CHAPTER THREE

. . . .

. . .

Shawn finally had enough of Juliet dodging his calls after the third day, and put himself in front of her desk Friday afternoon, Gus at his heels. "Jules. You know you can't hide from me. I'm psychic, remember?"

She looked up from her screen. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm really busy, Shawn. Did you need something?"

"Uh, yeah. I need a case. I need some answers. I also need a back rub and an order of chili cheese sweet potato fries, but Gus won't help me on the former and Ole Ole's took the fries off their menu. I should report them to the Better Business Bureau." He looked at Gus reproachfully; Gus rolled his eyes.

"So do that," she said, scrolling through the data.

He bent over her monitor, forcing her to back up. "Jules."

"Shawn, I don't have a case for you. Talk to Vick. Maybe another detective needs your help."

She might as well have said he should eat dirt, judging by his expression. "My God, you just turned into Lassiter with that crazy talk." He looked over his shoulder. "Where is Lassie-face? What are you guys working on?"

"Carlton," she said carefully, "is on an extended leave of absence."

Shawn laughed. "Yeah, right. No really, where is he?"

"And I," she continued, "am very busy finishing up some of our active cases before a new partner is assigned to me. So if you don't mind—"

Gus interrupted. "Is he okay? Lassiter taking time off is unusual enough but an extended leave?"

Shawn interrupted that interruption. "How extended? A week? Two?"

To Gus, she said, "He's fine." To Shawn, she said, "He doesn't know yet. It might be permanent."

Shawn stepped back in exaggerated shock, but she could tell he was genuinely surprised. "Permanent?"

Gus persisted, "He can't be fine. There's no way. What's wrong?"

"What did he do?" Shawn demanded. "Do I need to clear his name again? Is that the case you're busy with? Damn, I wish I hadn't lost my police scanner."

She shook her head. "Look at that. Gus is worried about him as a person, but you assume he just screwed up somehow."

"Gus isn't worried," he said dismissively.

"Why wouldn't I be worried? For your information, I respect Detective Lassiter, and appreciate all the times he saved our butts. If he's sick, I'm concerned."

"Thank you, Gus. He really is fine."

"Well, I could be worried, too, but mostly I want to know where he is right now so I can go, you know, read him. This isn't some practical joke is it? It's too late for April Fool's. Gus, did I forget to change the calendar again? Jules!" he said more sharply, leaning in close again. "Of course I assume he screwed up, or thinks he screwed up. He's got that code of honor thing going on, ten times more than anyone else I've ever known. He doesn't take vacations, and you say he's not sick, so if he's gone, he screwed up somehow. Tell me what he did, and I'll fix it."

"That's very nice of you, Mr. Spencer," Chief Vick said smoothly, coming up alongside them. "But Detective Lassiter didn't screw anything up, and you can't fix it."

"Oh, come on," he cajoled. "He must have done something."

She tilted her head, and Juliet felt the chill before Shawn did. "Lassiter is just about the best detective I have, Mr. Spencer, and he doesn't screw up. Now would you gentlemen please remove yourself from the police station until such time as we require your services?"

He met her gaze and must have decided not to test her. "Jules," he said without looking away from Vick, "call me later. Please."

"Fine, Shawn." She didn't want to, but she would.

"We'll be going to see Lassie now," he added semi-defiantly to Vick, who shrugged and pointed toward the exit.

"You'll be doing that on your own," Gus muttered, but they did leave.

After Vick left her desk as well, Juliet called Lassiter. He hadn't dodged any of her calls the past few days, and he didn't dodge this one either.

"O'Hara," he said warmly into the phone. "This is getting to be a habit."

They'd had dinner two nights ago, a surprisingly pleasant evening together; he'd talked about the courses he was interested in taking and got her to update him on her family back home, and whether or not he really wanted to know or was just trying to keep them both away from more personal and problematic topics didn't matter. She'd been glad to be with him. "I know. I'd apologize but you'd know I was lying. I just wanted to give you a heads up that Shawn is planning to come see you."

"Well, that'll be nice." His tone was so matter-of-fact that for a second she believed he was serious until he laughed. "What's he want?"

"He and Gus just came by the station and found out you were gone."

"Huh. Spencer didn't 'divine' it already?"

"I've been avoiding talking to him. I didn't want him to… to go all Shawn on me."

That made him laugh again. "Thanks. He won't find me today, I don't think. I'm just about to register for summer classes."

"You sound like a different man," she said suddenly. "You sound so relaxed."

"Is that good or bad?"

"It's good." She felt warm. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

He hesitated. "You want to have dinner with me on what is traditionally known as date night?"

"Yes, I want to have dinner with you. You're not off-limits anymore." She couldn't believe she'd said it.

Lassiter let out a breath. "Wow. Be careful, O'Hara."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry. But I'm sorry. So is it yes or no? You can tell me what classes you finally chose."

"Okay. Yes. I'll pick you up at your place. 7:30?"

"Yes," she said, and felt ridiculously happy after they'd disconnected.

. . . .

. . .

She left work earlier than usual, about five, because she wanted to do stupidly girly stuff like look nice for her date, and she knew she had to call Shawn before that.

But when she got home, he was lounging on her porch. "I sensed you'd be home early," he said confidently.

"Or you called the station for me, found out I was gone, and rushed over here?" She had stopped for gas, which would have given him a few extra minutes.

"Or I called the station for you, found out you were gone, and rushed over here, yes, but that's not important now. I've been looking for Lassie all day. He's not taking my calls, yes I see you smirking, and aren't you going to invite me inside?"

"Shawn," she said patiently, sitting in the rocker next to him. "I have no control over what calls Carlton takes, I'm sorry about the smirk, and I am not going to invite you inside."

"Why didn't you tell me this was happening?"

"Why do you care? You don't like him. Didn't your life just get easier?"

"I like him. How can you think I don't like Lassie? He doesn't like me." He seemed wounded, but she knew better.

"That's because you go out of your way to bug the crap out of him."

"But that's our way! It's our deal! It's how we men relate, Jules."

"Well, whatever. The thing is, this was sudden. He only decided on Tuesday, and a lot of stuff is still up in the air. I couldn't really tell you about it because I didn't really understand it myself, and anyway it's his business."

Shawn was eyeing her suspiciously. "You seem awfully calm about this."

She smiled. "It's not like he's dead. I wish him all the best."

"But you just lost your partner. That's not supposed to be an easy thing, unless you're glad he's gone."

She stopped smiling. "It's not easy, and I'm not glad. And I lost my partner—but not my friend."

"Friend," he repeated, but didn't let her respond. "So what prompted this life-changing decision on his part?"

"I don't think it was any one thing," she said slowly. "And if he wants you to know, he'll tell you."

"Jules, you insult me. I find out things whether people want me to know or not. I'm psychic, remember?"

"So I hear," she said, and got up. "I have to go now. By which I mean, you have to go."

"Yeah, I see that. You have a date tonight."

She knew him well enough to know he might just be fishing. "Do I?"

"Home early, don't want me inside, trying to rush me off. Who is he? Anyone I know? It's not Luntz again, is it?"

"No, Shawn. Now go away. I'm sure Gus is lost and lonely without you." She let herself in, giving him a 'just give it up' smile, and deadbolted the door behind him.

Just to be on the safe side, however, she called Lassiter and asked him to come down the alley behind the house to pick her up in case Shawn was lurking to see who her date was.

. . . .

. . .

Lassiter was wearing a blue shirt which made the blue of his eyes all the more dramatic, and Juliet was wondering how she had resisted him for so long. He was your partner, she reminded herself; partners don't get involved. But… maybe they should have.

"You look beautiful," he said simply. "But then you always do."

"Sounds like criticism," she teased. "Thanks anyway."

He shrugged. "You can't help it."

She felt unduly warm as she laughed, and rather than go all mushy, she asked, "So you're registered for classes?"

"Yep. History for now. I need to do more research on forensic studies. I'd rather not go for an online degree but most of the other schools I've found would require me to move."

"Oh, please don't move." The words were out before she could stop them, but then, they were true.

He looked at her, smiling. "I don't want to move. My whole life's been here, though maybe that's the problem."

"What would Grenovich say?" It was a semi-serious question.

"He'd probably say I should question whether the reason I want to stay is only that I'm afraid to leave. But truth is, I don't have any desire to live anywhere else."

"Good." She was relieved.

"Though tomorrow I'm going to Virginia."

"What?" She heard her own anxiety.

Lassiter reached out and touched her hand briefly. "Relax. It's my Civil War trip."

"How long will you be away?"

"Three weeks. I'll be back in time for classes, which start mid-June. I'm going to fly out to Gettysburg and rent a car. Figure I'll criss-cross Virginia for the most part, but I want to see Antietam too. I'm going to play it by ear." He grinned. "And as you know, I have bodacious ears."

"Stop," she said crossly. "I don't understand how playing anything 'by ear' fits you. You've been away from the job for four days now and haven't even shown any interest in the cases you walked away from. And you gave Vick your gun—I still can't believe that."

"Oh, that reminds me; the other guns are in a box in my trunk. Would you take them in for me?"

She stared at him. "Seriously? You're giving up all your guns?"

"I'm keeping one," he admitted. "But no sane person needs eight, and I'd like to start being sane." He sipped his wine. "And I'm sorry for leaving you in the lurch. I was thinking about the Monahan case; did you check the chauffeur's history?"

"Yes, and he's been popped for drugs so we're taking a closer look."

"See?" He smiled. "You don't need me."

"The hell I don't. And really, Carlton, how is this easy for you? When Drimmer framed you and you couldn't work, you practically fell into a depression. When Salamatchia was after you and Vick put you under guard, you were climbing the walls. How can you be so relaxed now?"

"Juliet," he said, and she wasn't sure if it was a good thing that her name sounded so intimate when he said it, "I had nothing else then. Nothing. There was only work, and when there was no work, there was no… me."

"But you had other interests. The gun range, ballistics, new weapons—"

"Work-related, all of it. My life consisted of working and trying to get Victoria back. When the latter failed, there was only work. Now I have plans. I have goals. And most importantly, I have the time and the means to reach those goals."

She sighed. "I feel like Meg Ryan in Joe Versus The Volcano."

"Which one?"

"The first one. The little mousy office girl who was blown away when Tom Hanks went crazy on their boss and quit his job."

"Nothing mousy about you," he said with a smile.

She felt herself warming, but pressed on, "Do you have a brain cloud? I'm serious. Are you sure you're not having some kind of psychotic break?"

"O'Hara," he laughed. "Would you feel better if I went to see a shrink?"

"I might. Actually, yes. I might."

"Because you think I'm making a mistake. But honestly, what about my life should I go back to?"

It was out before she could stop it: "Me." Oh, Juliet, you idiot…

Lassiter's smile was slow and unnervingly sexy, whether he meant it that way or not. "Aren't you still in it?"

She was mute, embarrassed and blushing like a little girl.

"Aren't you... dating me right now?"

"Carlton," she whispered.

The waiter, ever timely, arrived with their dinners, and Lassiter waited until they were alone again to speak. "I've been thinking about our conversation the other night at my place. I know I shook your world up by quitting, and it's natural to want to cling to the familiar because the future is a big unknown. Half the time I'm terrified too." He gazed at her, and Juliet's heart was pounding. "But if you're my friend, and you know how I feel about you, then you can't…" He hesitated. "You have to take care. You have to take time to figure out whether it's just the familiar you want, or the chance for something new. And I can't… I won't let myself be…"

He stopped, and she understood. He was saying don't hurt me while you figure this out. She closed her eyes briefly, sighing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be getting in the way of your… transformation. Please don't think I would ever knowingly do anything to—"

"I know. Look, I wouldn't mind if you called me while I'm away, or let me call you. I'd like to—"

"Yes," she said at once, her heart pounding again. "Please do. Send me pictures too. I'd really like that."

Lassiter smiled at her, and his eyes seemed brighter. "I will. Thanks."

She should have been thanking him.

After dinner they went out and strolled along the boardwalk. Cool breeze, lights on the water; he bought them both gelatos and they found an empty bench to sit on. "I'm going to miss you," she said softly. "I'm going to end up calling you every day."

He put his arm along the back of the bench, almost touching her shoulders. "I hope you do. I like the sound of your voice."

It was a sweeter compliment than he could ever know; he must have felt she'd talked his ear off over the years. She turned to look at him in profile. He was gazing out at the sea, half-smiling, and she knew he was right to ask her to be careful with his heart, but more than anything, she knew these feelings she had for him weren't new. They'd just been simmering quietly on the back burner, little longings wafting up from time to time which dispersed in the light of day.

But was he more important to her simply because now he could be, or only because he had broken free of his personal chains? Was the pot still simmering, or was it about to boil over?

She reached out to touch him, and he turned.

Without another word, he kissed her, warm hand cupping her face as his other arm curved around her back. His mouth was so sure, so hungry, and she drank him in, tasting his need and matching it with her own. The feel of his tongue against hers, the sound of his breathing as he pulled her even closer, the taste of his love—Juliet's heart was about to burst out of her chest. "Oh, my God," he breathed roughly, and she mutely echoed that sentiment. He stroked her hair, his gaze locked to hers. "You could kill a man."

"Not if you kill me first," she murmured, her eyes on his mouth. "And you might."

Lassiter half-groaned, and lowered his head again. This time he licked her lips, nibbling at them, his fingers trailing through her hair while hers wandered his throat and down to where his shirt opened and she could slip her hand inside to touch him. But it was only moments before they were kissing deeply again, mouths locked in delicious battle, and Juliet was sure she was on fire, actual fire, head-to-toe fire, consuming her and everything else in its path.

Just from kissing Carlton Lassiter.

He dragged himself away from her abruptly and stood up, walking away from the bench to the stone wall, breathing hard. She could see his hands clenching against the concrete.

She was complicating things for him. He hadn't planned on her reaction to his spontaneous break from the real world. He had been so sure he stood alone that he'd underestimated—no, discounted entirely—his role in her life. Of course he thought she was mixed up. But after a kiss like that, after how she felt before, during and now after, Juliet knew she was anything but that.

And she knew she couldn't press him on it. She had to… let him go. For a while, anyway. Off to Virginia, for starters. He needed his chance to fly; it was not for her to clip his wings.

She smoothed her hair and touched her lips, feeling they were swollen but not minding.

When he turned around to look at her, she said, "It's okay. You can take me home. Do you need a ride to the airport tomorrow?"

He shook his head, and thanked her for the offer. He held out his hand and she took it, and they walked back to the car. At her house, he came up to the porch to hand off the locked box of guns, promised to call her when he got to Gettysburg, and kissed her cheek before he left.

. . . .

. . .