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CHAPTERS

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN

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Part Five

She was heaving, literally inhaling sharp, deep breaths that penetrated her like knives, rushing oxygen to her brain and still, still she was uncharacteristically mute.

"Lindsay."

Claire sounded distant, foggy, and the moisture that stung in her eyes made the vision of her friend blurry. The pressure on her arms alerted her to some movement, but it wasn't until the sound of a door rattling on its hinges caused an involuntary jump, did Lindsay realize that her friend had dragged her into the office.

"Lindsay," Claire said again, and despite the rapid beating of her heart, Lindsay finally seemed to see her, blinking away what tears she could and once again staring at the door.

Jill's eyes had been dark and furious. She had been cutting and cruel, and she had told her - blatantly, honestly, that Cindy wanted her. Cindy wanted her.

The breathing came fast again, chest rising and falling, and her mind swam, because it just… it didn’t compute. It…

"Lindsay!" The voice was a shout now, and Lindsay blinked again, breathing in hard through her nose and finally forced herself to see Claire, almost grateful for the concerned brown eyes blazing into her, because it gave her somewhere to focus. "Snap out of it."

"Sorry," she choked, and shook her head, as if trying to shake loose the images, make them fit together in the perfect puzzle of how she had imagined things were. "I just… "

"I know. That was a hell of a tirade with a lot of previously unknown information." Claire's hands were still on her arms, but her voice was purposely smooth. "And it looks like you need to process it. Sit down."

Like a dog being led on a leash, Lindsay found herself uncharacteristically pliable, allowed herself to sink gratefully into Claire's chair.

Cindy… Cindy…

Her eyes shut automatically, head ducking down to meet slender fingers, digits digging into her dark curls as suddenly the image of the woman leaning against the wall overtook her, heated body soft against her, lips moist and utterly intoxicating.

In that moment, not even understanding what it was she was feeling, Lindsay had known she wanted her. She had been entranced, besotted, overtaken at the sensation of soft skin underneath her fingertips, and bright, wide brown eyes. What had started out as a fumbling apology had become a near assault, and it was Jill and her brusque entrance that had taken a bucket of cold water, dumped it over her, sending the deepest chill down her spine.

A comforting palm seeped warmth through the leather draped over her back, and even though Lindsay's heart continued to pound, willing her to panic, she found herself able to close her mouth, keep herself from panting.

"Did you know?"

The question was asked quietly, and the response was just as careful, if not a little delayed. "No," Claire finally said, and Lindsay believed her. "I mean, when I first met Cindy I had a hunch…" Lindsay's palms came down, and she glanced up beseechingly. Claire's mouth turned downward and her shoulders came up, indicating a half shrug. "But so much time had past and I just attributed it to a little hero worship she got over."

"So only Jill knew," Lindsay breathed voice scratchy and low. And Jill found out the day that she stayed in that hospital, when Cindy woke up from her surgery and Lindsay had been simultaneously relieved and terrified, looking down at a pale face and a sweet smile and afraid of her own reactions, had remembered a date that she had been early for. With Pete.

Oh, God, Pete.

"Sounds like it." Claire leaned against the desk, arms folded across her chest, watching her carefully. "So what are you gonna do?"

Head jerking up, a wave of sudden fear jerked into Lindsay, stomach dropping within her when she noticed the careful, thoughtful stare Claire was now directing down at her.

"I… I don't - Claire," she stammered, face flaming and head bobbing. "I just… I just found out-"

"Is Jill right?" Again, the tone was smooth, unrelenting. "Have you been confusing her? Clinging to Cindy?"

The automatic response was to shake her head; vehemently. But her thoughts caught up with her, betrayed her with a sudden image of the night before, and the way Cindy had jerked away from her touch, tried so desperately to leave her when all Lindsay wanted to do was make her stay.

Her resulting smile was too painful to be sheepish. "I… think my outburst out there kind of speaks for itself."

"Hmm." Claire eased off the desk, shuffling her feet and resettled herself. "So again, what are you going to do?" Lindsay could only stare helplessly, still absurdly lost, mind blown by just the knowledge that Cindy… that Cindy wanted her. More than wanted her. "May I make a suggestion?" she continued tenderly.

Her nod was a small, beseeching movement.

"I vote we don't tell Cindy that we know. Judging by her quick exit and the anguished look she gave me while you walked in here earlier, she's having enough trouble dealing with this situation, and Pete dropping suddenly back in town has probably made it worse."

The name of her boyfriend made the lump in her throat suddenly gigantic, and the resulting swallow was painful.

"So… you take Jill's advice. Let her move on. Give her some space. Try to bridge this… gap between you as a friendship. Nothing more."

Logically, her friend's sage advice made so much sense. And yet, just listening to it, hearing what she should do with the knowledge of Cindy's feelings, sunk her heart deep down in her stomach, left her with a feeling that smacked of pure devastation and agony and a loss of something she had buried inside of her.

Her lids lowered to the floor, and she heard Claire's sharp inhalation. "You don't want to let her move on. Oh, Linds…" There was so much pity, speckled with frustration in Claire's breathless sigh, before the arms unfolded and she moved around the desk, now reduced to pacing. "Have you forgotten about Pete?" Claire snapped, head whirling to pin her with a sharp gaze. "The boyfriend you've had for the last eight months. The one that just flew home thousands of miles to be with you?"

Fingers came up to unsteadily thread through her bangs, slip them behind her ear. Underneath her jacket, she felt hot. Her gun, pinned awkwardly against the wooden chair, dug into her hip, nearly bruising her skin.

"No," she said, uncharacteristically soft. "No, I haven't forgotten about Pete." But it was Cindy she was thinking about now, searching deeply in her mind for any smile, any unspoken conversation that could have alerted her before. All that flashed in her thoughts was a single memory: a young woman settled against a couch, so comfortable, like it was hers, one hand on the head of a dog that adored her, the lights of the television playing off the angles of her face. There had been something funny on, at least something that had amused Cindy, because suddenly her mouth pulled into a brilliant smile, and those brown eyes flashed at her, plucking a kernel of corn from the bowl sitting between them and flinging it playfully in her direction. That moment, so irrelevant, became suddenly momentous for Lindsay, because she distinctly remembered her heart swelling in reaction, unable to keep an eye on the television because she was so distracted by the simple beauty that was Cindy just…existing. Right there. On her couch. Like she belonged there.

Three months after that, last night Pete sat on the couch in a similar position, on Cindy's corner, hand on Martha's rump. But he was in Cindy's corner, in Cindy's spot, and … it didn't fit. That the large, masculine body settled into that spot like it was his was infuriating, and Lindsay had been both miserable and confused, because it was Pete, and he was finally here, and all she could absorb was that he was sitting in Cindy's place on her couch.

Hands trembling, she pressed her palm to her mouth, an aching truth suddenly readily apparent. "Claire," she rasped, and glanced up, frightened. "What if…" her throat hitched, and she glanced down at her hands again, feeling like a coward. "What if I want her too?"

Claire let that settle; let the question hang in the air on its own, testing Lindsay's resolve. After a brutal moment of those dark eyes fixated seriously on her, her friend seemed to finally take pity, arms once again crossing herself and stepping toward her to resume her place on the desk, directly in front of her.

"Then you have a lot of explaining to do," she began calmly, carefully. "Starting with being honest about what you're feeling. To Pete. To Jill. And to Cindy. And Lindsay," Claire continued, unwilling to let her look away. "Just understand, it might be too late." Lindsay blinked, unsure what to do. "From the sounds of it, Cindy was ready to give up on you. She was ready to move on. And Jill was more than willing to help her get there."

--

Based on what had transpired, and how she had reacted to it, there was really only one option for Cindy Thomas: work.

Work as if her very sanity depended on it, and her overactive mind took to the idea gladly, desperate for something else to focus on. As if she were afraid to linger for even a minute on the events that had caused her to flee from Claire's office for fear that even half a second of contemplation of the arguably besotted expression on Lindsay's face or the tightened disappointment on Jill's would cause a cascade of emotion that she could not afford to let loose.

Of course, the problem with that was that her sources, at least the ones she needed for her current murder story, were also her friends, and the very people she had fled from.

Breathing out audibly, venting her frustration in a rush of air, Cindy's palm slid from her forehead and over her cheek, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen.

Removing her glasses, she closed her eyes, shutting out the world for a precious moment.

At least the nausea had died down, and her head ache only simmered, deciding that maybe she had been through enough today and boiling her brain wasn't necessary.

Maybe it was time to get new sources. Sources she had never made out with or drunkenly propositioned. Sources she didn't want to sleep with. Sources that didn't cause her knees to buckle or pressed her up against doors. That was a good idea. Good reliable police informants that didn't make her breathless and slackjawed or cause her to bumble like an idiot.

What a concept.

Cindy would wager good money Diane Sawyer never had to deal with any of this.

"Thomas."

Her name, said like a bark by a heavyset man with an ill-kept beard who loomed at her over her cubicle, startled her so much that her small coffee mug neatly stacked with pens and pencils jerked over, spilling the contents over her lap and onto the floor.

Her editor didn't wait for her to clean it up. "Cruz's story isn't ready yet. I’m going to put the bus stop murder on the front page. Have to me in an hour."

"You want it in an hour?" She was fairly certain she squeaked, and that never worked with him.

"You heard me," he said, and pointed a pudgy finger in her direction. "And I want it to be good. Don't half ass it."

She never did. Of course, she hadn't previously left her source under the impression that she had gone home and slept with her best friend. Not that the truth was any more glamorous. Cindy distinctly remembered much more of Jill's toilet than any other part of her friend's swanky luxury condo.

"An hour, Thomas!" The voice floated down the hallway, and Cindy felt the knot in her stomach grow exponentially larger. Teeth sinking worriedly into her bottom lip, Cindy slipped on her glasses and stared hard at the phone.

She had at least seven missed calls, all ignored. Cindy had a pretty good guess as to which three of her sources had called so diligently. But God help her, she did NOT want to check the Caller ID or the call log.

It was a coward's way out, but at the very least, dialing Claire, Cindy knew she was dialing a friend. There was no fuzziness, and she had never made out with Claire, or never wanted to make out with Claire.

Not that Claire wasn't hot but... yeah.

Chest expanding with a soldering breath, Cindy nimbly scrolled through the available 'recently called' numbers and quickly chose the appropriate line, clicking 'send' and positioning the Bluetooth headset over her ear.

One ring. Two. A click and then a familiar, "Cindy?"

She swallowed, and began with a ragged, "Hi..."

"Thank God." She heard shuffling, the shutting of a door. "It's about time you called. I've been worried sick."

"I'm fine," she said, determined not to sound as weak as she felt. "Listen... about before..."

There was a pause. Not the greatest sign. "Right."

"I will explain it to you, I promise," she began, because Claire deserved that much. "But I've just had my deadline pushed and I really need the information you were going to give me this morning. Do you think maybe we can just pretend this morning didn’t happen and maybe you can catch me up?"

It was a lot to ask, in the wake of how she left things. She was sure, judging by Lindsay's startled expression and Jill's determination to bring the night before up and apply a lewd variation to it, that SOME sort of explanation had happened, and God, Cindy did NOT want to know what was said.

In this instance, the cat was definitely not curious, because she knew damned well that curiosity could kill her.

"Fine," Claire said, softer than she expected, and Cindy exhaled audibly, suddenly tremendously relieved. "Got a pen?"

Blinking back her tears, Cindy forced herself to reach for the pens that were still scattered over her desk, uncapping one of her standbys and clearing off her notepad with a sweep of her palm. Taking a moment to wipe at her dribbling nose, Cindy took a moment to try and quiet the noise in her head, and began determinedly, "Yeah."

"Okay." A whisper of papers, before Claire cleared her throat. "Here we go."

--

The bottles clanked underneath her jacket, and Lindsay winced, struggling to keep the movement to a minimum as she bypassed a lawyer and headed to Jill's door.

Drawing a careful breath, she began a hesitant knock, waiting nearly an eternity before she heard a sharp, "Come in."

Jill's business voice.

She wished valiantly for her characteristic stubborn stupidity. The kind that had her flinging herself into situations with just a vest and a gun, bullets whizzing by and punches digging into soft guts of men who weighed at least hundred more pounds than her. The kind that utterly failed her when confronted with any situations that forced her to strip off the Kevlar and deal with simply her own, screwed up emotions.

The sound of Denise's tell-tale clacks fluttering down the hallway tightened her resolve.

Palm wrapping around the knob, she turned the handle and jerked inside.

Eyes floating up, Jill paused, fingers drifting to scratch idly under her collar, sending her a cool stare.

Tense, embarrassed, Lindsay could only shut the door closed with her rump, and transfer her jacket to her other hand, revealing her gift.

Ice blue orbs floated down to the six pack of bottles, then back up to Lindsay's apologetic expression.

"You know, if Denise catches me in here drinking during work hours, she'll have my ass."

In response, Lindsay fumbled behind her and locked the door. "I'm sorry."

The emotional rasp was sincere, but Jill still made her wait, regarding her with that glare that told Lindsay she was not at all over her outburst from that morning.

She waited her out. She owed her that much.

She saw a visible swallow, and suddenly Jill seemed to give up, closing her eyes, shoulders slumping, and waving a manicured finger in her direction, giving her permission.

Unable to hide the relieved smile that immediately stretched across her mouth, Lindsay forgot about the clanking, coming forward fast to deposit her gift on Jill's immaculate desk.

Fingers occupied by a pencil twirling in between them, Jill studied the present. "Imported," she said finally. "The good stuff."

"I owe you a lot more than that."

Jill exhaled violently through her nose, glancing up from the beers to connect again with Lindsay's emotional orbs.

"I don't think it's me that you should be apologizing to," she said simply.

An unexpected throb hit her at the insinuation, and Jill must have caught it, because she glanced away. "Yeah well… she's next." Lindsay smiled tightly. "And she's not taking my calls."

At that, a bittersweet smile floated onto her friend's face, and her palm went up to her hair, sweeping down her cropped bangs in a distracted, nervous gesture. "Yeah, she's not taking mine either."

She glanced at the bottles, and immediately, Lindsay reached for a cold beer, pulling it out of the cardboard carton and with the bottle opener taken from her jeans pocket, popping the top. "Claire heard from her," she found herself saying, handing it over. "She said she had a deadline and needed the information Claire had this morning. Claire thinks she's… okay, I guess."

Jill betrayed her own emotion when she took a large gulp of the amber liquid, grimacing as a result. "Yeah, well," she began, wiping her mouth. "I certainly didn't help at all, letting loose like a faucet. She's going to kill me."

Lindsay unexpectedly jerked, spilling some her now open beer on the rug, but one look at Jill told her the other woman was mildly amused at the awkward state of things.

"Did you ever think we'd be here, having the worst fight we've had in years, over Cindy Thomas?"

All things considered, it was kind of mind blowing. Across the desk, Jill tilted her bottle at her, and took another drink.

Relieved, she settled uncomfortably in the chair across from her, stared carefully at the wall, and took a sip. "Kinda amazed it took this long, actually," Lindsay croaked. "We don't usually have the same type. Maybe we were due for it."

Jill swallowed, and her smile faded, and it occurred to Lindsay, she had just inadvertently revealed more than she was ready for. Her eyes once again sunk to the carpet.

"I was serious you know." Lindsay blinked, unsure why her eyes were suddenly moist, and glanced at Jill. "I didn’t sleep with her."

That Jill felt the need to reassure her was… disconcerting. Embarrassing. Frightening. "You said it yourself, I don't own her." Her fingers moved delicately over the rim of the glass. "Did you want to?"

If she was going to be honest, she had to hear it from Jill, too. She owed her that much.

Brown eyes lifted, and heart on a precipice, Lindsay waited, as Jill absorbed the question, and jerked her gaze away, back on her own bottle.

Without speaking, Jill took a gulp. Lindsay on a good day was never patient, and the hesitation seemed answer enough.

"Yes," Jill said finally, and Lindsay tried hard to mask her wince, the confirmation of her fears sending a horrible knot down into her stomach. "Of course I did. Cindy and I…" Lindsay heard a ragged breath blown out, shuffling papers mildly. "We spark. There's an attraction there. She's my wingman. We have a good time." Chest constricted, Lindsay forced a bitter smile. "But I didn't. For a couple very good reasons."

Unable to help herself, Lindsay glanced up.

"One," Jill said, adopting a tone Lindsay knew she normally reserved for the courtroom. Hearing it, as Jill leaned back against her chair, blazer off and shirt unbuttoned to allow an ample view of cleavage, sporting a beer, the result was sexy as hell. "When all is said and done, as hot as they are, I don't know if I could settle with a woman. I like dick a helluva lot and strap ons? Aren't the same thing. And I'm pretty sure Cindy's the settling type." She smiled, and Lindsay found herself offering an insecure smile in return. "Two, Cindy is head over heels, forever and ever, pathetically, blindingly, disgustingly in love with you." The statement, so matter of fact, was still new and amazing enough to hit her in the gut, causing Lindsay to close her eyes, for the moment overtaken.

"God," she managed raggedly, and suddenly laughed, lost in her own inadequacy. "How did I not see it? I mean… how did I miss it for so long?"

Jill tilted her bottle to her lips, and her smile looked bittersweet. "You are remarkable at not seeing what's right in front of you."

The tone was bittersweet, said with a forced carelessness that hadn't been prevalent before, and startled, Lindsay glanced up, discovered somber blue eyes on her, a stilted smile on those full lips.

Raggedly, she exhaled. "Does she know-"

"About me and you?" Blinking, Jill shook her head lightly. "Honestly, I didn't know if that would help or hurt her, talking about a one night stand that happened years ago. I mean, aside from… me… I don't remember there ever being any other women for you."

There hadn't been. Up until recently, Lindsay had been caught up in a Tom induced fog that broke her, blinded her to anyone else after they divorced. And then Pete came, and made it so easy…

She hadn't expected Cindy. Cindy had been different. She had snuck in quietly; through some back door that Lindsay hadn't even been aware was open.

"Linds." A soft voice interjected into her thoughts, and Lindsay once again gave her friend her attention.

Slumping in her seat, Lindsay felt suddenly exhausted. "Claire thinks that we should just not say anything. Pretend we don't know. Let her move on."

"Sounds reasonable," she heard, before the dull thud of a bottle against a desk caught her focus. "And where do you stand on all this?"

Lindsay exhaled, fingers tightening around her bottle. "I stand on 'I really need to see Cindy'."

Jill knew her well enough to make the intended inference. "Okay," she heard. "Just so you know… she's still my wingman. I'm not giving her up."

The possessive tone made her blink, and she glanced at Jill, to see a serious expression.

"I mean it," Jill continued. "Attraction aside? She is the best redheaded bait ever. The people swarm on her like she's covered in honey." That produced a mental image that made Lindsay squirm. "And I'm still not sure you deserve her. This relationship has been seriously one-sided. You've got a lot of ground to make up."

Leave it to Jill to state it so blatantly, and offer Lindsay no ground to refute. "I know. But to be fair, I had no idea." She laughed bitterly, beyond frustrated. "I mean, hell, how the hell was I supposed to know? I didn't even know she liked girls!"

Jill's mouth puckered with the bitterness of the beer, and she waved a surrendering hand to Lindsay, conceding the point.

"She should have told you," Jill agreed. "But by the time I found out… you were with Pete." The name caused an unintended wince on Lindsay's part. "Speaking of Mr. Perfect, have ya told him about your little epiphany?"

"It's been a hell of a morning," she admitted gruffly, fingers rubbing against each other in her lap, tangling and untangling, pressure easing and starting up again. " Pete's waiting for me at home. I called him," she explained further. "I told him we had to talk."

Across from her, Jill kept silent for a moment. "If it's talking and not sex, I’m worried."

Lindsay's mouth pulled into an unintentional smile. "Well, how do you think he's going to react when I tell him that the reason it's been so easy to be together these last eight months is because during that time I've been falling for a yappy redhead who did his job better than he did?"

Jill absorbed that, and then took her bottle back. "I think," she said, nodding seriously, "He's going to say, 'You couldn’t have told me this on the phone?'"

The incredulous statement hit her hard, and after a look at dancing blue eyes, Lindsay gave up, breaking into a burst of laughter that was sorely needed. Jill smiled, chuckling along side of her, and when her bottle lifted, Lindsay had no choice.

The bottles came together in a companionable clink.

-- end chapter five

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