DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many thanks to my alpha inspectorboxer for looking this over for me.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
A Big Favor
Cindy winced as Lindsay's voice carried through the nearly empty bullpen. She would have preferred it to be completely empty, but arrestees can't be choosers.
"I can expla-," she started.
"It's all just a big misunderstanding."
"There's not a whole hell of a lot to misunderstand about that outfit, Cindy. Mostly because there's not a whole hell of a lot of outfit to begin with."
Cindy squirmed as Lindsay's gaze traveled up her body, moving from her silver stilettos and black fishnet stockings up to the white snakeskin pleather miniskirt and black corset. She wondered, as exposed as she already felt, how it was possible for Lindsay's glance to make her feel completely naked. She nervously pulled at the hem of her skirt in a vain attempt to cover more skin, ending up accidentally exposing an inch or two of midriff, and a quick glint of silver, in the process. Lindsay raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, looking through the holding cell bars expectantly.
"OK, I'll bite. What exactly was it that you were doing down by the docks at one in the morning, dressed like a five-dollar hooker, that is going to justify the desk sergeant calling me at home, waking me up, and me dragging my ass down here? This better be the story of the century."
As Cindy starting rambling a mile a minute about following a lead about prostitution rings and illegal immigrants being sold as sex slaves Lindsay's mind, and eyes, started to wander. Her predilections had never run towards the tawdry, but seeing the small redhead in that outfit was making her feel positively lecherous. She couldn't help but imagine just what might happen if they found themselves alone in a deserted interrogation room. With the cameras turned off, of course. She'd start at the neck, working her way down to the zipper of the corset, th-
"-Please get out of here? It's far too cold in this cell to be wearing only this outfit, and I wasn't really soliciting, and if Jill or Claire or Warren sees me in this I'll pretty much die of embarrassment. And I'll so come back and haunt you if that happens."
Lindsay's attention snapped back as she realized that Cindy had finished her explanation of the 'big misunderstanding', and she hadn't heard a single damned word. She made a show of thinking it over to give her brain time to pick up the last sentences.
"Oh, I don't know. I think the rest of our little 'club' seeing the ace crime reporter of the San Francisco Register dressed like a cheap prostitute might just be the incentive you need to never do anything as stupid as hanging out at the docks in the middle of the night ever again!"
Cindy's jaw dropped and her eyes took on a more panicked look. With a sigh and a rueful chuckle Lindsay reached for the keys hanging from her belt.
"Instead I think I'll just enjoy having you owe me a really big favor."
"Thank you Lindsay, I do, I owe you so big for this. And I will make it up for you, I promise."
"Oh I know you will, one way or another. Go get your stuff from the officer at Booking. Where'd you leave your car?"
"Maggie's safe at home. I took a cab to the docks and my transportation here was obviously courtesy of the SFPD."
Lindsay sighed. "All right, meet me back here and I'll give you a lift home. I don't want you waiting for a cab dressed like an extra from the Rocky Horror Picture Show."
Cindy grinned. "Whatever you say, Inspector." She turned a bit more serious. "Thanks Lindsay, I really mean it."
"Don't sweat it. Oh, and Thomas?" she said with mischief in her voice.
"Nice belly ring."
Lindsay winked and grinned at the young reporter who blushed furiously, and, turning to head to Booking, nearly ran into a young officer carrying an armload of files, causing the stack to wobble precariously for moment before being righted without incident. Cindy grinned, embarrassed, and made her way carefully down the stairs in her silver stilettos.
Lindsay Boxer enjoyed the view and, smiling to herself, muttered under her breath "Oh, yes. This is going to be fun."
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