CHAPTER FOUR

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(Spoilers for S6 Indiana Shawn herein)

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Henry stepped out of the convenience store about five seconds before Carlton Lassiter jogged into view, and he called out his name loudly.

Lassiter's dark head jerked around, and when he saw Henry, he slowed but didn't stop. "Spencer!" he called back.

"Hold up a minute!" Henry caught up at the corner, where Lassiter did stop, hands on his hips, breathing hard, but for damn sure not as hard as Henry would have been.

"What?"

Like that, was it? Henry knew when a man didn't trust him, and although Lassiter wasn't normally a trusting guy anyway, the narrowing of his eyes said today he trusted him even less. "I'll get to the point."

"Please do." One dark eyebrow was up. "I still have two miles to go."

"O'Hara."

Lassiter met his gaze but remained silent.

"Come on, Lassiter. I don't like to step in to my boy's business, but if you know where she is, or if you know anything about why she left, you need to drop him a clue. Just one." To get him off my back. Henry was sure Shawn had caused whatever problem there was, not just because he knew his son, but because he'd also gotten to know Juliet pretty well over the last few years and she was not the excitable type. She wouldn't be gone without a damned good reason, and Shawn having screwed up somehow was a damned good reason. Damned likely, too.

But Lassiter was clearly unmoved by Henry's internal dialogue. "I don't know where she is, and I don't know why she left."

Henry eyed him. "You have a theory, though."

"I'm sure you do too, and we both know theories are worthless when it comes to women."

"I hear that. But listen, man—"

"No, you listen. I'll tell you what I told him: my loyalty is to O'Hara."

Henry sighed. "Yeah, I know how it is. The bond between partners is unlike any other. It's stronger and deeper and more pervasive than most marriages. It can be everything." He stared at Lassiter, trying to say without words I know you have feelings for her. "But sometimes lines get crossed, without anybody intending it. And when you put someone like you up against someone like Shawn, over a woman like Juliet O'Hara, well, I imagine it's hard to even see the lines."

Lassiter was still, his breathing already even, and his eyes a distinctly glacial blue.

Henry pressed on. "So all I'm asking is this… are you absolutely sure your silence is loyalty to her? Or could you maybe, just maybe, be protecting your own interests?"

He had time to think that's the expression he uses to get perps to confess in under sixty seconds before Lassiter spoke.

Coldly.

"That was a very good speech, Henry, and even a valid question. Or it would be, if I were hiding anything. However, I think what you and your boy need to consider is that maybe the reason O'Hara didn't tell me where she went is that she knew you two would be tag-teaming me for answers. Maybe she didn't want to put me in a position where I could be 'read' by either one of the Spencers."

Damned good detective… bastard.

"So for the last time, and by God, this really is the last time, I don't know where she is. And I don't know why she left." Lassiter nodded and resumed his jog, and Henry shook his head and wondered what in the hell Shawn had done.

. . . .

. . .

It was Sunday morning, and Lassiter lay on his sofa contemplating going into the police station for awhile. There was always paperwork, and it might take his mind off Juliet. (Yeah, right.)

She'd texted him a few times yesterday, little pleasantries, nothing of substance, but it had felt pretty personal. He hoped it wasn't just his ego which thought it significant that he was the only one she seemed to be talking to. He hoped that when she came back to town, this sensation of a new closeness between them wouldn't evaporate like dew on a warming day.

He didn't tell her about Henry's Saturday morning attempt at an inquisition, and he didn't ask whether she'd contacted Shawn. He was holding to his promise—to himself if not to her—to mind his own business until she saw fit to share her troubles with him.

The phone buzzed, and he cursed himself for hoping it was her, but when it was, he cursed himself for being so pleased. One thing he could always do was find something to curse himself over.

Don't go into the station today. And if you're already there, go home!

Am I that predictable? Of course he was.

Yes, Carlton. But it's Sunday. Day of rest. No workie for you.

Another day of alone, so far as he could tell. O'Hara, there's crime to be solved.

You don't have to solve them all personally. Take a walk with me instead.

He smiled. Where are we going?

I'll walk where I am; you walk in your neighborhood. I'll tell you what I see. You tell me what you see.

You already know what I see. Crime waiting to happen!

Stop stalling. Get off the sofa and put your walkin' shoes on.

He obeyed, but stopped between shoes to send: Any chance I'll run into you out there?

Pause. Sorry, no. It'd be nice, though.

Yeah, it would be damned nice. He'd love to see her sunny smile, her golden hair.

It took a minute to exit the apartment because she sent another text while he was retrieving his gun: Do not, I repeat, do not take your gun.

You are going to be so sorry when that teenager down the street tries to knife me.

Carlton, no one is going to try to knife you. You are Tough Man Walking. Leave the Glock at home.

He laughed. Tough marshmallow, maybe; he put the gun away.

It was a beautiful green and glorious spring day, and in his usual frame of mind he might not have noticed, but today, with Juliet's words on the cell screen, he saw more. More blooms, more green; more sunshine. Cool breezes, faint flower scents in the air. Smiles from strangers which didn't make him suspicious. Blind corners which only filled him with partial certainty someone was about to jump him.

He told her these things and she laughed—he could almost hear it in his head—and told him he was silly but in a way which somehow seemed like a compliment.

Juliet's texts described winding paths through a sprawling landscaped garden, with tall trees in the distance; he figured she was up in the mountains somewhere, and the landscaping suggested a resort.

He could find her if he tried, but he wouldn't try. He didn't want to destroy her trust in him. It had always been important, but now it was just about the only thing which mattered.

She directed him to the park near his place, and he found an unoccupied bench, stretching out his long legs, relaxing. A squirrel scampered up a tree nearby, and surprisingly, he didn't feel like hunting it. Damn, Juliet was having a crazy effect on him.

I'm going to head back, but stay with me a while?

As long as you like. Especially since you won't let me go to work.

Don't go to work. Even Carlton Lassiter deserves a day off now and then. Besides, I'd like to keep talking to you, if you don't mind.

He sighed. I've never minded that.

You make me laugh. I KNOW you've minded a few times over the years when I was jabbering at you in the car.

Yeah, but over time, I grew to appreciate your jabbering. As well as having you listen to my jabbering in return.

He'd grown to love listening to her and having her listen to him, even if she was scolding (and he always had it coming). She'd talked to him like he was a normal person, one who mattered to her.

I'm glad. Because I hope we can go on jabbering at each other for years to come, partner.

That is one hundred percent fine by me.

Oh, she had no idea.

He felt she was smiling, though it was nuts to think so. He was certainly smiling, and feeling warm in a way unrelated to the sunshine.

Good. :-) I'm back at the cabin. Shall I describe it?

Please do.

You're writing everything down for clues, aren't you?

I have a mind like a steel trap, O'Hara. Who needs to write things down?

Touche! OK, I'm in the main room. It looks out over the trees and hills. There's a deck, with some really comfortable patio furniture.

Wood or plastic?

Wood and wrought iron. With cushions, no less. This isn't some pay-by-the-hour flea trap, Carlton.

He grinned. My mistake! I know you're a classy dame.

Hell yeah I am. And btw, nothing says classy quite like the word "dame."

He laughed, and read on while she described the green and blue color scheme of the main room and dining area. It sounded both rustic and elegant, with rich wood and an abundance of comfortable seating, plus a fireplace.

You probably make the place look better just standing there, O'Hara. That wasn't too forward, was it?

Thanks. You probably make the *park* look better, Blue Eyes.

Hmmm, guess it wasn't too forward. He was willing the blush back from his cheeks when she went on.

There's two bedrooms. Should I describe mine?

Hmm, interesting goosebumps. Is that going to be useful information from an investigatory point of view?

Pause on her part. It might be if I were hiding in there while you were looking for me.

With finding you as my goal, I believe I would look anywhere. He hit send before considering the ramifications.

Long, long pause. He'd screwed up. Oh, crap.

If I knew YOU were looking, I'd stay in plain sight.

He swallowed.

She added: Probably in the middle of the bed so you could find me faster.

He swallowed again, his face hot. That's a very leading remark, Juliet.

Yeah, it is.

Then:

So follow.

. . . .

. . .

Juliet stared at her phone, not really believing she'd sent the texts, and yet, somehow, absolutely unable to regret doing it.

Girl, don't screw around with this man. He's more fragile than anyone knows, and you have too much else to resolve first.

But… but Carlton was… he was so real. So… there. So…

Her screen lit up at last.

I will.

She smiled—laughed—tears in her eyes.

Still, I think you have some other things going on.

I do, she texted back. It just felt right to say it to you. It felt honest. It is honest.

She wanted to hear his voice, but this, surprisingly, was not the time for talk.

It felt right to read it. Scary too, but I'm too macho to admit that. *ahem* Moving on to the kitchen?

Yes, please. She described the modern facilities and the front porch and wound up on the back deck in the sunshine, and after awhile of less intense back and forth banter, her cell battery started to go, and so did his.

Recharge time, he sent. Thanks for the walk, and the tour.

It was better than going to work, wasn't it?

Hell yeah. Thousand times. And not just because of the incident in the bedroom.

She loved that he could joke, even if it was only screen to screen.

When you come up to see me, I'll give you a more personal tour.

She held her breath. She did. How the hell would he answer that?

Perfectly, as it turned out: When I come up to see you, I probably won't be looking at the décor.

Her heart was pounding. This was the single most terrifying conversation of her life, and she loved it.

Good. So very good. Thanks for spending the morning with me, Carlton.

Thanks for wanting to spend it with me. I'm not usually anyone's first choice.

Her heart twinged a little. They don't know what they're missing.

Or maybe you're delusional, O'Hara. I haven't ruled that out.

Very funny, Detective. But I don't think so. I think I just have inside info about the man behind the legend.

Legend my ass. Reputation, maybe. Not really the same thing.

Oh, stop. Just accept that I miss you. I was thinking only of myself when I left but now I see how much I just… miss… you.

Pause.

Pause.

Pause.

I miss you too, Juliet. Tremendously.

Her heart was doing a flippy thing and she hadn't thought about Shawn in hours.

:-) But the battery says it's time.

Tomorrow, he sent.

Yes.

Yes.

. . . .

. . .

Early Monday morning, Juliet opened her laptop and typed out the email she'd composed in her head during the night. She read it several times before clicking the 'send' button, but there was no hesitation or uncertainty about either her decision or her wording. Doing this in person would be better, but she regarded this as a stop along the way to the end.

Shawn,

Please don't bother responding to this message, because I won't answer it. I'm not ready to talk to you yet. Honestly I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to talk to you, even after I finally get back to Santa Barbara.

But I will tell you these things so you can stop wondering, since I don't know when I'm coming back and it's not fair to keep you hanging.

1. Our relationship is over. I don't regret our time together at all, but it's over.

2. I know Pierre Desperaux is alive and you helped cover it up. I know he also stole one of Yerden's paintings, and you covered that up, too.

3. I know you've been lying—to everyone—about being psychic all these years. I can only assume Gus and your father have been lying as well. You are lucky to have their support, but I can't give you mine any more.

I'm done being lied to, which means I'm done with you. But I wish you well, Shawn, and always will.

Goodbye.

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