A Walk in Ashes
Aghast, Gold finds himself in Belle's apartment surrounded by a throng of her well-meaning friends, celebrating her return to life. Included in the crowd is Belle's ever-fawning, overly-solicitous 'fiancé,' Killian Jones. Gold overhears several interesting conversations, including finding out that Belle had forgotten about the shotgun that was in her cabin and hearing Cora openly hit on Jones. In front of the crowd, he appears to arrest Belle but, once in his office, he confesses that he's falling in love with her. Belle confesses her own feelings but also lambasts the man for his high-handed methods which have frightened her and her friends. In a moment of high emotion, they end up in a clinch, kissing passionately. They are interrupted by the announcement that Cora, an attorney, has arrived. Gold brushes her off and, at Belle's request, has taken her to his home.
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Chapter 13
A.N. There's smutch in the opening.
She pulled him to her and put her arms around him. He hesitated a moment, she could tell he was hesitating . . . but then . . . he bent himself to the kiss.
And it was hot, searing hot, she felt like there must be steam rising from their skin. Her lips left his for a moment to gasp for breath. Then she kissed down his neck into the hollow of his throat.
"Miss French, I mean, Belle" he tried to begin again.
She kissed him on the mouth again.
"I want to touch you Belle," he told her, his voice husky, his eyes fully dilated.
Belle was momentarily confused. She thought he was touching her.
"Please, please let me," he was asking her again and now he was kissing her softly between his words.
She nodded, not quite sure what he was talking about.
It was all the encouragement he needed. He guided her the few steps over to the sofa and sat down, pulling her on top of him, down to his lap and his hand went to her knee as he began to kiss her again. She felt his hand slip under her skirt and slowly move up her thigh. She suddenly realized what he'd meant when he had asked to touch her.
Ohhh, he wanted to touch her.
Belle pulled back and dropped her eyes. "I don't know that this is a good idea," she began. This type of thing had never worked out well for her.
"Just relax. You don't have to do anything," he told her.
She fluttered and shifted as if she wanted to pull away from him. He held her, stroking her, petting her. "What's wrong?" he asked her knowing from reading her innermost thoughts that had been poured into her journal that she was a woman that had never been satisfied . . . and likely that she thought the problem was within her.
"I. . .I . . . don't want to disappoint you," she stumbled out, telling him, glancing up into his eyes. "I'm not very good at this."
There was that vaguest trace of a smirk. "Are you anatomically different from other females?" he asked her using his policeman voice.
She shook her head. No.
"Are you . . .are you attracted to me?" he asked her now with a softer, gentler voice.
She hesitated and then nodded. "I know you must think I'm a tramp or using you to beat a murder rap, but I don't usually fall into the arms of a man I've known. . . what? about three days. But I . . . I feel . . . I . . ."
"I feel it too, Belle," he told her. He shifted her so that her back was to his stomach and her legs fell on either side of his. He held her in place with one arm snuggly set around her waist. The other hand slipped between her legs¸ resting against the soft cotton of her panties. From this position he was able to kiss her down her neck, causing little shivers.
"Remember, sweet girl, I'm a patient man, a very patient man." There was such sensual promise in his voice that she felt herself melting into him.
She protested one more time, "Lieutenant, I . . . I . . . "
"It's Rumple," he told her.
"Wha?!"
"My name. It's Rumple," he reminded her. "Just relax. I'm going to take care of you, very good care of you," he promised and his lips grazed her neck causing her to tremble.
And he took his time, his fingers strong and sure, at first just gently rubbing back and forth, around and around her most delicate areas. She had wrapped the fingers of each hand around his arms, holding on as he teased and stroked. He could feel her tensing up, especially as he brushed against a particularly tender spot. When she flinched, he slowed up. He held her, nearly rocking her as he became increasingly insistent, increasingly persistent. His fingers would work in tiny circular motions, not quite touching that most sensitive spot. From time to time he would kiss her along her neck and he'd be rewarded with tiny little moans. Her breathing was shallow. Her mouth was opened. Her eyes were closed. Her panties were soaked through. He felt she was getting quite close so he upped the stimulation. His hand that had been around her waist crept up to clasp a breast, at the same time that the fingers on his other hand became more determined, brushing, teasing, molding against her, sliding into her folds, gently rubbing and increasing pressure. He could feel her body responding, her clit becoming stiff and engorged. And now he concentrated on directly rubbing her feminine nub. She began to thrash, tiny frantic movements as if, as if to get away from his questing fingers and then . . .
He felt her body stiffen and still and then begin to tremble and then, with a sharp cry, she broke against him, her body jerking as the force of her pleasure tore through her, his fingers being flooded with a sweet wet flowering. Her fingers had dug into his arms, likely her nails had drawn blood.
It took a while for her breathing to return to normal. She slowly released her grip on him. He held her closely, pulling her leg around so that she rested in his lap, her body now soft and languorous.
"That was beautiful, my sweet. So beautiful," he whispered holding her, cuddling her.
It took a while before she was able to speak. She slowly became aware of where she was and who she was with. She managed to raise her eyes to his. "Do you want to come to the bedroom?" he heard her, inviting him into her bed with a soft whisper.
"I do, I really do, but it will have to be another night," Gold told her. "I'm still on the case and strictly speaking, you're still a suspect." He kissed her tenderly. "Another night . . . if I'm still welcome." And he helped her to stand, and she needed help to stand, her legs still weakened and wobbly.
"Why don't we get supper somewhere?" he asked her. "I doubt my kitchen holds enough ingredients for even someone of your talents to concoct a meal."
"Okay," she replied numbly. "Order in or go out?"
"Something out. Waffle House? There's one nearby on Long Shoals Road."
"Okay." She seemed kind of dazed.
"Are you all right?"
She looked up at him and shyly smiled. "Never better."
He closed his eyes. He was struggling to restrain his physical response and answers like that didn't help. "Let me feed Dearie before we go. I'll be right with you."
He took a moment to feed the kitten and then guided Belle out to his truck. He resisted putting his hands on her, afraid it would precipitate another burst of passion. He had promised her no strings attached, no expectations.
Belle found herself unusually hungry and ordered two eggs, bacon, toast and hash browns scattered, smothered, capped and covered. Oh yes, and a bowl of grits and some coffee. Gold got a single fried egg, some toast and some hot tea.
"Is that all you're eating?" she asked him.
Gold bit his lip. "I find my appetite . . . for food . . . is somewhat diminished at the moment," he admitted.
Belle blushed which he found charming.
They chatted about the weather, the best restaurants in town, the most likely trend for hemlines in the coming fall.
It was a pleasant supper.
# # # # #
Back at his house, Gold settled in on the sofa in his living room, sleeping with what was becoming a permanent erection, his gun and the little fluffy calico. Despite having washed his hands earlier, he still had a hint of Belle's fresh, warm scent on his fingers. It was like vanilla with a touch of cardamom, he decided.
He couldn't wait to taste her.
She had given herself to him and he remembered her exploding in his hands. She had been willing to go to bed with him. He could have had her, relieved himself, enjoyed himself . . . and he had pushed her away.
Had she really wanted to be with him? Or was this just the satisfying afterglow of her first experience with having someone else draw an orgasm out of her? Was she just grateful?
Would he end up being just another man in the string of awful choices in men that she had made?
He desperately wanted her. She was like a cool breeze on a hot summer day, a candle in an ocean of darkness, a soft soothing voice amid a raucous callithumpous parade. She could still the demons that dwelt within him, cast away his shackles, free him from the bindings the past held on him.
He could be happy again.
Belle lay in his bed, her body heating up again, craving his touch - again. What must the man be thinking of her?
She was supposed to be an engaged woman or, at least, a recently engaged woman. She had just met this man, but she had kissed him, passionately. He'd kissed her back. He touched her, touched her like no other man had ever touched her. What was wrong with her? She had known this man for a few days but she felt like she'd had a lifetime with him. She felt comfortable with him.
At the same time, he infuriated her. He was arrogant, smug, and conceited.
He was also brilliant, insightful and clever.
And she suspected she would have mind-blowing sex with the man. He'd already taken her to a level of intimacy, a level of sheer pleasure that she had never experienced with any man before.
He also seemed to like her, really like her. He listened to her. He talked with her. She felt special around him, cared for, maybe not exactly respected, but certainly, she thought, desired.
She really wished he had come on back to her bedroom, well, his bedroom. She imagined he would have her stripped off by now and she would be trying to concentrate to get his clothes off of him. Belle touched herself.
It wasn't the same.
She had never come so hard and so long as she had done for him. She should have been satisfied but she was already wanting to have those feelings again. And he had wrought this miracle just using his fingers. What would he be able to do with his mouth and his . . . .
She really needed to get a grip on herself.
The next morning, Belle told him that she wanted to go back to her apartment to change and then over to Regina's for the morning. He nodded and drove her back to town. He was back into full policeman mode and had dressed in his three-piece suit. He needed to interview some other people about Lacey Redfern. He made sure she had his cell number in case she got any creepy feelings. And he called to make sure she would have someone, several someones, watching her back.
Before she got out of the truck, he took her in his arms. "You're going to be followed for your own protection, you understand." He raised his hand to the side of her face. "I really don't want anything to happen to you." Their faces were close. It was a matter of perhaps an inch between their lips. If either one of them leaned in a fraction, the magnetic force of their own bodies would pull them together.
Gold pulled back. "I'll connect with you for lunch."
He wasn't looking forward to this. But he had to check things out.
Had someone been trying to kill Lacey – not Belle? Had Lacey been the target? He had assured Belle that she was the target (not exactly reassuring but it made Belle a non-suspect). In some ways Lacey-as-target made more sense. Belle was everyone's Little Miss Sunshine. Lacey was . . . well, she was not. Co-workers and acquaintances both suspected her of stealing. She hung out with a rough crowd, had a mean boyfriend. She had been pregnant and desperate.
Who else might have known she was pregnant?
The boyfriend?
If they had been trying to kill Lacey then they would had to have known that Lacey was at Belle's. That narrowed the field considerably.
Damn, there were only two who could have known that – Jones and Belle. They could be in it together. If it had been Jones's baby, then Belle could have killed her in revenge or Jones could have killed her to get rid of her. Belle and Jones could be in it together which is why they were protecting each other.
He really did hope that Belle had been the true target.
He went through his notebook. There were quite a few that he had eliminated as having no motive – the banker, the landlady, the liquor store owner, the other models. Then there were the suspects. Cora and Regina – for either of these it could have been jealousy, an unwillingness to share. Jefferson – did he want the lucrative business that he likely stood to inherit? But Jefferson had a pretty solid alibi. He remembered the other odd theories that he'd had. Was it the ex-boyfriend angry that she was getting married? Or was it Lacey's boyfriend who was angry and fearful of Belle's interference. What was that character's name – Keith . . . Keith Nottingham.
He first stopped by Prêt á Porter and headed upstairs.
"Jefferson," he called out.
"Oh sweet," Jefferson came out holding onto some spools of laces. "I need a man's opinion. Which one of these would look best on a blonde?"
Gold looked at what appeared to be nearly identical strands of lace. He picked one at random.
"You think?" Jefferson tossed the one that Gold had picked and went with the other choice.
"I need to talk to you about Lacey Redfern," Gold told him.
The flamboyant Jefferson sobered up quickly. "That was sad. I'm sorry to say that I was glad to find out that Belle was alive, but, still . . ."
"Anybody have anything against Lacey?" he asked.
"Well, I told you she was unstable. We thought that she was stealing, but Belle never would take any action."
"Anything else?" Gold pressed.
"Well . . . uh . . . I . . . I don't know."
"Jefferson?" He could tell, the man was holding something back.
"I thought she might be pregnant. Her measurements had abruptly changed."
"Uh hummm," Gold responded. "If she had been, any idea who the daddy might have been?"
Jefferson was clearly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. "Well, she had a boyfriend."
"Keith Nottingham?" Gold asked.
"Yeah, I guess that was his name."
"You don't think much of him?
"Lacey would come in sometimes and it looked to me like she'd been knocked around some. Sometimes there'd be marks on her arms. And there was at least once that I thought she might have had a cracked rib."
"Think it was the boyfriend?"
"Don't know. But . . . if I was going to guess . . . . yeah, I'd say it was the boyfriend."
"Thanks," Gold told him and went back out to his truck and drove down to the Art's District.
He pulled into Gaston's art studio. He got out and eased into the concrete block building.
Gaston didn't remember meeting him initially, so Gold re-introduced himself and reminded Gaston that he had been investigating Belle's death but was now working on Lacey Redfern's demise.
"Yeah, I'd heard it was her that bought it and not Belle," Gaston told him. "Still pretty sorry deal."
"Know anybody that would want to hurt Lacey?" Gold asked him.
"Well, she had a bit of reputation, you know what I mean," Gaston told him.
"No, I don't know. What do you mean?" Maybe he could get the lunkhead to pass on some idle gossip.
"Well, she was supposed to be Keith's girlfriend but she was hardly exclusive. I'd heard she was stepping out with Belle's latest, that douchey guy she's supposed to hook up with."
"Was Lacey seeing anyone else?" Gold made a note.
"Well . . . "
"Did you and she ever . . . go at it?"
"Nah, man, I'm best buds with her boyfriend and truth to tell I wouldn't want to go up against Keith. He's got a temper. Been known to bust up a bar or two in his time. Wanna keep him on my side."
"And the night of Lacey's death, you had seen a movie with him and then got drunk together?" Gold reaffirmed Gaston's story.
"Yeah, that's right."
"Did you pass out first or did Keith?"
"Oh, nobody can drink Keith under the table. Hate to admit it, but I can't hold my beer near as well as he can," Gaston confessed.
"Anybody else you know Lacey might have pissed off?" he asked Gaston.
Gaston half closed his eyes evidently he was thinking. "I don't know. She was always needin' money. The best thing she had going for her was working for Belle."
Gold nodded. "Thanks." He started back to his truck but paused. "Oh yeah, how did Mr. Nottingham hurt his foot?"
"He hurt his foot?"
"Yeah, he was limping on it."
"Oh yeah," that seemed to jostle Gaston's memory. "He said he dropped somethin' on it at work."
Gold got back into his truck and double-checked his notes. Keith had told him that he had tripped over something. He made a phone call. He wanted a records' check. They promised to call him back. He then drove out to the garage. "Mr. Nottingham!" he called out.
Keith slowly came out wearing his ever present tool belt, with the screwdrivers sticking out of his pockets. He looked like he'd been bathing in used motor oil - smelled that way also.
"I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Nottingham," Gold began.
"What loss? Oh you mean Lacey. Yeah, that was a bitch."
"Were you two engaged?" Gold asked him.
"Nah, but we were pretty exclusive," Keith told him. "I'd made it clear that I didn't want her stepping out with other guys."
"Were you aware of her relationship with Killian Jones?"
"Oh that," Keith shrugged. "You know there were rumors, but she was my girl, totally. I didn't put up with any shit out of her, you know."
"I heard that she wanted to break it off with you," Gold told him, watching him closely.
Keith glared at him. "Who told you that? Lacey would get some dumb-shit ideas from time to time. She weren't the smartest piece out there you know."
"You kept pretty close tabs on her?" he asked Keith.
Keith paused a moment, "Yeah, I expected her to answer her cell when I called."
"Know anybody who'd want to kill her?"
"Kill her? Why would they go to Belle French's apartment, if they wanted to kill Lacey? That don't make no sense," Keith responded.
"You kept close tabs on her, you say? Did you know she was going to Miss French's apartment Friday night?"
Keith spit to one side. "For once I didn't. I was hanging with my best bud and we both got drunk that night."
Gold had pulled out his notebook. "You'd said you had seen her last Saturday morning and she was going to her mother's." He shut the notebook. "But you couldn't have seen her then as she had been shot Friday night." He waited.
Keith blinked twice. "I guess I was mistaken. It must have been Friday morning."
"The word is that you two had a fight then." Gold still waited.
"Me and Lacey had fights every other week. It was a passionate relationship," Keith explained. "It didn't mean anything."
"You knew she was pregnant?" Gold asked him.
Keith looked surprised and was silent a moment, a long moment, "No, I didn't know. You sure about that?"
"Yeah, I'm real sure," Gold told him.
# # # # #
Regina, Cora and Belle were getting mani-pedis together.
"It still doesn't make any sense to me, Belle. He's playing some sort of game with you," Cora began.
"I don't think so," Belle defended the enigmatic policeman.
"I don't deny that he's infatuated with you . . . well, in some warped way of his own. But I don't know that he's capable of any normal, warm human relationship. He's been dealing with criminals, working vice and undercover, too long." Regina selected her shade, a deep red color. Belle was going with the French style. Cora had gone with a brighter red.
Regina continued on, "You don't know what he was like when we all thought you were . . . gone. It was creepy. When you were unattainable, when he thought you were dead, that's when he wanted you most."
"But he was glad when I came back . . . as if he was waiting for me," Belle protested.
"You do know that he has all these unflattering terms for women, like knishes, skirts, dames, chicks, birds, and then it just gets nasty," Regina shared.
"That doesn't mean anything. He isn't like that with me," Belle protested.
"Belle, there you go again. You're always looking for the best side of people. And . . . " Cora lowered her voice, "and you always get swept up in their lives."
"I don't mind being nice to people," Belle said, as much to herself as to the other women.
"Oh Belle, darling, you're falling into your old pattern. If Gold wasn't that mixture of incisive intelligence and raw sex appeal, you'd see through him in a second," Cora tried to talk some sense into her.
"Cora," Belle began, "I would think you'd be encouraging a relationship between me and Lieutenant Gold. We all know that you like Killian and would prefer that I be out of the picture."
"I've told you, as Killian goes, I understand him. You don't. He's using you and eventually he'll cheat on you, if not with me, then with someone else, like that cheap floozy Lacey." Cora told her. "Look at your other choices in men, dear. Gaston, who we all know was an idiot and incapable of being faithful. Killian, who has expensive tastes and is also incapable of being faithful. And as for this Gold character, Belle, I'll give you that he's clever and even appealing to look at . . . "
Regina interrupted, "You think he's nice looking?"
"I do, dear and so do you. You always preen before we have to see him," Cora brushed her off. "But Belle, even counting his few, his very few, sterling qualities, he's arrogant and unpolished, hardly fit to move in the circles you move in."
"He's entitled to be arrogant, Cora. The man's brilliant. As for being unpolished, I would venture to say that he has his own charms. He certainly appreciates the finer things," Belle defended Gold. She was beginning to become irritated. Even if she hadn't been having feelings for the man, there was no reason for Cora to beat up on him.
"But you have so much more class than the man. He will only drag you down, pull you down to his level with his vulgar pawings," Cora told her.
Belle thought she might be blushing hearing this – the man's 'vulgar pawings' had proven to be more than satisfactory.
Cora continued, "He's the most dangerous kind of man there is. You fall in love with him and he'll rip your heart out. I promise you."
# # # # #
Gold might have taken the stairs two at a time if his leg had permitted it, but then he stopped on the first landing and double-checked the large window. The screen was fastened. He looked out onto the backlot, filled with stray shrubbery and the occasional scrawny tree. The drop was less than six feet, but it was onto uneven ground, and in the dark, it would have been a jump into the unknown. He went on up to the top floor, to Belle's apartment.
Belle was there, still with Cora and Regina, and beginning to pack up her things. She had decided she would need to relocate rather than try to stay in her apartment. It broke her heart to leave the place but there were too many unhappy memories for her to remain. The three women looked up when Gold burst in through the door.
"Haven't you heard of science's newest triumph – the doorbell?" Regina asked him.
Gold smirked, "I don't like to remind Belle. That was the murderer's signal."
Belle was there and she smiled at him, brightening his day.
He went over to her. "I thought you'd like to know. I just got a call. Forensics tested your shotgun from the cabin. It isn't the murder weapon. It seems to have only remnants of birdshot but the murder weapon shot heavier gauge buckshot," he reassured her.
"Now," Cora was shaking her head, "that's what I meant when I said he'd rip your heart out." She looked over at Belle, "A real key to the man's character. First he tells you that he thinks you're innocent and then proceeds to check up on you."
Gold waived her off, "When I report that I think she's innocent, that's my own personal opinion. When I submit proof, it becomes the opinion of the department."
Regina shook her head, "This entire maneuver could be a trick to get you off your guard," she warned Belle.
Gold sighed, "It could be, but it isn't."
"I believe you, Lieutenant," Belle told him, her eyes still lit up.
Cora rolled her eyes, "Belle, you've got to realize you're following that same self-destructive pattern," she reiterated her previous warning.
Belle closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "I mean to be as kind about this as I know how, but, I must tell you, Cora, you're the one who follows the same pattern. You find these hapless young men, keep them around for entertainment until you get bored. . . "
"Belle . . ." Cora began.
"Cora, I don't know that we should continue our relationship."
"Oh, Belle, you're not yourself, darling."
"Actually, I am. Perhaps for the first time in years. I believe I know exactly what I'm doing."
"Very well. I hope you'll never regret what promises to be a disgustingly earthy relationship. My congratulations, Gold," and Cora stomped out.
Regina had stood by watching. "That was bloody amazing. You know, it's probably not your smartest move to piss off my mother." Regina sighed, looking at the two who couldn't take their eyes off each other.
"Goodbye, Ms. Mills," Gold spoke to her without looking at her.
"Listen, I have a podcast to prepare on great lovers throughout history. You may want to catch it this evening."
"Goodbye, Regina," Belle told her.
Regina sighed again and let herself out.
Belle turned to Gold and allowed him to hug her. "I don't know why I said those things to Cora. I just got tired of her carping. And I know she mis-treats Killian," she looked at Gold. "I still care about Mr. Jones. He's really a nice guy . . . I know you don't think so."
"You are too nice, my darling," he told her, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.
"You are getting close to making an arrest? For real and for true?" she asked him, tracing her fingers up his arm all the way to his shoulder.
"All I need is the murder weapon." Gold pulled away and began moving about. "Let's see if I can make a better guess about what the killer might have done with the weapon." He paced over to the door. "The doorbell rang and Lacey Redfern went to the door in your negligee. She opened the door."
Gold assumed the position of the killer in the hallway. "The room was dark. The murderer saw a woman standing there and he assumed it was you. You were responsible for his world collapsing around his ears. He blamed you for taking away his girl. So he let you have it . . . with both barrels, right in the face. But it wasn't you. It was Lacey and she fell . . . here. The murderer heard Jones running in from the next room, so he hid in the stairway. He is perhaps smarter than we think he is, going up the stairs to the roof, knowing anyone leaving the apartment would run downstairs. Jones was scared, so he ran out of your apartment as fast as he could – running downstairs. Then the murderer came back into the room. He was desperate. He knew Jones or one of the neighbors would call the police. He didn't want to be caught with the gun. He had to stash it some place quickly."
Gold looked around. There was Belle's clock, her exquisite milk-glass, hand-painted floor clock set in an ebony frame. He'd noticed the one at Regina's that first visit and this was its twin. He knelt down in front of the clock.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to my ever faithful and insightful reviewers (it's their fault this chapter ran long because of all the ideas they kept giving me): juju0268, Grace5231973, RaFire, jamie. wan. kanobi (chapters 1 & 8), Wondermorena, Aletta-Feather, Erik'sTrueAngel, onlyinyourdreams77, Robin4, MyraValhallah, OneMagician, jewel415, and cynicsquest,
NEXT: Gold discovers the murder weapon
Belle and Gold get closer
Gold has occasion to give us The Full Monty