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

The art of self-deception
By Angie


The young reporter moved noiselessly around the darkened room, moonlight from the window her only guide. She ran her fingers lightly over books on overfilled shelves, pausing to examine the titles. Coming to a halt, she eased open a drawer, wincing when the wood squeaked on its runners.

All at once, the room was illuminated. Cindy held up a hand to shield her eyes as she turned to see who had flipped the light-switch. Before she had time to speak, her arms were being dragged behind her back; cold metal sliding into place with a deafening click. She felt hot breath against her neck.

"You just can't help yourself, huh Thomas?"

A frisson of excitement ran down her spine at the low timbre of the words spoken directly into her ear.

"Wait Inspector…I…I can explain…"

The cuffs were tightened another notch. Cindy gasped as a tall, firm body pressed against her back, soft breasts rubbing tantalisingly between her shoulder blades.

"I don't want to hear it, Thomas. I warned you already; I find you sneakin' around one more time, you're on your way to the big-house."

Cindy frowned.

"The big-house? I really don't think she'd say big-hou-mmmmph!"

Cindy's words were cut off when she was spun around and slammed roughly back against the wall. She found herself staring into mischievous blue eyes, one almost hidden by a swathe of unruly blonde hair.

"Now, Thomas, like I said, I should be takin' you downtown right about now. But given that I'm a reasonable person, I'm gonna let you convince me why I shouldn't."

Cindy put on her best doe-eyed, coquettish look.

"Oh, Inspector, I'm sure I could convince you."

"Now I should tell you, I'll take a lot of convincing. Y'all could be here a while."

"'Y'all'? Jill, for God's sake, there's only me."

"'Y'all' can be singular. 'All y'all' is plural'. And Jesus Christ will you stop falling out of character!"

"Sorry, sorry. I mean…I can be very convincing, Inspector. I'm prepared to convince you all night long if necessary."

"That was excessively cheesy."

"Now who's falling out of character?"

"OK missy, let's see how convincing you can be."

Cindy wiggled her shoulders, drawing attention to her bound hands.

"Can you undo these? I'm kind of a hands-on person."

Jill raised her eyebrows.

"Oh really? Well, I'm not sure I'm ready to release those. And I know that you can be plenty convincing with that mouth of yours."

Jill swaggered over to the couch and sat down, knees apart. She unbuckled the belt she had looped through her tight jeans, her leather jacket hanging loosely off her narrow shoulders.

Cindy approached, slowly.

"I…uh…I think you'll still need to undo the cuffs…for balance…I could fall headfirst into your…"

"Balance? God, you never hear this shit in porn." Jill muttered as she fumbled in her pocked for the key to the cuffs.

Cindy turned around and held out her wrists expectantly.

"We're seriously fucked up, you know that, Cindy-Lou?" Jill said, almost conversationally as she undid Cindy's restraints.

Cindy shrugged.

"You won't be saying that tomorrow night when I'm the one slapping the cuffs on you," she countered, adding in a much quieter voice, "..and doing a far more convincing Texan accent."

"True enough," Jill agreed, throwing the cuffs aside and turning Cindy back around.

Cindy sank to her knees between Jill's legs.

"Now, Inspector Boxer, let me convince you."

The End

Return to Women's Murder Club Fiction

Return to Main Page