CHAPTER FIVE

. . . .

. . .

Juliet stood on the stairs, scrambling into her dress, listening with only part of her brain.

"C'mon! I know you're in there, Lassie; I see your car out in the alley, now give it up!"

Lassiter opened the door and must have blocked Shawn's path inside. "Spencer. Long time no see." He sounded in control of himself. Juliet envied him that.

"Lassie, are you actually Jules' date? That is so not right. Good to see you, though. Where the hell have you been? Why don't you take my calls?"

"I don't have to take your calls, Spencer. I'm not a cop anymore."

Shawn laughed. "You not a cop is like my dad not being a cop like Donald Trump not having the worst hair in the world like Mother Teresa working a stripper pole."

"Mother Teresa is dead," Lassiter said flatly.

"Well, I think that proves my point, doesn't it? You're a cop for life, Lassie. I notice you're not letting me in."

"It's not my house. I don't have permission to let you or anyone else in."

"That sounds very authoritative. Let's have Jules settle this. Where is she? I'm tired of standing on the step looking at you. Not that you're not a handsome fellow, but I don't really go that way."

Juliet couldn't help but be amused at his insistent tone given her earlier remark about him having a crush on Lassiter.

"Juliet is upstairs getting ready." Lassiter still sounded in control.

"She was ready fifteen minutes ago. And you look…" Shawn's tone changed. "You look—"

"Spencer, what do you want?" Lassiter's old impatience had returned. He may have walked away from the job but Shawn could obviously still annoy him.

"Dude. I just happened to be circling the neighborhood on my bike, you know, keeping the tread on the tires even and all, and I noticed an oddly familiar car. Why, look, I said to myself, that shiny automobile seems remarkably similar to former Head Detective Carlton Lassiter's personal vehicle. Could it be? Let's go see! I rhymed, too; did you catch that?"

Juliet's handbag was within reach; she quietly pulled out her compact and comb and repaired some rather significant kissing/caressing/nibbling-related damage to her makeup and hair. Shawn was going on a riff of poetry dedicated to Lassiter's far away journey, and Lassiter must have decided to let it ride to give her more time.

After replacing her lipstick, she snatched a gauzy scarf from the coat stand and wound it around her neck… just in case. Then she backed up a few stairs, slipped her heels back on, and headed down again as if just arriving.

There was no way Shawn would believe it, but she had to try.

"Shawn," she interrupted, "didn't I tell you to leave before?"

"Jules!" he cried, and Lassiter let him by. "Long time no see. You look…" he paused, then smiled interestingly. "You look all aglow."

I was about to get naked with Carlton, she considered saying, but chose instead, "I'm annoyed with you. That glow is annoyance."

"I've heard it both ways." Shawn looked between her and Lassiter. "Hmmm."

"What, Spencer?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just that if I didn't know better, I'd say you two had been…" His pause was dramatic. Juliet wanted to smack him. "Fighting."

She never did figure out how she stopped herself from showing surprise. Lassiter turned away from Shawn, rubbing his jaw, and she folded her arms across her chest. "It's really none of your business."

"That's fair. Look, you guys were partners a long time. There's bound to be friction after a sudden change of routine. Lassie," he said, pointing at him, "you need to be more understanding of how difficult this is for her."

Lassiter's expression was neutral. "I'll take that under advisement."

"Shawn, please go. We'll work this out ourselves."

"No, no, come on, we'll all go. You should have that dinner date after all. Someplace nice, right?"

"We weren't going to dinner, Spencer."

Shawn looked at Lassiter sharply; so did Juliet. But she figured it out. "The phone call when I threw you out the first time was my date cancelling. Carlton got here right after that."

"Ohhh… okay, I get it."

"Get what?" Lassiter inquired in a tone which sounded a lot more like "get lost."

"She was upset about her date, then the other guy who abandoned her shows up, so of course she's going to take it out on him. You." He grinned. "But why didn't you come to the front door?"

"Because I saw your bike."

Which was actually true. "Now that you've sensed all this, Shawn, would you leave?"

"Actually, O'Hara," Lassiter said, "we probably should talk more calmly. Since you're apparently free, let's go get some dinner."

The man was brilliant. "Fine." She went back into the hall to collect her bag and keys, and led the way out the back door.

Shawn tried to cadge an invitation to join them, but Lassiter just looked at him until he backed down, and Juliet got into Lassiter's car as if for her, the whole thing was already over.

He got in beside her and locked the doors against intruders (e.g., Shawn). "So, um, hi," she said, a bit self-conscious.

Lassiter gave her a wry smile. "Hi. Good to be back." He drove out of the alley and onto the main road.

In a rush, and unduly embarrassed given that not ten minutes ago she'd been writhing against him half-naked, "I didn't mean to maul you as soon as you showed up."

"I didn't mean to maul you back." He gave her another smile. "But you're… sort of irresistible."

"So are you." She felt herself blushing. "I really... really I wanted to give you your space. I don't want to come across as... I don't know what. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. It's more than all right. I'd just like to know... where did it come from?"

Juliet studied him. He was watching the road, and his manner was calm. "Where did what come from?"

"I know my own feelings," he said carefully, not looking at her. "I don't know yours. If I'd ever seen any sign that you... that this could happen... you have to know I'd have acted on it. Where did this come from on your part?"

She sighed. "It came from a locked box, inside another locked box, inside a locked trunk in the back corner of a closet on the top floor of a 20-story building. In… Kiev."

Lassiter laughed out loud, and reached over to squeeze her hand.

"I always had... yearnings," she explained quietly. "I just squashed them. You know why."

"Yeah. Partners. Same here."

"And I understand your hesitation, and really, really, really I don't want to make anything more difficult for you. I'll keep my hands off, I promise, if that's what you want. If that's what you need. Just don't shut me out."

"I hadn't planned on it." He drew to a stop at a traffic light, and turned to face her. "I don't know what the best thing is. I just know that if Spencer hadn't shown up we'd be doing something it's probably too soon for us to do. And I wouldn't have regretted it, ever, but I'd hate to think you might."

"It's hard to see how I would regret that," she said with a smile, "unless it ended up hurting you somehow."

He leaned in and kissed her gently. "Maybe we should thank him, then."

"Maybe not," she muttered, and he laughed again, proceeding when the light changed. "Smart move, by the way, telling him you weren't my date."

"Eh. If he wanted to misread our 'condition' as the result of an argument, it's okay with me. He already outed one relationship of mine."

Juliet smiled privately.

He must have sensed it, because he added with his own smile, "And yeah, I guess I call this a relationship, though I don't know exactly what kind it is, or where it's going, or even if it's going."

"Right now it's going to dinner," she suggested. "And then we'll see."

. . . .

. . .

Dinner was nice, she thought; good nice. Sexy nice. He wasn't doing anything to make it sexy, but she was still charged up from earlier and having a little trouble concentrating on, well, anything. He would speak and after a few moments she'd catch herself just staring at his eyes or his hands or his throat or his jaw, reliving what had happened and working herself into a state of physiological disarray.

Lassiter cleared his throat suddenly. "O'Hara," he said in what she knew to be his 'I'm having trouble maintaining control' voice, "stop giving off pheromones."

She snatched up her ice water and took a long drink. "Sorry."

Now he was surprised. "No, I'm sorry. I don't even know what I'm saying to you. I also don't know why you had to wear the sexiest dress in the entire universe."

"I wonder if this place offers cold showers," she said, fanning herself with her napkin and shifting in her chair.

"Stop squirming," he said, almost pleading. "Are we going to have to go out to the car to take care of this problem?"

"Yes. Let's." She reached for her handbag, and Lassiter laughed. Sinking back into her chair, she let out a huge sigh. "Sorry. Sorry."

"Napoli," he said pointedly. "Let me tell you about my conversation with Professor Napoli."

"I'd really rather go out to the car and let you—"

"Napoli! Dead guy! Besides, the back seat's too small for—"

"Oh, God," she sighed, and flicked ice water on her own face. "Carlton, honestly, this is ridiculous."

They were both silent. Juliet willed her heart rate to settle down.

Lassiter rubbed his face hard, and drank down the rest of his own water. Clearing his throat, and looking only at his plate at first, he began, "Okay. I ran into the professor the day I went to pick up catalogs, and we set up a meeting for the day I registered. I talked with him for about an hour, about history in general and research in specific. He said, and I thought this was odd, that he wondered if I'd take a look at a journal article he was writing."

"Why was that odd?"

"Because I'm only a Civil War buff, not an expert. I'm not a writer or an editor and it was strange for him to ask me, someone he barely knew, to read his work prior to publication."

"Was it something he thought you'd be particularly interested in?"

"I don't see how. He said it was about a regiment in Missouri he'd been researching."

Juliet frowned. "Could he have been asking you because you're a cop? Was there anything unusual about this regiment?"

"I don't know. He said he thought I'd find it interesting, but didn't say why."

"So what did you say to his offer?"

"I said sure, if he wanted, but I didn't think I could do him much good. I told him I was going out of town for a few weeks and he said he'd get in touch after I got back. Then I pretty much forgot about it until you told me he was dead. When did he die exactly?"

"Tuesday night, supposedly in his sleep. Woody's supposed to have the full tox screen on Monday."

Lassiter shook his head. "Could be just a coincidence. Probably is."

"But the note is pretty cryptic. It's either a bizarre prank, or it means one person killed him and another person knows about it, so whatever he wanted you to look at might be the key. And I don't think it's a coincidence that he approached a cop to read the paper."

"Any forensics on the note?"

"No prints, nothing unusual about the paper or ink. Word-processed. Oh, and the envelope was addressed to you."

"Me personally?"

"It came on Friday. McNab gave it to Vick. It said 'urgent' with your name and title."

"Odd." Then he grinned. "Of course, I am a legend, right? But it only means the sender didn't know I quit."

"You didn't quit."

"I did quit. You were there. You heard me do it."

"Your badge is still in Vick's desk and you're listed as being on leave of absence. You didn't quit." She was still holding on to a faint hope he'd agree with her.

He only smiled, and the hope grew fainter.

After dinner, they walked back out to the car, parked at the far end of the lot, and her pulse was racing again because being alone with him was suddenly a lot more risky than it had ever been before. Please don't let me maul him, she prayed to whichever saint was in charge of avoiding mauling men you wanted to take to bed.

He came around to unlock her door, which he didn't have to do in this age of remote entry, and pressed her up against the car, his mouth on hers in less time than it took for her to think "oh yesssss…."

"Dessert," he muttered against her neck, sliding his hands down her backside, yanking her close.

Juliet gave herself up to it. Later she understood completely that she would have let him have her right there on the hood of the car; in the moment all she could do was gasp and kiss and grind and undulate and want. So much want.

There was no way she wasn't making love to him tonight. None. "Take me home," she moaned as his lips grazed her upper chest, pulling at the dress he'd already removed once today. "Take me." His response was a growl of desire and—

Why was her phone ringing? Why?

"That's the station," he said roughly. "Dammit." He recognized her ringtone.

"I'm on call," she nearly wailed.

"Son of a bitch," he said, out of breath, letting her go, stepping back.

She tried desperately to collect herself before answering the accursed phone. All she got out of the voice on the other end was 'homicide' and the address where she was supposed to go meet Lincoln, stat.

"I can drop you off." He ran his hands through his hair, still coming back from their mutual edge of insanity. "It's closer to take you there than to run you home for your car."

He was right, and she couldn't even manage words to thank him. Somehow she made her legs work to get in the car with him, and by the time he'd driven to the crime scene, she could very nearly pass for a human being, if not a cop.

She told him she'd get a ride home from a patrol car or maybe Lincoln.

She didn't kiss him goodnight. He didn't look as if he wanted her to, because another kiss of any sort would have been gasoline on the fire, and the fire really didn't need any more help tonight.

. . . .

. . .

The truth, she thought as she lay in bed hours later, after the crime scene had been processed and she and Lincoln had filed what paperwork could be filed at three a.m., was that she had always known the depths of her attraction to Lassiter.

She hadn't understood it for a long time, because he was prickly and easily aggravated, sometimes pompous and frequently thoughtless. His manner around people he was supposed to have power over could be off-putting. But early on she'd noticed he was… gentler around her. More human. More prone to show his non-alpha side. And those moments were when she knew he valued and trusted her, and she could see the whole Carlton Lassiter, not just the tough cop who had trouble keeping his gun holstered and his anger at a simmer.

Those moments also made her susceptible to his physical appeal. She'd always thought the broad-shouldered football-player type made her weak in the knees, but he wasn't that. He was tall and slim—and strong; he was fast and decisive and could express so damn much (even when it was hostile) with those incredibly blue eyes.

She'd had a few dreams and a few outright fantasies about the two of them, knowing somehow that no matter his social awkwardness in public, in private—in bed—he would be everything she wanted.

But those imaginings had to be stomped flat, because he was her partner, and she couldn't get involved with her partner, period. Plus he chased after his ex-wife for so long, and when his interest was piqued by Vick's sister, Juliet had been appalled. Appalled at how she felt when he talked about wanting to date her, appalled by the sheer dramatic force of that woman—she was what drew him?—and unutterably relieved when it fell apart quickly.

Then there was Shawn, flirting with her at every opportunity. Initially she didn't know what to make of him—part savant, part ass—but she let him go on, neither encouraging nor discouraging him. When she had to, and she wasn't proud of this, she used him as a barrier between her and Lassiter. She knew he drove Lassiter nuts. She knew Lassiter didn't like it when she was tolerant of Shawn's tactics. But letting Shawn annoy the crap out of him meant less time fighting back the daydreams, because an annoyed and competitive Lassiter was slightly easier to resist.

Lassiter telling her he loved her in the same moment as quitting his job had been the equivalent of having a pot of gold thrust at her and instantly snatched away. I'm yours; you can't have me. What had infused her was a profound and unshakable realization that her life without him would be a dark place indeed, and she wasn't going to go there without a fight.

But these mental ramblings, she told herself harshly, were all about her. Lassiter had his own story, and right now that story was about his future. She couldn't lock him to the past he so wanted to shake off. What if his desire for her now was fueled less by loving her and more by merely being a male in close proximity to a woman who couldn't keep her hands off him? What if his declaration last month really was meant to be closure? What if she was clouding his dreams and his judgment by her near-wanton behavior?

She rolled over and pounded the pillow, and for good measure threw it across the room as hard she could.

Space.

She would give him space.

Even if it killed her.

. . . .

. . .

Sunday afternoon, Juliet lay on the sofa paying only limited attention to a movie about a renegade cop while trying not to think about Lassiter. She was still short on sleep after last night's investigation, but much too buzzed to actually settle down for a nap.

Her cell beeped… a text message. She reached for it expecting to see Shawn's name and a food-related question.

But it was from Carlton, and it said: I'm afraid to come see you. I'm afraid to call you. But texting might be safe.

She sat up, smiling like an idiot, and answered: People have gotten in trouble with texts before, but I promise to be good.

His answer: Can you promise I'll be good?

I'll bet you're very good, she thought, but typed: You're the strongest person I know.

Lassiter: You haven't been paying attention lately. How was your crime scene last night?

Night club brawl mixed with looting and gunplay. It was fun. You'd have liked it.

Lassiter: Probably. I do love my gunplay. You tired?

Yeah, but another six cups of coffee and I'll be fine. What are you doing?

Lassiter: Trying not to flirt with you.

You should let me vote on that.

Lassiter: See my first text.

Juliet laughed, and wasn't surprised when the phone rang. "Hey," she said warmly. "What are you really doing?"

"I told you. Trying not to flirt with you. I realized I've been sending mixed signals again. One minute I'm saying slow down and the next minute I'm practically groping you in public. Or in your kitchen."

"But I'm equally guilty, and I started that kitchen business. Should we apologize to each other, or just pretend it didn't happen?"

"Neither. We should just…"

"Stay on opposite sides of bullet-proof glass?"

He laughed. "Yeah, something like that. I actually would like to see you. I forgot to give you your souvenir last night."

She jumped on the chance. "We could meet in public, in daylight, in a place where families gather. No opportunity for questionable behavior that way."

"Putt Putt?"

"You would play Putt Putt with me?"

"Of course. Who doesn't like Putt Putt?"

"I thought you hated it."

"No, I only hate Spencer raving about it."

"Huh. Okay, sure. I can meet you there in half an hour."

. . . .

. . .

They had a blast. Lassiter was competitive but funny as hell and Juliet didn't even care who won because she was enjoying being with him too much. It helped that the place was crowded—kids and families as expected—so they couldn't linger anywhere and the game moved fast.

His shirt was open at the neck, no tie, and in the sunlight he looked happy and relaxed and hadn't she promised to give him space? No reaching over and touching the 'sternum bush,' she warned herself. Public place. Man on the edge. Leave him alone.

After the game—close, but he won—they settled into orange plastic chairs in the food court with ice cream sodas, and she said, "You are so much fun. Were you always this much fun and if so, how did I miss it?"

He shrugged. "The job. Too much focus on the job. No time for fun. No time to allow for the possibility of fun. I had to be serious, all the time. All. The. Time. Oh, here," he added, fishing in his pocket for a small tissue-wrapped bundle. "Your souvenir. It's just a little something I found in a gift shop. You don't have to wear it."

She unfolded the paper, already smiling simply because he'd thought of her. A silver chain came into view… connected by tiny silver handcuffs. She burst out laughing. It was perfect. "I am so wearing this," she declared, and attempted to put it on. Lassiter got up and stood behind her, fingertips brushing her neck probably more than they needed to while he fixed the clasp for her. "Thank you," she said, catching his hand when he tried to go back to his seat.

"Glad you like," he said, seeming pleased. "And damn me for agreeing to meet in a public place."

"Better in public than not at all." She smiled, and felt very very good.

"Jules!"

Less good all of a sudden. Lassiter was between her and the voice, and the voice was indubitably Shawn's. He and Gus were at their table before she could even decide whether to run or stay put.

"Lassiter?" Gus sounded shocked.

"Guster," Lassiter said smoothly, reclaiming his seat. "Been awhile. You're well, I hope?"

"I'm… fine. Thanks. Um, you?"

Shawn was staring in open-mouthed exaggerated shock between Juliet and Lassiter. "Please tell me you only came here for the yummy nachos and/or cotton candy."

"Because we know you didn't play Putt Putt," Gus added suspiciously.

Lassiter smiled. Juliet said, "He beat me by two points."

"Would have been more but she jinxed me at the jester."

"It was an unplanned sneeze," she protested. "I'm allergic to the cologne the soccer mom was wearing."

"That was a man, and it wasn't cologne; it was Cheez Whiz."

"He reeked of it. Might as well have been cologne, and anyway, you tried to jinx me at the flamingos by whistling the theme to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly!"

"Hey, when the muse strikes, it must be obeyed." He grinned, and she laughed.

Shawn and Gus stared at each other. "Dude. They're doing… us."

"I'd rephrase that if I were you, but… yeah." Gus looked uncomfortable. "I thought I knew them."

Juliet gave him a bright smile. "We didn't know you were so close behind us. Pretty crowded out there."

"Oh, we haven't played yet. We eat first, then play, then eat again. Carbo-loading is important for this type of athletic competition, you know. Seriously," Shawn persisted, "you two actually played a game of Putt Putt? Lassie, what happened to you?"

"He lost a bet," Gus suggested.

"Or Juliet did. Or they both did. God, this is weird."

Lassiter got up, but she could tell he was still pretty relaxed. "Don't you hate it when the things you take for granted just… turn on you?"

"Damn straight." Shawn looked him over from head to toe. "I don't know you anymore, man."

You never really did, Juliet thought, and got up to stand with Lassiter. "You should try to pay more attention to stuff like this, Shawn." She touched Lassiter's arm. "Come on, let's give them the table."

"Guster," Lassiter said, offering his hand, and Gus shook it with an air of shock. "Good to see you. Spencer," he added with a nod, and led the way out.

He walked her to her car, both of them laughing at the effect they'd had on Shawn and Gus. "Oh, I shouldn't mock," Juliet sighed. "I know he's going to figure this out soon enough."

"I don't know. I think this is something he doesn't want to see."

She knew he was right. "He doesn't want to think of you as being someone who could…"

"Win you? I know. I'm having some trouble thinking of myself that way." He gave her a crooked smile. "Old insecurities."

"Don't be so sure of failure on this one, Carlton." She wished she dared move closer.

His eyes were so amazing, searching her wordlessly, and then he relaxed. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. But for the first time… I kind of like it."

"I kind of like you," she whispered.

Lassiter smiled.

. . . .

. . .