CHAPTER SIX
. . . .
. . .
"How did you pay for the flowers and tux?"
She'd led him a little further down from the alcove where she hid out on Monday morning, and sat on the wrought-iron bench half-shielded by the trees. Being out of the view of every single one of her gawking co-workers was doing a lot to restore her grip on sanity.
Shawn joined her, top hat in hand. She wondered where the baton was and hoped Carlton was making sure the roses were out of her sight when she went back in.
"You keep forgetting I have a job, Jules. I do have actual income of my own."
"I suppose so, but I only ever hear about you spending Gus' income."
Shawn sighed, putting his arm behind her on the bench. "Jules. What happened to us?"
Juliet leaned forward slightly so his arm didn't touch her (why do I keep doing that? I didn't even want to take his hand inside) and looked at him consideringly. "What was the song going to be?"
He brightened. "'Open Arms.' Want to hear it? I practiced all morning. I think I really got my Steve Perry down. I considered doing a Tyler Perry voice instead but decided to go traditional."
When he seemed about to sing, she raised her hand in protest. "No. No, really. I'm good. I know you're going for a theme here, but Shawn, this has to stop. I guess you think I'm going to melt into a puddle of lovesick goo if you find just the right song but all you're doing is making me embarrassed and angry and uncomfortable."
"But why? Why does it make you embarrassed and angry and uncomfortable to be married to me? What happened to the beautiful woman who gladly told me yes on Friday?" He was as earnest as she'd ever seen him—scratch that: as earnest as he'd been in the car that day, soliloquizing about why they should marry.
Juliet sighed. "I don't know, Shawn, but I'll be honest. I met with a divorce attorney yesterday."
His mouth hung open. "Why? We haven't even been married a week and you already want to end it? That's not fair. That's not even logical. We've been together over a year. We've known each other and… and admired each other for a lot longer. You can't just give up on us overnight."
"I'm not… necessarily… giving up on us," Juliet said, and that was the first lie she'd told him. "I'm saying the marriage shouldn't have happened."
"But… I don't understand. You want to end the marriage but not the relationship?"
She was starting to feel sick again, and wrapped her arms around herself. "I want to end the marriage. I honestly don't know about the relationship." There. That was as close as she could get to the truth, and a little voice hissed it's a lot closer than he usually gets.
Shawn was watching her, judging, assessing: ever the analyst in his own dysfunctional way. "You're saying I could call you up tonight and say hey let's go see a movie and you'd come out with me?"
Juliet closed her eyes. "No. Not this week."
"Next week then?"
"Shawn."
"I'm serious, Jules; I have a right to know." He was getting more agitated. "Are we together or not?"
Dry mouth. Cold skin. Roiling stomach. I wish Carlton were here.
"I don't know," she whispered.
Shawn was staring at her—she could feel it—and she finally opened her eyes to face him.
"How am I supposed to win you back when I didn't even know I'd lost you? Because that's what I'm hearing, Jules. That I lost you and I don't get a do-over."
"I'm not saying anything about the future," she insisted. "I just don't want us to be married!"
"When we went up to that resort and met Barbie and Clive you did."
"No, Shawn, that was you. That was you who brought it up. And I told you anything like that was far, far ahead of us. Remember?"
Apparently not, because he barreled on, "And you were trying to get me to move in with you right before my dad got shot," he accused.
"I wanted you to spend the weekend with me, not move in. And then when he got shot everything was up in the air. I barely saw you for weeks afterward and it was obvious you weren't ready for anything complicated while you were still reeling from that."
His eyes were glittering and impossible to read, just like nearly always. "How did you get home Friday night?"
The shift in focus took her aback. "What?"
"I was just thinking. You cancelled your credit card and I know you didn't have much money. How did you get home?"
He already suspected. But so what? What was the problem?
"I called Carlton."
Bingo: his face darkened. "Why? Why in the hell would you call him when you could have asked me to take you home?"
Juliet had to remind herself again that she was an officer of the law and not allowed to strangle people.
"Shawn, you weren't listening to a word I said and the two most important things on your mind that night, as I recall, were watching Webster and using my credit card. I couldn't make you understand me on any other point so the odds of you slinging your butt into Gus' stolen car to take me home were pretty damn slim."
"I didn't steal Gus' car!"
"You did. You took his company car without permission. I'm a cop, remember? I kinda know about this stuff?"
Not surprisingly, he chose to let it go. "But why in God's name would you call Lassie? Of all people?"
"Of all people? What's that mean? He's my friend! My partner and my friend!"
He scowled. "I'm your husband!"
"Would you stop saying that!" she snapped.
"No! Why should I? We are married, and you are my wife. And you told Lassie we're married! You let him go all the way up there on our wedding night so now he thinks he's all hero-y and has to protect you from me!" He got to his feet, hot with anger.
Juliet stood up too, equally irate. "He doesn't have to protect me but I'm glad he wants to. You came here to do the one thing I specifically and repeatedly asked you not to do and I'm delighted he stopped it."
"You asked me not to say we were married," he retorted, "and I never said one word about it in there. All I was going to do was sing the greatest love song ever written to my girl, because I miss you and I want you back in my life!"
Oh, the tangled morass of his reasoning, she thought, staring at him in disbelief.
"Then I get shoved around by Shovy McShover and thrown out on my ear. Fine. That's just great, Jules. Way to give me hope for our future."
Juliet could feel tears in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. "The way you've ignored everything I've said this week doesn't give me any hope for our future either."
Just like that, his anger was gone, draining away, leaving him looking younger and almost vulnerable.
"Jules, honey," he said quietly, "I want us to have a future."
She couldn't take this much longer. She couldn't. "Then please, please give me the space I'm asking for right now."
For a minute they searched each other: Juliet didn't know what truth he sought, but she was hoping to see a reason, any reason at all, to believe she could be with him again. Like before. Before she'd tasted reality.
He shut down before she learned even one thing. "I'll call you in a few days. Please don't tell me I can't do that."
She managed a nod, and watched him walk away.
. . . .
. . .
Carlton was at the filing cabinet by his desk, half-looking for a document and three-quarters watching out the window for any trace of Juliet and Spencer.
Nothing.
He'd gotten Dobson to take the flowers out—except the pink rose, which he left on Juliet's desk because he thought the disposal (or not) of that one was up to her—and had given the baton to Officer Allen down in Booking in case Spencer came back for it. Or Guster. It was probably his, and "borrowed." He seemed like the kind of guy who'd own a baton.
Everyone was studiously avoiding asking any questions. Most of them were avoiding even making eye contact with him—don't notice me, I swear I'm working and minding my own business—and to Carlton, that was a sign of his job having been well done. No one needed to be speculating about Juliet, and damn Spencer (again) for upsetting her.
When half an hour had passed, he decided he had both an obligation to patrol the perimeter of the station building, and the privilege of taking a break, so he headed outside to… you know… take a look. At things. Around the building. Because that would be prudent.
Stop it. Leave her alone. If she's working it out with him, you absolutely should not interrupt. If she's licking her wounds, she'll let you know when she's ready to talk. If she's standing over his dead body, she'll call when it's time to conceal it.
He lasted another five minutes, loitering at the employee bulletin board, and then he was out the door.
. . . .
. . .
Juliet knew Carlton would come to her. She knew he'd hesitate but in the end his natural concern for her (fueled by his innate impatience) would win out.
What gave her pause was how much she wanted him to hurry up.
You're using him.
No… I'm appreciating him.
He had always been there for her. Maybe not always emotionally, but one way or the other he'd been a solidly there presence in her life. Even in something as simple as how he stood alongside her when they were in a confrontation together, or more often when he stood slightly behind her and she could feel his heat and strength (and often aggravation—and sometimes that was soothing too)… Carlton was a force, and always a force she could rely on, generally without even thinking about it.
Shawn, she could never rely on. But she didn't want to think about him right now, although the whole reason she was still lurking outside (instead of sensibly back at her desk solving crime) was to think about him.
Well, maybe he wasn't the whole reason.
Maybe part of the reason was she wanted to be able to talk to Carlton alone.
Yeah… that could be it.
When he finally came to her, his blue eyes raked her up and down as if checking for damage—almost possessively—and that was oddly comforting too.
"Hey, partner," he said, stepping under the overhang of the tree. "You okay?"
"Yeah." She looked up at him, her arms once again wrapped tightly around her middle.
"You sure?"
"No."
Carlton's dark eyebrow went up. "Do I need to rephrase the question?"
She shook her head. "I'm… let's go with no. I'm okay, but I'm not okay."
He nodded, as if that made sense. "Is he okay? I don't see any blood spatter and you didn't have enough time to hide the body."
Juliet smiled, already feeling a little better. "No one's dead yet."
He reached out and almost gingerly touched the side of her arm, but didn't he know she welcomed his touch?
No, she realized, he didn't.
"I consider myself a strong and independent person," she said abruptly. "I would like to be able to get through crises on my own—and of course I know I can. I don't want to seem weak or feeble or overly emotional. It's already a liability that I'm…" she hesitated. "Pretty. Even when I'm wielding a gun, people—men—assume I'm going to lose it at the sight of a fluffy kitten or a broken fingernail."
Carlton was watching her, frowning but listening closely. "You are a strong person, O'Hara. But let's be honest; you could also become a cat lady."
She laughed, sudden tears in her eyes. "I really, really don't want to cry on you all the time but Carlton…"
That was all she could manage before she lost it, before he said "Just come here already," and pulled her into the safety of his arms.
Juliet, once she was secure against his chest—could feel the beat of his heart—experienced the oddest thing: the tears stopped. Even the urge to cry stopped.
It was as if simply clinging to his warmth and strength was all she needed to get herself back together. He smelled good and he was so warm and when she slid her arms around his back she was even closer and that was even better.
One of his hands was on her shoulder, his other arm around her lower back, and she could feel his breath on her hair and she thought clearly, so very clearly, I do not want this moment to end.
She sighed, and he murmured that everything would be all right, and if worst came to worst he would contact one of his previous arrestees who had a thing for dismemberment and then she was laughing again.
She lifted her head and he was smiling down at her and what she saw in those blue, blue eyes was the summation of everything that should be between two people who trusted each other and cared about each other.
Years ago he wouldn't have touched her to save his life (hers, maybe) because he lived by his rigid code of self-control and was painfully, awkwardly trying to recover from the debacle of his exposed affair with Lucinda Barry.
Now he was holding her as closely as a man could hold a woman, and she liked it, and she knew it was absolutely insane and he was going to freak out about it but she couldn't help it: she lifted her head and kissed the side of his mouth.
Carlton's mouth.
Yes.
She heard his intake of breath, and he started to say her name—Juliet—and she kissed him again, on the mouth directly, just a soft, light kiss. Maybe a little too long, but still, it was only the barest tiniest tip of the iceberg of how much she suddenly wanted to kiss him a lot more. A hell of a lot more.
Dear God, so much more.
She could feel his tension building—even though he unmistakably responded to her—and here was the thing: she was married. Technicality maybe, but married. Still in a relationship with Shawn at the very least.
Not available.
And that would freak Carlton—her castle guard—above all else.
So she stood down, resting her head on his chest again, listening to the pounding of his heart, thinking it matched hers, and after a while he relaxed his hold on her and she stepped out of his arms.
But not far. She still needed to feel the heat of him.
Meeting his wide blue gaze, she said quietly, "I am so lucky to have you."
He was searching for the right words, she knew, starting with and probably rejecting 'what the hell just happened?'
But he found them, his smoky voice low but clear: "The feeling is mutual."
Now there was a leading remark.
Which feeling?
Analyze that later. You have a husband to deal with.
Juliet pulled herself back to something closer to reality. "How are things inside?"
"Very quiet," he said meaningfully, "and if they do not remain so, I will become very noisy."
"Oh… well now I'm torn," she said with a smile. "I do enjoy a good Lassiter group smackdown now and then."
Up went that dark eyebrow again. "There'll be other opportunities, I'm sure."
"Promises, promises," she said lightly, turning away to go back to the sidewalk.
"I keep them," he answered behind her, and she didn't have to look at him to see he was no longer smiling.
"I told Shawn I met with a lawyer," she said when he joined her on the walk. "He didn't like it much. But I think he gets that I really need him to back off awhile."
"Good." His tone was normal, but there was turmoil in the blue eyes.
"Thank you, by the way. For breaking up that nightmare-in-waiting."
"I told you to stop thanking me," he reminded her.
"I know. I told you to suck it up."
"Standoff."
"Potato-head," she said with a small smile, and Carlton's return smile warmed her for the rest of the day.
. . . .
. . .
Sleep.
So little, every evil profound.
Sucks lots, equally egregious piffle.
Stupid Lassiter, ecky ecky ptang.
Carlton built these and other phrases to occupy his mind, since he obviously wasn't sleeping.
He might have a better shot at sleeping if he were in his bed, but instead he was pacing his condo. Front door to bathroom and back again. Long slow strides.
Juliet had kissed him.
There was a 95% chance it was the kiss of a grateful friend—that's what it ought to have been, if she were to kiss him at all.
But the way it felt, brief as it was... felt like a 95% chance it was the kiss of… a woman.
To a man.
To him.
And that was insane.
As well as incredibly bad timing.
He stopped in the middle of the hall, breathing in the memory of holding her soft warm body close, knowing she had stopped crying and was hanging on to him because… because she wanted to.
Because he made her feel safe, maybe. Or warm. Or he was a buffer. He didn't know. He only knew she'd been there by choice.
And she'd kissed him of her own free will.
Just a little kiss, to be sure.
But…
He started pacing again, tired and not tired at all, and relived it one more time. Then again.
Juliet's lips brushing his, her body pressed close, her hands on his back.
He took a wrong step as the words she still belongs to Spencer poked at his brain, and it was entirely appropriate that he stubbed his toe on the edge of the sofa at the same time.
Yeah. Go to bed, jackass. Juliet's friend shouldn't be thinking this way about her.
Stern words, logical and mature.
Still, when he finally did sink into sleep, his dreams took a turn for the sweetly intense crazy, and he rested all the better for it.
. . . .
. . .
Juliet was pacing in her apartment too.
The feeling is mutual.
Which feeling?
The I'm lucky to have you as a friend feeling?
Or the feeling… the feeling she was feeling which she had no business feeling, because she was supposed to be working out what to do about Shawn, her boyfriend if nothing else?
She stopped and pressed her forehead to the cool metal door of the fridge.
You have worked with Carlton for seven years. NOW is when you take an interest? I believe a doctor would call that… transference.
Well, I believe I would tell that doctor to get stuffed, because… because I would. So there.
Brilliant riposte, O'Hara.
Juliet sighed and put herself back to bed. Bottom line, she couldn't do anything about it, and maybe not for a long, long time.
Still, when she finally did sink into sleep, her dreams took a turn for the sweetly intense crazy, and she rested all the better for it.
. . . .
. . .