Best Laid Plans (Part III) [WMC-Lindsay/Cindy]

[hypancistrus]

DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.

BETA: None yet. Anyone interested?

ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Best Laid Plans

(Part III)

Saturday night, weekend after the events of First Time For Everything (Part II).

True to her word, Cindy picked the venue for our second date. I myself am not much of a club person. I don’t like to dance. I don’t like to be packed in with dozens of other sweaty people. I don’t like how loud clubs are. I generally only go to them when the patrons snap and start offing each other and I have to clean up the mess. But this wasn’t my call, and far be it from me to say no to Cindy.

So this is how I find myself at a club. Not just any club, but a gay club, in The Castro, the hub of San Francisco’s gay scene. I suppose I should have expected that Cindy would be very much at home in the gay community, and would have several established relationships with people who were gay. I am pretty sure there’s no place in the city Cindy doesn’t have contacts in. But it is still an interesting side of Cindy I’ve not seen previously.

I take a swig of my Corona, and glance at Cindy, who is sitting next to me, chatting animatedly with a friend she had identified as Emmanuel when introducing me earlier. Emmanuel’s current flame was Todd, and he was sitting next to Emmanuel, sipping his cocktail with a bored look on his face. I felt his pain. They were discussing, of all things, football. The 49er’s, to be specific. I know enough about football to know that the 49er’s have struggled for years, but not much else. “I’m telling you,” Cindy was saying to Emmanuel, emphasizing her points with her hands, “This is our year! I can feel it in my bones!”

Emmanuel scoffed. “Sure it is. That’s what you said last year, and look how it ended up! What were we, four and twelve?”

“Five and eleven, actually,” Cindy says vehemently, her eyes flashing, “And we would have done a whole lot better if we hadn’t lost Manny Lawson to that knee injury before Pittsburgh. Losing a player of that caliber does things to a team!”

“Lawson is one man,” Emmanuel says, pausing to take a pull of his Bud Light, “And he can’t make up for the fact that we can’t score touch downs. Hell, we can’t even get first downs, let alone TD’s!”

At this point Todd lays a hand lightly on Emmanuel’s arm. “Fascinating though this conversation is,” he says with an appeasing smile, “I was really hoping to dance a little. Are you up for it?”

Emmanuel turns a sappy smile towards his boyfriend and finishes off his beer. “Sure thing, cutie,” he says, before turning back to Cindy, “And don’t think you’re off the hook with this!”

Cindy just smirks, and takes a sip of her margarita. “I’m going to hold you to that!”

And then he’s gone, dragged off to the dance floor by Todd. Cindy turns her attention to me for the first time in fifteen minutes. She offers me a wry smile and reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry! This is our second date, and I should be focusing on you, and then I get dragged into a football argument!”

I grin back at her, and take another swig of my beer. “It’s okay,” I say honestly, reaching out to trace my hand along her cheek, “You’re actually very sexy when you’re all riled up and irritated.”

She blushes. “I am not.”

“No, you definitely are. You’re so passionate about everything. Sometimes I don’t know how you can live with that much passion. I think I’d explode.”

She laughs and sips her drink before turning her eyes back to me. “That’s a strange thing to hear from you, considering how passionate you are about solving homicides.”

“That’s one aspect of my life,” I explain, “But you, you’re passionate about everything you do.”

Cindy shrugs at this and smiles. “It’s who I am, I guess.”

She finishes the last of her drink in one long swallow and then tugs my hand. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Trying to get you out of this seat, you great lump!”

I roll my eyes. “I can see that,” I say looking up at her before allowing her to pull me to my feet, “But why?”

“Well, Lindsay, we are at a club. People do dance at clubs.”

She has been leading me through the tables towards the dance floor and I stop dead. “I don’t dance.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Cindy, seriously. I don’t dance.”

She turns to face me, holding my hands in each of hers. She pouts at me and my heart melts. “I don’t rock climb either. And yet where was I last weekend?”

I sigh heavily. “That’s not fair.”

“Sure it is,” she says cheerfully, and resumes our trip towards the dance floor.

There’s a live band on the stage, a local up and coming rock band according to Cindy. They’re playing loudly, and to be honest it all sounds the same to me. When we reach our destination, I look around self-consciously. We’re surrounded by people, but not a one of them is paying any attention to us whatsoever. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Cindy sliding up alongside me, pressing her body closer to mine.

She looks up at me with a decidedly evil grin, her arms snaking around my neck. “Come on, baby,” she whispers, her breath hot against my throat, “Dance with me.”

I groan. “I’m not a dancer,” I whisper.

“It’s not hard,” she whispers back, starting to move against me.

I let my hands drift to her waist. My eyes are locked with hers and I let her body lead me.  Cindy is taking free reign with me, sliding her thigh between my legs and pulling me even closer. My body responds to her touch and I’m suddenly very sorry that we are in the middle of a public area, surrounded by people. She continues to torture me through a number of sets. And then with a quick smile, Cindy turns in my arms so that her back is pressed solidly to my front. Intrigued by this new positiob, I let my hands slide around her, one easing under her shirt to run across her stomach. Leaning down, I breathe into her ear “I never knew you were much for dancing, either.”

I can’t see her face, but I can hear her smile in her voice. “You never asked, did you?”

“No,” I admit, trying to ignore the way her body is moving against mine, “I am really wishing we weren’t in the middle of a public place right now, though.”

She turns her head slightly to grin at me, a come-and-get-me grin if ever I’ve seen one. So I lean closer and press my lips to the soft skin just behind her ear. I feel her breathing change, and I murmur, “If I did half of what I’m thinking about right now, I’d have to place myself under arrest.”

“Jesus, Linds,” she says, turning back around in my arms and placing her hands on either side of my face.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she asks, her eyes glittering in the low light.

I don’t resist as she pulls my face down to meet hers in a heated kiss. I feel her tongue run across my lips and I yield willingly. My hands slide around her back, moving across sweat slicked skin. We’re standing still in the middle of a hundred moving humans, but no one and nothing exists except for the barely perceptible movements of her mouth against mine. I lean down, pulling her even closer, deepening an already incredible kiss.

And that’s when I feel it.

My cell phone, on my belt, is vibrating like crazy. I break away from the kiss. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, grabbing for the offending phone, leaving one hand resting on Cindy’s waist.

Cindy is standing in front of me, still pulled up snug against me, her eyes closed, her expression unreadable in the dark, shifting light of the dance floor. I look at the caller ID of the still vibrating phone. Jacobi. Shit. I flip it open and press my finger into my other ear.

“Boxer.”

“Jesus, where the hell are you Lindsay? What is that racket?”

“Nevermind that. Why are you calling? It’s my night off.”

He sounds perplexed. “Never known that to mean much before. We’ve got a body that just turned up, floating in the water by Pier 38. Thought you might want in.”

I sigh. Duty calls. I look at Cindy, whose eyes are finally open. She’s watching me, and I’m really not sure what the correct response to this is. “Give me five minutes. I’ll call you back.”

I hang up without waiting for Warren’s response. Taking Cindy’s hand, I lead her off of the dance floor towards the front of the club, where it’s quieter. “Was that Warren?” she asks, when I turn to face her, slumping back against the wall.

I nod, smiling sadly. “Got a floater that just turned up in the bay off of Pier 38. My services are needed.”

She bites her lip and looks back towards the dance floor. I’m suddenly incredibly nervous for reasons I don’t quite understand. I need Cindy… but I also need my job. Sometimes the two seem to conflict terribly, seeing as how I barely had contact with her outside of a few case related phone calls this past week. A gruesome, execution style murder of two drug dealers with gang ties in a seedy hotel in the Tenderloin district had taken up most of my waking hours for the week. And for all of that, the case is still open, and growing colder by the minute. Yet here I stand, ready to walk away from the only leisure time I’d had in six days, from a second date with a girl who means the world to me. This wasn’t what I wanted for her, and I found myself wondering if I could really be the person she deserves, and give her the perfect life that she deserves.

I am pulled away from my moment of introspection by Cindy’s voice, calm and strong. “Okay, let’s go.”

I frown and pause. “What, you planning on coming with me?”

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Uh… yeah?”

I open my mouth to argue but she cuts me off. “Are we not on our second date tonight?”

“Well yes, but…”

“No buts. This is a date. Therefore, where I go, you go. You have no say in this.”

I glare down at the redhead standing before me. She smiles cheerfully. “Anyway, you know I’d just be meeting you there, regardless. This is our life.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. “Fine, let’s get our coats then, and you can say bye to your friends.”

*~*~*

Less than twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up to the crime scene tape on Pier 38, with flashing lights all over the place. There’s a line of uniformed officers keeping a rather small crowd of onlookers and reporters away from the scene.

“How do you want to do this?” I ask as I flash my homicide badge at one of the unis, who pulls an orange road cone aside and lets me drive through.

“Do what?” Cindy asks, fishing through her bag for her pen and notepad.

“Well we haven’t really talked to anybody about… you know. Us.”

I glance over in time to see her frown. “You don’t want people to know?”

“No, no,” I say quickly, “I just didn’t know if you did… or how much they should know. I just… wasn’t sure.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I look over again. “That’s it?”

She looks at me with a confused look on her face. “Huh?”

“Don’t you have any thoughts on the matter?”

“Well I happen to think it’s no one’s business but ours. And maybe Jill and Claire’s. Only by default.”

I consider her thoughts as I pull up on the dock and put the Jeep in park. I can see Jacobi and a few other people bending over a sheet covered body in the harsh light of a portable lamp, and I realize this is neither the time nor place to hash this out with Cindy. I cut the engine and turn to her, reaching out to grasp her hand. “You’ve gotta stay here.”

“What?!”

Her reaction does not disappoint. “Well this is a crime scene. You technically should be back behind the tape with the rest of that lot. If you want, I can escort you…”

“No, fine. I’ll stay here,” she mutters.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

I squeeze her hand and reach for the handle, letting myself out of the car. I slam it shut and walk to where Jacobi is standing, talking to the assistant medical examiner who was sent to the scene. “What have we got?” I ask Jacobi.

For the next twenty minutes, Jacobi gives me the rundown on the crime scene. Hispanic female, late twenties or early thirties, naked, no sign of her clothes, apparent sexual assault, maybe raped. Cause of death unknown, but evidence of a blow to the back of the head. The ME estimates she’s been in the water for four to six hours, which, given the tide pattern, means she was probably dumped off of this same pier.

Charlie Clapper and the crime scene guys are working hard to gather what little physical evidence they can find here at the scene. The ME is supervising the removal of the body. There’s really nothing more that can be done at this point without a positive ID on the body and more information on cause of death and possible fluids from the autopsy. We agree to meet at the Hall once Claire has the autopsy results, which will likely be sometime early tomorrow morning. So I say goodbye to Jacobi and walk back to the Jeep.

Why am I not surprised to find that Cindy is not in it?

*~*~*

After a cursory glance around the crime scene, a quick walk back to where the uniforms are keeping the public at bay, and the trip back to my Jeep, during which I do not see Cindy, I start to get worried. And because I’ve never been able to stomach fear and all that it entails, I allow it to become seething anger at my girlfriends inability to stay where I tell her to stay. Where in the hell could she be?

I am picking up my cell phone to call her when she’s suddenly there, out of nowhere. I feel a hand grip my upper arm through the open drivers side door of my car, and I jump, turning to find Cindy standing there with a very serious expression on her face. “I told you to stay here, in the car,” I say accusingly, glaring at her.

“Linds, shut up,” she says quickly, “You gotta see this.”

I gape at her, too shocked to speak. In over a year of knowing her, she’s never responded that way to my anger. She squirms, begs, cajoles, pleads, and apologizes profusely. She doesn’t tell me to shut up. We are turning the corner around a stack of shipping containers before my mind catches up with my body and I drag my feet to a halt. I lean back and Cindy halts to, turning her head, her gaze pleading. “Linds, c’mon. Please.”

I fold my arms across my chest and glare at her, challenging her. “What? Where are we going? Tell me.”

She glares back. “You’re so freaking stubborn,” she mutters, “And this is really something you need to see.”

And she grabs my hand again and tugs, and I follow reluctantly, recognizing a futile fight when I see one. And then we round the corner of the stack of shipping containers. The sounds from the crime scene become somehow muffled as I find myself in a literal canyon of containers. And then I hear it. A quiet, muffled sobbing noise. “Look, there,” Cindy murmurs, pointing down near the end of this stack of containers.

There, huddled next to the cold metal are three children. The oldest is sitting with his arms protectively around the other two, who look very small. I look to my right and my eyes meet Cindy’s. There’s a lot that is communicated in that one glance, and Cindy takes a cautious step forward, towards the kids. “Mateo,” she whispers, approaching the children cautiously, and bending down to their level, “This is my friend that I was telling you about. She is a police officer. Esta es policía. She’s here to help you.”

“¿Ella es un agente de policía? ¿Tiene ella sabe donde esta nuestra madre?”

I look to Cindy as the older boy speaks. “You understand Spanish?”

She sits back on her heels and shakes her head. “A little. I took two years in high school. I understand some key vocabulary, but the sentences lose me. He keeps asking about his mother… madre.”

“Does he understand you?”

“Some things….”

I want to ask how she found them, but I know this is not the proper time. Instead I reach for my radio. Cindy jumps up and puts her hand on my wrist, stilling my actions. I see the boy jerk back at her sudden movement. “What are you-?” I start to ask, but she interrupts me.

“Linds, the girl you pulled out of the harbor, was she Hispanic?”

I nod. “You don’t think… these kids…?”

“Well they’re terrified of something. They’re alone, on a deserted pier far from any residential areas, in the middle of the night. What do you think?”

I try to wrap my mind around the implications of this. If their mother is the woman who was floating in the harbor, then there is a possibility that they may have been witness to the crime. And if they are witnesses that probably means that someone out there really wants them to disappear. Which in turn means that the less people who know they exist, the better.

I stop and think, raking a hand through my hair. I need to get these kids out of here, to a safe place, with as few people seeing them as possible. Cindy has knelt down next to the children again and has reached out to stroke the hair of the smallest, a little girl of maybe three. The other is a boy of about five. I stoop down next to Cindy as she talks softly to them in a calm, soothing voice. “I need to talk to Jacobi. If they saw anything, they could be in danger.”

She nods, turning to look at me. “I know.”

I take a deep breath and look around. “That means I have to leave you here for a minute. I’m going to go and get Jacobi and I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

I lean over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “Don’t go anywhere. For real this time.”

*~*~*

I manage to get Jacobi away from the crime scene without incident, telling him I need to speak to him at my car. Once we’re there, I glance around and then lead him back around the shipping containers to where Cindy is now sitting with her arms wrapped around the three small Hispanic children. Jacobi looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “Are these…?”

“I dunno, maybe. They don’t seem to speak much English… but they might understand some.”

He whistles. “If they witnessed what went down here, we gotta get them into protective custody.”

I nod in agreement; glad to find that we’re on the same page. “Without people seeing,” I say quietly, “The less people who know; the better.”

Jacobi and I look around, seeing an opening in the stack of containers that seems to lead away from the pier. Jacobi touches my arm and points. “Where do you think that goes?” he asks.

I shrug and follow part way as he walks through the winding path between the shipping containers. But I don’t go so far as to let Cindy and those kids out of my sight, and I can’t help but keep my hand on my side arm, the backup Sig P230 that I always have on me, even when I am off duty. It’s smaller than my service weapon, but fits neatly in the console of my Jeep. Unfortunately it’s slightly less formidable than my service weapon. And that makes me nervous. This place is dark and isolated enough that even with a dozen cops less than twenty yards away, it’s creeping me out.

But Jacobi comes back quickly, without incident. “I know how to do this,” he says, “Go back and get your Jeep, like you’re leaving the crime scene. Then drive down a block from the pier and pull onto the next pier over. That path leads over to the second pier.”

It just might work. The crowd at the crime scene tape hadn’t extended over that far. I look over at Cindy, huddled with these three exhausted and frightened kids and then I look back at Jacobi, and my eyes must speak volumes. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly, “I’ll be right here. She’ll be fine.”

I nod and turn to walk back to the Jeep without comment. It no longer amazes me that we can sometimes communicate without spoken words. We are partners after all.

*~*~*

At 2:54 AM, we finally pull into my driveway after having spent half the night waiting on Child Protective Services to send over someone to take custody of the children. During that time, the department translator and the one of the department’s psychologists had spoken with the kids, getting their names and what little they knew about where they lived and who they lived with. Without an ID on the body, we couldn’t match the victim to the kids yet. Given their ages and the late hour, we didn’t want to push them too hard, too fast, so we still had no idea if any of them had witnessed the crime. We’d get back on that in the morning. Cindy is half asleep in the passenger seat and I smile, reaching over to run my fingertips lightly down her cheek. “Hey gorgeous,” I whisper, smiling some more as she yawns, and blinks slowly awake.

“Where are we?” she mumbles, “And what time is it?”

“It’s nearly three am,” I murmur, my fingers running through her hair, “And I brought us back to my house. Hope that’s okay with you….”

She nods, and yawns again. “Cindy,” I say quietly, chewing my lip and watching her with concern, “I’m really sorry. I wanted this to be perfect. The perfect date, which it was, followed by perfect sex and cuddling and falling asleep, curled around each other.”

She looks at me sleepily, and smiles, a tired, adoring smile that melts my heart. “Baby, it’s okay,” she murmurs, reaching over to squeeze my hand, “I’ve been your friend long enough to know that your life is far from perfect. Interruptions are to be expected, and I’m fine with that.”

She yawns hugely at this point and slumps back against the car seat, her eyes drifting closed. “Can we please go sleep now? It’s too late to process your insecurities.”

I blush at this. “Alright.”

I open my door and step out before walking around to open her door. She fumbles a moment with her seatbelt before managing to undo it. I offer my hand, which she takes as she steps down out of the Jeep. I shut the door, turn the alarm on, and we walk hand in hand up onto my porch. I open the door and Martha practically throws herself at me. “Make yourself at home,” I say, reaching behind the door for the dogs leash, “I’ve gotta walk Martha.”

Cindy nods and heads for the couch. I take the dog for a quick spin around the block and by the time I get back, Cindy is laying stretched out on the couch, asleep again. I shut and lock the door, and take a moment to grab a bottle of water, of which I chug half of. “Cindy,” I whisper, walking over to stand and look down at her.

“Hmm?” she mumbles, half asleep.

“Let’s go to bed,” I suggest.

“Mmkay.”

I reach down and pull her up, and she sleepily allows me to lead her upstairs and down the hall. I push open the door to the bedroom and she steps inside before looking around. She turns to me, a quizzical expression on her face. “This isn’t your room. It’s the spare.”

I wince and turn on the bedside lamp. “It is now.”

In spite of the fact that she is half asleep, she manages to raise an eyebrow at me. “Why?”

“I just… can’t deal with that other room,” I mumble, staring down at my shoes with feigned interest.

And truth be told, I haven’t been able to since that terrible night when Billy Harris left his second to last victim in my bed. The door has been shut and locked ever since that night.

Cindy looks like she wants to ask more questions, but I raise my hand, forestalling any further comment. “Please,” I whisper, turning an imploring gaze her way, “Not now. Not tonight. I just wanna hold you and sleep some before Claire calls me in…” I check my watch, and suppress a groan, “Three hours.”

Cindy nods, and I know she’s only conceding this battle, and not the entire war. “Okay.”

I dig into the dresser and pulls out a pair of track shorts and a t-shirt, tossing them to her. “Bathrooms down the hall.”

She disappears and I change out of my clothes. I listen to the sound of water running down the hall, and try very hard to stay awake as I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting my turn. Several minutes later, Cindy is back, crawling into bed and reaching for me. I lay back and turn towards her. “I need to brush my teeth,” I whisper, before kissing her gently, “Be right back.”

When I return, Cindy’s out cold, so I turn the bedside light off. I slide under the covers and reach over to pull her close to me. She mumbles a little against me, her arm wrapping around my waist reflexively, and her face burrowing against my chest. I didn’t think it was possible for me to fall harder for her, but this unconscious closeness was proving me wrong in a big way. I lay back into the pillows, running my fingers idly through her hair, enjoying the way she felt, nestled against me. The heat of her body pressed close to my mine. The feel of her heartbeat pounding out a living rhythm against my side.

There’s a lot to be said for a perfect date followed by perfect sex. But our two lives being far from perfect, I suddenly realize that this moment right now is the definition of perfection in my book.