DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. Rizzoli & Isles and its characters are the property of Tess Gerritsen, Janet Tamaro and TNT television network. No infringement intended.
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SERIES: In Deep Series
Lindsay Boxer is dead. Long live Jane Rizzoli. In the full-length mirror, Lindsay grimaced at her reflection. The truth stared back at her: She was about to get into trouble.
It was starting again.
So far, Lindsay had dealt surprisingly well with her cover, if the only way to do it was to turn off all feelings, best she could. Try not to think of her friends at home how had held a wake for her. No, she couldn't afford to think of that now; she had to go and do her fucking job, but that was exactly the problem, wasn't it?
She'd have to face Maura who'd be watching her with attentive admiring eyes, as always. Lindsay couldn't un-see it any longer, and she couldn't deny those feelings that were about to destroy her barriers and possibly endanger lives, not just her own.
Back home, it had been easier. She and Cindy had harbored a curiosity for each other, a question never answered, and now it was much too late anyway.
Maura, however, wasn't making guesses when flirting with a woman. And Lindsay couldn't go there, much as the thought gave her sleepless nights. Because all she wanted was her life back, which was impossible. She wasn't about to use the woman who'd so easily friended her new identity to create a fantasy.
She'd adjust, maybe, at some point. To her fake family, kind but seriously overbearing, to the nightmares that had come with being Jane Rizzoli. To a routine, when at the end of the day, she wouldn't hang out with the girls, fantasizing about kissing Cindy.
To Dr. Maura Isles in her life.
At the moment though, Lindsay didn't know how.
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