CHAPTER ELEVEN

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(touch of M, dear faint-hearted readers)

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Juliet got back to Santa Barbara mid-afternoon on Monday. She'd tried not to hurry, but once Carlton had left the cabin, even having only spent two days there, it stopped being a place of refuge and started being a place Where Carlton Wasn't.

Getting back to where he was became very important, and it really was time to return to the real world's perils.

At her apartment, she collected mail and did laundry and mourned a dead houseplant and checked messages on her landline, and then called Carlton.

"Hey," he said so very warmly when he answered, making her tingle from the feel of it. "Are you home yet?"

"Well, I'm at my place. I don't think I'll be home until I'm at your place. Can I spend the night with you?"

"Of course. But wouldn't you rather have a night in your own bed after so long away?"

Juliet smiled, which he couldn't see. "No, I'd rather have a night with you, and I don't care where it is, except I'll be honest—I don't think your car needs to be seen in my parking lot overnight."

"And no one will think to look for you here," he reasoned. "Okay, I'll call you when I'm about to leave," he said, "and we can sleep on the kitchen floor if that's what you want."

"The bed will be fine."

"You're fine."

"Thank you for noticing," she teased.

That evening they made love from nearly the time she got there until exhaustion claimed them both well past midnight.

She didn't understand how she had resisted him so long. His long lean body, his wonderful hands and fingers, his tongue and all the magically evil things it could do—this man was the sexiest thing walking and if she'd allowed herself to really see it, to invite it, to claim it a long time ago, much of her angst the past few weeks could have been avoided. She may have overheard Shawn's lie revealed, but there wouldn't have been such a personal component to how she felt about it.

And his heart… Carlton's heart. So hidden from the rest of the world, so protected. As if, fully expecting it would be stomped on, he'd locked it away down so deep that no one suspected it was there to break.

Or mend.

Or love her the way he loved her, and let himself be loved in return.

She watched him dress for work the next morning, regretting the clothing going on, regretting the soft salt-and-pepper hair being subdued, but admiring the completed and damnably covered-up version of her man when he was finished.

He came to sit on the edge of the bed and kissed her lingeringly. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"So not," she countered. "Not right now, anyway. I need a shower, for one thing, and—"

Carlton silenced her with another kiss, along with his hand slipping beneath the sheet to caress her.

"Ohh," she sighed. "Can't you be late for work just once?"

He smiled, and pulled the sheet back. "No." But he nudged her thighs apart and touched her, his blue gaze locked to hers. "Parting gift."

Juliet half-closed her eyes; she couldn't help it. Those fingers… oh hell, those fingers sliding and exploring… pressing… stroking… Carlton lowered his head to her breasts and nuzzled her there while his relentless hand did her in, and when she was nearly gone and her eyes were fully closed, he shifted and replaced his fingers with his mouth, and by the ragged way he was breathing—which she could hear over her own moans—she knew he was for damn sure going to be at least a little late.

Before much longer his pants were off and he was grinding to her again and damn, damn, the time she had wasted not having this what a stupid stupid waste of oh Godddddd oh yes oh yes ohhh she was lost, he was lost… they were found together… together.

He called her from work, while she was still purring and sated in his bed. "Only six minutes late," he said cockily.

"Uh-huh. Did you use the siren?"

Pause. "Well… not the whole way."

She laughed, and he whispered he loved her, and even though she was alone, she whispered it back. It just felt right.

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After lunch, she got in her Beetle and drove over to the Psych office. Her stomach was unsettled, but not nearly to the degree it was a few weeks ago, and she felt stronger and more ready to handle seeing him.

His bike was parked and thankfully Gus' Blueberry wasn't there. She hadn't called; she was counting on Gus being at his real job and Shawn being at loose ends, which may or may not involve food.

She entered quietly, hearing a repetitive thwacking sound, and Shawn turned from bouncing a ball against the wall.

"Jules," he breathed. "Juliet. My God. I'm so glad to see you."

Stopping just by his desk, and willing him to come no closer, she nodded and looked around. No signs of 'spring cleaning' here, not surprisingly.

Shawn was staring at her, and she thought how odd it was for him to be still so long. "You look really good," he said slowly. "In fact, you look beautiful."

He looked tired. He may have lost a little weight, even, and his eyes were not as bright. "I'm sorry," she began, "for the email. And the call. I wish I could have handled all of it face-to-face."

"It's all right." He blinked. "Gus told me once that people don't act like themselves around me because I don't act like anyone else they've ever known."

Hmm, that sounded about right. "Have you decided what you're going to do?"

Shawn smiled slightly. "You mean turn myself in versus being ratted out?"

She couldn't help the flash of anger. "Ratted out? Ratted—"

"I'm sorry!" he said immediately, taking a step toward her before stopping. "I'm sorry. Poor choice of words. I meant turn myself in or be turned in. Or skip town," he added. "Don't think I haven't considered that, too."

Juliet calmed herself. She'd wondered about him taking off; she might have done it herself in his shoes. Focus, girl; stay focused. "So what have you decided?"

Shawn leaned against Gus' desk, holding the ball against his chest. "I'm going to tell Vick I'm not a psychic. How did you know, Jule… I'm sorry, I'm going to have trouble with that. Juliet. How did you know?"

"You were talking to Gus about it in the station when I came looking for you to ask about the number of Yerden paintings."

"Eavesdropping," he murmured.

"Oh, get stuffed," she snapped. "You were practically dancing around, using a normal tone of voice. You're lucky it was me who walked up behind you, not Carlton or Vick. Anyone could have heard."

He had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry. I meant… look," he said, moving restlessly now. "I'm going to tell Vick. But here's the thing. I mean, here's the real thing. I've had a pretty wide range of experiences, you know? I lived in a lot of places, I had a lot of jobs—I'm adaptable. And I could shut down Psych and take off but I don't want to do that. My dad and I, well, we're kind of a work in progress, and as much as I hate to admit it and will deny outside of this conversation, I don't want to go back to being strangers. And there's Gus, my God, Gus. I don't want to leave Gus. He's my magic head." He stared at her, his expression intent. "But more than not wanting to leave, I don't want either one of them to have to take the fall for what I did. You know Gus is a good guy. You know 90% of the stuff we do is really me doing it and steamrolling him into going along with me."

Juliet nodded, knowing he was leading up to something bigger.

"But jail, Juliet. Jail. Burton Guster cannot go to jail. And if Vick finds out about Desperaux and the stolen painting, she has to pass it on, you know she does, and people a lot higher up than her are going to make it their business to…" He trailed off.

"Enforce the law," she said dryly.

"Yes. Exactly. Jule...iet, dammit, JulIET. I can go to jail if I have to. But I can't handle Gus going. And I can't handle my dad being fired or court-martialed or whatever, and besides, he didn't even know about Desperaux being alive until I told him about your email. He had nothing to do with that."

He came another step closer, and she held her ground, but she would run from him before letting him touch her.

"So you have to know, okay? I will shut down Psych right now and leave town before I let Gus or my dad take any kind of fall for the choices I've made. There'll be no proof of anything, anywhere, ever."

Juliet put her hand on the desk to steady herself, and when he advanced she held up her other hand to tell him to keep back. "You're asking me to keep quiet about Desperaux and the painting."

"Yes."

She studied him.

"For Gus. For my dad. Not for me. If you can figure out a way to lay it all on me, I'll agree to that."

Letting it all cycle through her mind for a minute, she went to sit in the nearest chair, tired and unsteady. What is the most important thing? What is the best thing? What is the best thing, for the most people, for the longest time, and the greatest good?

"Jules," he said softly. "What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking of Gus. Gus who goes along with you despite his better judgment and would hate you doing this—but would do the very same thing right now in your place.

I'm thinking of your father, who raised you to be what you are and still seems surprised when you… are what you are.

I'm thinking of Karen Vick and everyone else you've lied to for your own amusement.

I'm thinking of Desperaux, an art thief—not a killer—and the simple truth that we can resume the hunt for him if we have to, but who cares, really? Right now, who cares?

I'm thinking of myself. And I'm thinking of Carlton, who would desperately want me to tell you no but will back me up when I tell you yes because he's my friend and partner and lover and if it weren't for me overhearing you crowing about Desperaux, I might not have him now.

So.

Yeah.

Maybe I owe you this.

"Okay," she said, more firmly than she'd expected.

He held his breath, it seemed. "Okay?"

She stood up. "I'm going back to work on Thursday. You come in and tell Vick the truth, and I won't say anything about Desperaux and the painting."

His relief was palpable. "Oh, my God, thank you so much. You have no idea—" He stopped. "What about Lassie?"

"If I ask him to keep quiet, he will." She spoke with confidence.

Shawn frowned. "I don't know about that."

"I do. But Shawn, Vick's going to figure out even if you don't tell her that Gus and Henry are part of the con, and I have no control over what she decides to do. Nor do I want to. It's entirely her call, so there could still be some fallout for your dad. You get that, right?"

"Yes, yes, of course, but oh, man, thank you for even considering it!" He was starting to jump up and down a little, getting some of his usual… Shawnness… back.

Juliet shook her head, hiding the very small smile she might have shown on any other occasion. Only Shawn could react this inappropriately during a conversation about potential jail time, job loss, and exposure as a fraud. She kept her voice even when she spoke. "If you don't show up Thursday, I will tell her everything."

She might not, though. She might still spare Gus.

Shawn settled down abruptly, hands in his pockets, posture more subdued. "I know. I'll be there. I swear."

Juliet felt completely exhausted. She held out her hand. "We're done, then."

"For now," he said, looking at her hand, and slowly taking it. "I'm sorry, Jules. I'm so freaking sorry I've been such a coward all this time."

Me too. "We learn," she said simply.

"After we've lost," he said quietly, and mostly to her hand.

Yeah. Funny how that works.

She allowed him to hug her, briefly and awkwardly, and went away as fast as she could back to Carlton's, where she called him long enough to say she was about to collapse into what she hoped would be the deepest sleep of her life.

She didn't tell him she'd been to see Shawn. Not yet.

She only told him to wake her with a kiss.

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