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.
FEEDBACK: To Demeter94[at]yahoo.de
SERIES: Film Noir Series
"Who is she?" Cindy asked as she slid onto the barstool, accepting the drink the bartender had ready for her.
Of course she had noticed the woman standing against the far wall, her scrutiny intense and unabashed. Cindy had been given four days to unwind by The Powers That Be. She shouldn't be out looking for trouble, but there was something about the tall, dark-haired woman that had her curious. Maybe if she hadn't been wearing that leather jacket and those boots, Cindy could have been a little less intrigued. She'd be the first to admit that she had something of a type.
Mila followed her gaze and then shook her head. "Oh no, Sweetie, I know that look on your face. I smell 'cop'. PI, at the very least. You have to be careful."
Cindy wondered idly what kind of perfume the woman might be wearing, and she concluded it had to be something dark and intense to fit her aura.
"Red!" Mila scolded her, frustrated. "Did you even listen to me?"
"I did," Cindy said, giving the bartender a smile. "You know I'm into dangerous women. Get her what I have."
Mila just rolled her eyes. "You're the boss."
"Don't you forget it."
The woman frowned briefly when the waitress handed her the glass, saying something, but when the initiator of the invitation was pointed out to her, she sent a wry smile in Cindy's direction. That was enough of a sign for her. Time to find out more.
She let Mila refill her own glass and then made her way across the room, very much aware of the looks following her. After two months of deep cover, she enjoyed the simple comfort of clothes that complimented her body like the low-cut shirt and the short jeans skirt, and an attractive woman noticing. Closing the space between them, she clinked her glass against the other woman's.
"So, which department?" Cindy had found that for most things in life, the direct approach worked best.
"Excuse me?" There was a guardedness in her eyes though that told Cindy that Mila's theory hadn't been too far off.
"The thing is, you're just screaming 'cop', so I was hoping you came here just to unwind."
"Ah." A knowing smirk appeared on the woman's face. "And why is that? You got a ticket you didn't pay? Or" She dropped her voice to a lower tone, "Are you on the run?"
Cindy was well aware that she was playing a dangerous game, but she just couldn't resist it. Maybe she was just desperate for human touch at this point, and the other woman seemed... interested, to say the least. Cindy liked her voice. She was curious what it would sound like in the afterglow.
Also, she'd been right about the perfume. Intense by Prada.
"Catch me if you can," she said, and in the woman's dark eyes there was a flash of something... promising. Lust.
Cindy put her drink on the table behind them, then she turned and walked away, knowing she wouldn't be going home alone tonght. Who cared about trouble? She could do whatever she want for the moment. She was The Powers That Be.
Her heartbeat skyrocketed as she found herself with her back against the wall, eager hands all over her body, the two of them sharing a messy kiss. "I'd say," she gasped, "you're about to succeed."
In the dimly lit hallway, the woman smiled at her smugly. "I know. I'm Lindsay, by the way," she added before sliding her hand underneath Cindy's shirt.
"Nice to meet you, Lindsay."
In the backseat of the cab, Cindy held on to her coat lying on her lap so tightly her knuckles were turning white, not so her face. Fortunately, the driver seemed a laid back guy who probably had seen it all and didn't care.
She leaned back in the seat, biting her lip as the hand on her knee kept wandering upwards, fingers brushing the inside of her thigh lightly. Cindy was beginning to think that she and Mila had been wrong. She couldn't quite imagine a cop acting this way, except maybe if she was just lonely and desperate enough, too.
Lindsay paid for the cab but stayed in the backround as Cindy talked to the woman behind the counter. "Get us the presidential suite?" she asked, and the woman grinned. "For you, always," she said, handing Cindy the key. "Have fun, ladies."
There was no elevator. They stumbled into the room on the first floor, wrapped around each other with the door still open and their clothes half off.
Cindy was high on adrenaline and endorphines. In fact it wasn't really the danger that was such a turn-on, but the puzzling fact that she felt safe in the other woman's hands. She wanted to enjoy the feeling. She wanted to sleep without the fear of someone coming for her.
She wanted Mila to be wrong.
After finally kicking the door shut, Lindsay gently steered her towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. Her hands were warm, their touch confident. Cindy closed her eyes, unable to hold back the moan. Her arms were lifted over her head, and she allowed the movement, eager to get out of the shirt.
A moment later, her eyes snapped open again. The sound of a 'click', the touch of cold steel, and she found herself tethered to the wooden bedpost behind her. "Um, wait, I'm not into--"
"Cindy Jean, right?" Lindsay said, the warm tone of arousal gone from her voice. "Cindy J. Thomas, you're under arrest for the murder of Hank Livingston."
"What the fuck?" Cindy unnessarily rattled the cuffs.
"Watch that pretty mouth of yours. We've been watching you for nearly a year. I know what you've been up to."
"You don't know a damn thing!" Cindy stared back at her angrily. She shouldn't feel this betrayed. She had walked into the trap like an amateur. "Livingston was a rapist and murderer."
"And you're what, judge and jury? There are people who's job it actually is to deal with folks like him. The police. Courts."
"And what a damn fine job they did, letting him walk," Cindy muttered. "I didn't kill anyone. The creep had some health condition, that was why he died."
"You guys bound him naked to a tree." There was a hint of jealousy to Lindsay's voice, as if she would have liked to do the same thing, hadn't she been bound by the obligations of her profession.
"And so what?" she challenged. "What does any of this have to do with you feeling me up in the cab and nearly ripping my clothes off in the hallway?"
There was some amusement on the police woman's face. Okay, maybe the ripping off had been somewhat of an exaggeration.
"I don't know," Lindsay finally admitted with a sigh.
"You don't know? It didn't seem that way to me." Cindy was aware that these next moments would possibly decide her fate. Lindsay already had crossed a line; if she went through with the arrest, she'd have to risk that Cindy would tell of the evening's events. That, and she didn't seem too inclined to go by the book.
Lindsay stepped close again, slowly sliding to her knees. Very slowly, she pushed up Cindy's skirt, fingers brushing over her thighs until they almost touched black satin. This was so screwed up, Cindy thought, despite herself shivering with the pleasure the light touch caused. Against all odds, she still wanted this to happen, just like Lindsay, the cop who couldn't seem to make up her mind.
Straining into the touch made the cuffs bite into her wrists, and Cindy flinched, once again reminded that her current situation was anything but safe.
"Shh," Lindsay whispered against her thigh. She straightened, cupping Cindy's face in both hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Damn right you won't," Cindy muttered. "You wouldn't make it past the girl at the counter."
"Do me a favor, Cindy?"
She should really make her exit as soon as the situation presented herself. Yet, Cindy found herself mesmerized by the contrast of smug confidence and a raw need in the other woman's expression.
Lindsay reached up and a moment later, the cuffs fell open. "Stay with me tonight?"
It might turn out to be a mistake she'd bitterly regret later, but for the moment, Cindy couldn't bring herself to refuse, because this was what she wanted herself, badly.
Lindsay lay beside her, kissing the side of her neck while her fingers drew idle patterns over her stomach. Cindy was trembling. She couldn't remember anything that had felt this good in... forever. Lindsay's fingers lightly brushed the silky fabric of her panties, then finally slipped underneath.
"Can I taste you?" she asked, the husky tone back in her voice. The mental image was enough to make Cindy whimper, and that was obviously enough of an answer. Lindsay smiled to herself as she settled between Cindy's thighs and made herself comfortable.
For the following moments, their communication was without words, but not actually silent.
"Do you believe me?" Cindy asked, lying in the embrace of the woman who'd been planning to arrest her and still might. She craned her neck so she could see into Lindsay's dark eyes. Lindsay leaned in to kiss her. Cindy could still taste herself on her lips, the sensation sparking a shiver from a pleasant body memory.
"It's not about what I believe. I'm going to let you go."
"Why? Maybe it's because I don't want you to stop. Maybe I want to invest my time in finding people who actually deserve to spend their lives in prison."
"We never wanted anybody to get killed."
"But it happened anyway," Lindsay concluded matter-of-factly. "You be careful. If anything like it ever happens again, I can't let this go."
Cindy held Lindsay's gaze for a long moment, intuitively knowing that she was probably just as torn. "I do," she said, all of a sudden sad as she realized that they could never meet again. In fact, staying as far away from each other as possible was probably the safest, sanest thing to do.
She allowed herself to drift a little, but not fall asleep. At 3 AM, Cindy stole away from the dark silent hotel room.
She wondered why she felt like crying when getting away without an arrest on her record and a beautiful memory was so much more than she could have hoped for.
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