready to answer our questions. With any luck, your Aston left the party before the conference call."
Chris nodded and Rita watched his focus shift to her shapely crossed legs, mere inches away from him. He leisurely brought his left side and upper arm down to his desk, bracing his head on his fist and effectively shielding the rest of the Homicide Division from its view of her. His free hand snaked slowly up her bottom calf, trailing sparks of electricity as it went, until it came to rest behind her knee. His bold, mischievous gaze met hers and she knew the gauntlet had been passed.
Sea-green eyes darkened with desire. There was no telling how far her partner would let his fingers travel if she, well, played right into his hand and stood up. As thrilling as that could be, Rita had no plans to comply in a room packed with their coworkers. She made a move as if she were about to hop down, but then with a brazen, lopsided grin and raised eyebrow, slowly looked over her left shoulder toward the Captain's office and then back to Chris.
Chris opened his mouth to speak but closed it with a petulant scowl. There was no way he would continue the game in possible full view of their commanding officer.
"You cheated, Sam," he pouted, outmaneuvered.
"Checkmate," Rita chimed with triumph.
Chris and Rita were only a few blocks from Via Valet when Dispatch came over the squad car's radio.
"1-X-ray-16, we just received an urgent call from Eli Cresswell, requesting you and Sgt. Lance meet him at his house. He states he has new evidence pertaining to his wife's case."
Chris exchanged puzzled glances with his partner. "Roger that; we're on our way."
"Also, Sergeant, your faxes from Harbor Patrol confirm on Middle Bridge it was a Silver Aston Martin DB7, license plate 'Romeo Mike Sierra 1-9 Lima.' Enhanced imaging shows a male identified as the vehicle's owner, Trevor Williams, holding a rectangular object roughly 10 inches by 13 inches. Before he throws it over the bridge, the letters 'Charlie, Alpha, Mike, Bravo' can be seen."
"Cambridge," Rita supplied, referring to the cover of Jennifer Cresswell's missing journal.
Chris nodded. "Roger, Dispatch. Issue an APB for both the vehicle and Williams." He signed off and turned the car around to head back north up Dixie Highway.
...
As the detectives approached the entryway to the Cresswell home, a woman in her early thirties had the door already open, waiting. With her long, flowing brown hair and lavender business suit, she didn't appear to be staff.
Rita held up her badge. "Sergeants Lance and Lorenzo, Palm Beach Homicide."
"Thank you for coming. My name is Kyla Gunn." She paused, trying to rein in her frantic speech as its mile-a-minute pace would only thicken her Scottish accent. "Jen was my best friend. I wanted to contact police immediately, but my husband insisted we come to Eli's first." She led them to the living room where they had conducted their original interview.
The man sitting in the armchair to Eli's left jumped to his feet as soon as he saw them, the relief on his face quite evident. Kyla joined him. "My husband, Manas."
Eli, however, made no move to acknowledge the detectives from his place on the couch. Unlike the night he had found his wife's body, it was now only wrath that radiated off the widower as he sat frozen, perched on the edge of the cushion with his elbows on his knees and his hands fisted at his mouth. Numerous sheets of paper were fanned out on the coffee table in front of him, and his glare alone threatened to set them ablaze.
Kyla selected the envelope and a page that was clearly different paper than all the rest. "This arrived in today's post. Jennifer sent it the day before she died."
Rita accepted them, glancing briefly at the envelope addressed to the Gunns before handing it to Chris. Her focus had narrowed in on the note. She recognized the pattern immediately. "This is Jennifer's stationery."
Kyla nodded.
The single sentence read:
If anything happens to me,
give these to Eli.
Jen
Rita turned over the note. Not to be fooled a second time, she ran her fingertips over where the words were written, seeking the convexities that would prove the message was indeed transcribed on the page. Satisfied, she gestured to the rest of the array. "What are those?"
"These," Eli rasped through gritted teeth, "are letters to my wife. From Trevor. From my righthand man. My near partner. My friend. They begin with clear infatuation for her and end in psychotic drivel. Mystery solved; he was the one. The letters...have never stopped, though it's clear the affair and Jen's involvement were just as she described them to me."
"Just for the record," Chris inquired, "Trevor was not in London with you at the time of your wife's affair, is that correct?"
Eli shook his head side to side.
"What's the date of the last letter?"
"Two days before she died." Eli slammed a fist onto the table. "We could have gotten through this! Why didn't she trust me enough to tell me?!"
"She loved you too much!" Kyla exclaimed. "How can you not see that? This –" she whipped her hand in the direction of the letters, "– is not about trust in you. She knew that this...was double betrayal. Right or wrong, all she wanted, was to protect you!"
"Mrs. Gunn," Rita interjected, "how about you and I go outside and talk."
Kyla glared at Eli as she stalked out of the room, muttering under her breath something that sounded like he should go and boil his head.
Rita followed her through the house, and out to the patio. Kyla stormed across the lanai. "Men! Do you mind if we head toward the water?"
"No, not at all."
"Eli and I got into it before you arrived. My reaction must seem quite calloused to you, Sgt. Lance. I do not in any way condone Jen's actions, but you have to understand; Eli is like a brother – nae, maybe like a 'cousin' to me. I've known him since we were kids. He and Manas are like brothers. They went to boarding school together in England, and Eli would spend his summers in the town where Manas and I grew up. He's grieving – and my heart bleeds for him. But he's being so thick! Jennifer's silence was part of her atonement. It had nothing to do with trusting Eli – she just didn't want to cause him even more pain. I can't get him to see that. He cannot fathom the hell Jen was living, nor...how much she loved him."
The two women neared the rear of the estate, where a decorative, low wrought iron fence provided safety but an uninhibited panoramic view of the ocean and the cliffsides that spanned for miles to the north and south. Kyla inhaled deeply. Slowly, she let out the breath and remarked, "there might not be the sea stacks of home...but the sea is the sea. It calms me."
"If you stare at the waves long enough, you can find the answers to just about anything," Rita agreed with reverence.
"You understand."
"Your accent is beautiful, by the way."
Kyla smiled in gratitude, her anger diffusing. She gestured to her dark locks. "I may not bear the red hair of your stereotypical 'Scottish lass,' but the flare of my temper certainly fits the bill." She gave her head a quick shake. "I thank you, Sergeant, not only for the compliment, but for humoring me with the change in topics. Now! You have a job to do. Let's get back to business."
"How much of those letters were a surprise to you?"
"A true surprise? Nary a thing. On my honor, though, Jen never even told me the name of the man with whom she had the affair. It was simply easy to infer. That wretched lil man has always lusted for her; he simply bided his time for the right opportunity. Yet, she never feared him...until recently. It makes sense, now that I've read those letters."
"Do you believe he's capable of murder?"
"Absolutely. With his level of arrogance and narcissism? He would never allow such a rebuke to go unpunished."
...
As Kyla and Rita re-entered the living room, Chris was asking, "Mr. Cresswell, if you were no longer in the picture, what would happen to your company?"
"The Board of Directors would choose a new president, but in interim –" Eli could barely bring himself to speak the name, " – Trevor...as Vice President...would be in charge."
"We'll need to take the letters with us as evidence."
Eli gathered them up in one fell swoop. "Get them out of my sight." He closed his eyes for a moment, grief overtaking him for the first time during the whole meeting. "She didn't kill herself, did she?"
Chris looked to Rita, then back to Eli. "No, sir. We don't believe so."
"You'd better pray you find that bastard before I do. I will kill him with my bare hands."
"Mr. Cresswell, we'll get you your justice. Just give us time to set everything in place."
Jeremy Davis and Ryan Leewood were playing one-on-one basketball in the alley behind Via Valet when Chris and Rita came out the rear door of the building.
"Gentlemen," Chris began, "we're sorry to have kept you waiting. I'm Sgt. Lorenzo. This is my partner, Sgt. Lance."
Both eighteen-year-olds quickly buttoned their uniform vests, and Jeremy, being more outspoken, introduced himself and his friend.
"We understand you worked an event two nights ago at the Palm Beach County Convention Center, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
Chris held out his hands in front of his chest, an unspoken request for the ball the still-silent Ryan was holding. "I'll bet you saw all kinds of high-end rides."
"Oh, yeah. Bentleys, Rolls, Maserati. A Lamborghini. Even the new Aston DB7!"
Eyes twinkling, Rita shook her head as Chris dribbled twice and sank a shot, then jogged to get his own rebound and pass the ball back to Ryan. She asked, "that Aston wouldn't happen to be silver, would it?"
"Stornoway Silver..." Jeremy supplied, his voice dreamy.
"Yes," Rita replied, curbing the temptation to roll her eyes. "So, I've been told."
Chris, on the other hand, puffed up his chest with pride. "My man!" he complimented Jeremy. "Do you remember if it left any time before the event ended?"
Ryan took his own shot and, becoming more comfortable with the officers, finally spoke. "Oh, it left. Jeremy was inside the Center with our manager at the time – he didn't even believe me that it existed till it came back." Grinning, he gestured to Rita with the ball.
She chuckled and held up a hand in polite decline. "Can you recall what time that would have been?"
"Even better: we have the log entries. Whenever we remove or add keys to the box, we log the time and key number. Off the top of my head, it was around 7:45."
"What time did it come back?"
"About an hour later?" Ryan questioned Jeremy.
"Yeah," Jeremy agreed. "I wasn't up – it wasn't my turn – but Ryan took pity on me and let me park it."
"Think you could ID the driver?"
"Yes, ma'am – he stiffed us on tips. Both times."
"Hah!" Chris retorted with sympathy. "Not surprising." He cocked his head and nodded. "Alright. You guys have been a huge help; thanks a lot."
"1-Xray-16, we have a 10-20 on your Silver Aston Martin. Patrol spotted the vehicle travelling east on Pleasant Drive before turning northbound onto US-1."
"That's not far from the Cresswell estate," Rita commented before Chris answered Dispatch.
"Copy that. We are at Lake Shore and Palmetto in pursuit. Send back-up 10-40 to 1621 Seaside Court." At that request for back-up to make the run without lights or sirens, Chris knew he had about two more miles before he himself went silent.
...
They approached the property from the north, parked at the street, and exited the squad car with experienced stealth. The border row of Cypress trees afforded them a sheltered view of the mansion's façade, especially to the great room, which was to the left of the massive front door. The stately floor-to-ceiling windows spotlighted two figures, one in defensive posture with hands up, one with arms outstretched, suggesting a weapon. The difference in heights spoke volumes.
"Incredibly arrogant, and incredibly stupid," Chris muttered, annoyed by the blatant display.
"If we cut around the back, we can enter through the patio and come up behind Trevor from the kitchen." Rita's recent trek through the house was proving most useful, and she mentally thanked Kyla Gunn for the added knowledge of the manor's layout.
...
Eli glared at his aggressor, unscathed by the presumed threat to his mortality, and merely biding his time. "What is this going to prove, Trevor?"
"You are holding us back. You and your environmental ways. This is business! The goal is to make as much money as possible."
"Freeze, Williams!" Chris commanded. "Drop the gun. Now!"
"Don't take another step, or he dies!"
"It was your gun that killed Jennifer, and I'll bet you your life savings that this is the one you took from Eli's case." Off Trevor's surprised expression, Chris continued, "oh yeah, we figured that out. You can't play this as a suicide anymore – put the gun down."
Rage and psychotic entitlement radiated off the gunman. "He didn't deserve her or the company! I should have had them both! She – she said it was a mistake. Being with me! I am no one's mistake!"
His attention diverted by the pair of armed officers, Trevor was not focusing on the greatest danger, which was right by his side. With a speed rivaling that of lightning, Eli crouched down and spun around, a powerful foot sweeping out Trevor's legs, its force knocking the gun from his hand as his body crashed to the floor.
The tables turned, 4.2 lb of titanium pressed with all Eli's strength into the chest of his former friend. Trevor, outpowered by Eli once again, engulfed in pain and fear, pleaded not to be killed.
"Not so tough now – did Jennifer beg for her life?! You knew how much I loved her!"
"Eli!" Rita implored. "He's not worth it. We can put him away for life – you'll get your justice."
"That won't bring her back! I don't care – nothing matters anymore! He doesn't deserve to live."
Slowly, Rita lowered her gun and ventured a step toward the grieving widower. "Eli... Jennifer loved you. She told you about the affair, and she tried desperately to protect you from Trevor."
Another step closer.
"Don't let her sacrifice be for nothing. Don't make her death be in vain. Give me the gun, Eli."
Eli's face contorted in agony, Rita's logic waging war with his desperation for revenge.
"Do this for Jennifer."
With a bow of his head, Eli closed his eyes. For a moment, he was still, his mind consumed with thoughts of his beloved. He exhaled with great effort. When at last he reopened his eyes, he uncocked the hammer, grasped the gun by the barrel and gave it to Rita. Standing up, he nodded a silent appreciation for her words, and she placed a hand on his shoulder in response.
Chris immediately stepped in around Eli. "Your jail mates are gonna love knocking you down a few pegs, Williams." He deftly flipped Trevor onto his back and snapped on the handcuffs. "Now! As a public servant in this fine city," Chris jabbed, echoing his previous conversation with Trevor, "it gives me great pleasure to inform you: you have the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up that right, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law..."
Rita, Diana, and Chris were bantering and laughing so hard as they approached Raul's, that the threesome could barely walk. Any casual onlooker would be hard-pressed to decide if the friends had been long-lost, apart for sheer decades, or never even a day.
After they placed their lunch orders, Rita grabbed three bottles of water and headed to a picnic table while Diana and Chris waited on the food. Smirking, she braced her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the back of her fingers as she watched the two continue to volley barbs. She missed this...and she knew Chris had missed Diana as much as she, herself, did. Diana remained one of their closest mutual friends, and Rita was loving every minute they got to share with her back in Palm Beach.
She couldn't help but chuckle when she saw Chris touch Diana's shoulders and hold out his arms. Undoubtedly, he had complimented her, and Rita didn't need to hear the verbal response. The classic eye-roll and cuff to Chris' arm were always the best part. She could tell, though, that Chris' expression was beginning to sober. Ah, yes, he must be explaining his newfound reservations and rules for such pleasantries. Rita shifted her focus to Diana, not wanting to miss the reaction. True to form, Diana attempted to speak, but ultimately closed her eyes for a moment and ducked her head when the words failed to come. She drew Chris in for an embrace, and it didn't take a detective to see that "surprise" was the farthest removed emotion – instead, her protectiveness for Rita, her bond with Chris, and her love for the two of them, gleaming as brightly as the Roach Coach's polished aluminum. The spell was only broken when Raul handed down their lunch.
Both ladies were grinning and Rita never broke eye contact with Diana as she took a seat, an entire conversation transpiring unspoken in a mere heartbeat.
Diana raised one eyebrow. "You have any idea how high you've set the bar?" She tilted her head down slightly as she gazed across the table from one Sam to the other. "Makes it very difficult for the rest of us. You both know that, right?"
"Oh, I don't know, Diana," Rita countered. "You sound pretty happy with the new fellow you've been telling me about lately."
A plastic spoon, heaped with chili, halted millimeters from Chris' mouth. "What new fellow?"
"May I?" Rita asked, giggling as Diana glanced to the heavens and gestured permission with a wave of her hand. "Diana is becoming quite serious with a lawyer from Fort Lauderdale. His name is David."
"Lawyer, huh? Does this lawyer, 'David,' have a last name to go with that?"
Diana smiled sweetly at Chris. "Locked."
Chris nodded, but then paused, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "Wait, 'Locked?'"
"Locked. As in, 'locked file,' Sergeant. No, no, no, no – don't you dare, Chris. I know you too well. You are not gonna run him!"
"Would I do that? Don't answer that. Fine. When do we meet him?"
"You promise me you'll behave?"
"Maybe." Chris flashed Diana a Lorenzo-patented grin. Then, with all joking aside, he asked, "so, you really like this guy, huh, D?"
"Yeah... Yeah, I really do. I can't tell you how scary that is."
Rita leaned her shoulder against Chris'. "I think we can understand that feeling."
Amused, Diana rolled her eyes. "Yes, but I watched you two for years. You've always had a connection that is deeper than...anyone's. Even before you explored it fully. You have always been committed to each other, no matter what the capacity."
Chris wiped his mouth and nodded in agreement. "True. But this case we just wrapped up... It made me re-evaluate the importance of commitment. Rita deserves my all. Nothing less. That's what you deserve, D, from this David, if he's 'the one.' If he can give you that, then I've got no beefs with him."
"You...are the best, Chris."
"Yes," Rita reaffirmed, her love for him coming off in waves, "you really are."
Through half-closed eyelids, Diana gestured to her friends and stated, "this. This is what I want. Does the intensity ever wear off?"
The Sams gazed at each other and then back at Diana. "No," they avowed in unison.
Before anyone could comment further, Rita's cell phone went off, followed instantly by Diana's and Chris'. For a few seconds, the friends just stared at them, knowing they really didn't want to answer. Finally, Chris moved first – grabbing Diana's phone, putting Rita's in front of her instead, and sliding his own over to Rita. With an air of complete professionalism, he hit 'talk' and stated, "Dr. Roth."
The ladies burst into laughter and scrambled with the swapped, still-ringing cells. Chris, snickering like a little kid, explained himself to the Deputy Chief Medical Examiner, who was completely perplexed. "Al? Chris Lorenzo. No, I was just messing around. Diana's right here, but since mine and Rita's phones both went off as well, I figured this will be a joint effort."
After a quick sports question was posed to Al, all three calls ended, and all three phones were rotated back around until they reached their respective owner. "Well, ladies," Chris commented like nothing was out of the ordinary, "shall we ride?"
"You're so bad," Diana scolded him with a chuckle, as they arose and discarded their lunch debris. The decision was made that she would head over to the scene with them, and she outpaced them a bit so she could call back Al to receive the information she actually needed.
...
Rita, meanwhile, slowed to a stop and turned to face Chris. Her mind was not yet focused on this new case, but rather on Chris' opinion of commitment. She offered him a smile that was both adoring yet serious, locking eyes with him and pressing into the link that joined their souls. "For the record, Sam? You have my all... You know that, don't you?"
"Forever?" Chris beamed.
"Forever."
With one accord, Rita's arms encircled Chris' waist and his surrounded her, drawing her to his chest and eliminating all distance between them. Heart to heart, and soul to soul, the Sams cherished the embrace that had always sustained their friendship, had always graced their partnership, and would forever bind their love.
Chris sighed in contentment. "Yeah..."
The End
Author's Notes
Just a few housekeeping items before I go:
~ David: David is real, LOL. No, seriously. While he was created by the Resauthor in "Resolutions of the Heart," and solidified his place in the present day by reappearing in "Amore Per Sempre"...we couldn't remember which actor played him! That says it all. He's such a great character and love interest for Diana, ergo, he was borrowed with permission. Grazie, Resauthor!
~ THE STAIRS. Okay, I am adding this note because they are the hilarity - my greatest source of amusement for this entire piece. I gave myself the challenge of "Fireworks": I don't write them; it all sounds dumb when I try. I leave them to the Resauthor. She is the leading authority on "Chris & Rita Romance" (everybody please write and tell her...so *I* don't have to attempt the feat again;). Anyway, I wanted the romantic rendezvous to be somewhere not covered in 25 Classic Moments. Enter Rita's staircase. Spiraled, her head is already spinning with desire...literary prose, right? Just one problem. Have you seen those stairs? Really looked at them? YOUNG LOVE...that's really all I can say! ;)
~ I tip my hat to Eagle32nd! Thank you for your vote of Desert Eagles (cough, cough) nearly a year ago when the idea for this story first struck me. A tribute to you.
~ Aston Martin DB7: Happened to work brilliantly well with this late 1994-set story! Fun fact, yes, production began that year, and it factored quite easily into Chris Lorenzo's love for cars.
~ Latex gloves: As the 'decades' go by, it is becoming increasingly more and more difficult to write Silk from the technical standpoint. While "Commitment" was written in 2019-2020, when most gloves used at scenes were nitrile, I needed to keep reminding myself of the show's timeframe. I had similar issues with the 'cartridge' of film mentioned in "The Party's Over: Deleted Scenes," and the capabilities of the baby monitor in "'B' is for Bedtime."
~ "1621 Seaside": Okay, Detective Readers, I would absolutely love a PM that gives the name of the canon Silk episode that mentions this address. Hint: it follows a truly classic speech of Rita's that remains one of my all-time favorites. "Commitment" features a fun blur of canon-mentioned streets and places, and those in real-life Palm Beach.
~ With the exception of "Saggezza (Wisdom)," when you read my stories you find a common thread. I mainly write fan-fic to address those 'Silkisms' that strike a chord with me. It's a genre I have happily termed 'fan-fiX.' What is a 'Silkism,' you ask? Well, that word was coined years and years ago by us fans to define aspects of canon that annoyed us. That being said, all other canon is purely that: canon. I try to strictly adhere to how our Silk characters would speak, act, et cetera.
I have finally amassed enough stories where I feel further organizational information may be beneficial. I have three collections of stories. One group, those 'Silkism fan-fiXes,' are stand-alone pieces and each deals with one particular episode of Classic Silk. The other two sets begin with a 'fan-fiX' to an episode and are relatively stand-alone, but subsequently alter the canon timeline of their respective season (namely, by The Sams being romantically involved or merely together – you know, both ALIVE). Various stories then follow this new timeline.
Silkism fan-fiXes:
The Party's Over: Deleted Scenes, B is for Bedtime, Dead Asleep?, The Ties That Bind
4th Season Altered Timeline:
The Three Faces of Fate, Closing the Books, Commitment, TREK - NEW!, Love Is a Simple Thing - NEW!
5th Season (and Beyond) Altered Timeline:
Love Conquers All, The Next Generation, Untitled – COMING...EVENTUALLY!
Note: "Saggezza (Wisdom)" is in a category all its own. It is not a true 'fan-fiX' because the purpose of the story was not to fix a 'Silkism.' However, it does buck ending-5th-Season canon by 1) The Sams being partners and, 2) reducing a 'supposed fatal shooting' down to a two-second phone update similar to any other case. Since all other Classic Silk canon is retained, it also does not follow the timeline set with "Love Conquers All."
As always, feedback is most appreciated. What struck you in this story? Do you have any questions? Should I post another one? Review or PM me, please!