Catherine had been sitting in the break room, looking at some of the evidence reports for the case she was working. Lacey Duvall’s death was described in black text on blinding white paper. She sighed, and rubbed her eyes, not finding anything that would be a clue, a good clue that would point them in the direction of her killer.
Her mind wandered to the interviews. The couple who lived in the house flashed behind her closed eyes.
// “It was like we’ve known Portia all our lives. Has that ever happened to you?”//
// “No.” //
She sighed. She had wanted to ask him about his comment, but it would’ve been a ridiculous thing to do. Not only would Gil back away from whatever she was trying to ease them into, but he would think she was crazy. But, she had thought that they had more of a connection, one that warranted a positive answer.
As she stretched and tried to relax, she could hear the music box playing faintly. Gil was toying with it.
She got up and went to his office. He was sitting behind his desk, holding the box in his hands, spinning it around awkwardly. She spoke when he looked at her. “Let me guess: you’re wondering why Lacey Duvall had a music box engraved to Portia Richmond.”
His mouth curved into a half-smile. “You think?”
“Maybe it’s as simple as the knew each other and she gave it to her.”
“Well,” he argued. “If they knew each other, why wasn’t she on the guest list?” He paused and examined the bottom of the music box. “March 7, 1969 mean anything to you, cuz it meant something to the Richmonds.”
Catherine nodded, her mind moving quicker than she thought. “You know,” she spoke, “When Eddie and I were first married, and things were kinda good, on the anniversary of the day we first met he’d always get me a lace teddy.” Gil’s eyebrows shot up. She tried to downplay the tradition. “I mean, I know it’s not a music box, but—”
He cut her off, relieving her. “Music box, lace teddy, it’s all the same thing. It’s tradition,” he managed to meet her eyes. She saw his pupils contract and knew he wasn’t overly thrilled with her. “And the joy in tradition is in the constant repetition.”
That was why Eddie had done that. She nodded. “Right.”
He turned his eyes away from her. “Lace teddy?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t know about the finer things... he certainly didn’t. It was what he thought I wanted.” She looked down at him, her hands slipping up onto her hips. “That will not be our song, Gil.”
His head swiveled around, his mouth gaped open. “What?”
She gestured towards the music box. “That song. That box. Not our song.”
He managed a nod. “Well, what do you think our song should be?”
Catherine smiled. He hadn’t backed away from the idea. Pleased, she shrugged, and walked around the desk. “We’ll find it someday.”
“Someday?”
She nodded. “Yeah, you know, when we’re driving home from work, and the radio’s playing, and there’s a moment, and shivers, and the world stops turning, and you know that this song describes us—”
He chuckled. “Sounds like you, having an orgasm in my car.”
She growled softly. She had tried to ease him into the idea of choosing a song, a step towards coupledom, but he had returned to the theme of their relationship: friends, with extras. “I didn’t mean to describe that.”
“I know,” he smiled, spinning his chair around so he could snake a leg out and wrap it around her legs, while setting the music box down on his desk.
She gasped as he pulled her into his lap. “We can’t... work... the door’s open.”
He nodded. “Yeah,” he frowned. “Spoil my fun.”
“You want the whole office to know?”
“Know what?”
She shrugged. He had cornered her. She wanted to say something that made their relationship seem more romantic than sexual, but she was afraid he’d act like any man would and freak out; in case he did have returnable feelings for her, saying that their relationship was only sexual would tear him up. Finally, she spoke, “That we’re two best friends, who are enjoying each other on many levels.”
He nodded. She blushed. It was the best answer she could hope to come up with. “We need a song,” he smiled up at her. The smile on his face made her heart skip a beat, although she tried to remind herself their relationship hadn’t crossed over into the romantic yet. “Any come to mind?”
“We’ll find one,” she smiled, reaching for his hand with one of hers, while with the other, she turned his radio on. “Dance with me?”
His pupils dilated again. She breathed easier. “You want to dance?” She nodded. Gil asked: “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She left him briefly, to shut his office door. Then, she walked back to him. “Just a dance, or two. We have to start actively looking for our song.”
He nodded. “Yes, we do. Although,” he admitted while standing up, “I’m not really a great dancer.”
“Gil,” Catherine smiled sincerely. “I’m sure you’ll be great.” The instant she slipped her arms around his neck, he stiffened. Worried that she had done something wrong, she pulled back and looked up at him. “What is it?”
“Just a dance or two won’t cut it.”
“Huh?”
He planted her lips with his. “Being so close to you...”
She sighed and let him kiss her. His hands traveled up her back, one hand tangling in her hair. When he tugged gently, her head fell back. She saw his smiling face through her starry eyes, and smiled back. “Let’s dance,” she suggested, before letting her head fall onto his shoulder, her face nuzzled in his neck. He chuckled and swayed with her. She couldn’t even hear the music, she was so wrapped up in the man who was holding her. She wondered what she’d do without him.
“This is definitely not going to be enough,” he chuckled into her ear, tickling her. When she squirmed at the sensation, he groaned. “Definitely not enough.”
“How much time do you think we have before Greg calls with a match?”
He shrugged. “He’s busy with other cases, from what he told me earlier.”
“Good,” Catherine said, kissing his neck. Gil stepped back a little to seek access to her lips. Her hands stayed planted at his neck, while his journeyed to hips where they tucked into her pants to pull her closer. “Really good,” she purred when some digits dipped past her underwear.
He let her fiddle with his shirt for a while, before stopping her. “One second.” He stepped away; she watched him clear his desk off. She grinned, and before he could say anything, she climbed up onto it. “Not wasting any time?”
She nodded. “We don’t have any time to waste.”
Silently, they shed the necessary amount of clothing to get the job done. Gil paused before joining her on the desk. “You did lock the door, right?”
“I’m not a space cadet,” she smiled. “Of course I locked the door.”
She didn’t say anything else until she felt him buried inside of her warmth. Even, then, it was a strangled gasp, an attempt at vocalizing how good he felt. Their lips met as their thrusting increased as they raced towards the finish line.
“You first,” he grinned, slowing down a little. She blushed, wondering how she had found such a considerate lover, but the thoughts were blown away as the muscle contractions intensified and the waves of pleasure washed over her.
“Goodness,” she managed to utter, while lifting her hips up to meet his. When he cried out, she managed to find some muscle control so he could derive the best pleasure from her. When he fell, and nuzzled her hair, she brought a hand up to caress the back of his head. “Way better than a dance.”
“Definitely.”
He lifted his flushed face and kissed her. “Do you ever wonder if everyone knows what we’re up to?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, either way. I still get what I want.”
Their beepers, still attached to their pants that were bunched up on the floor, sounded a quiet alarm. Gil groaned. “Greg has the best timing ever.”
Catherine chuckled weakly, her body still unsteady from the assault. “Yeah. Can you fire him?”
Gil shot her a withering look as he eased himself off of the desk. He bent down and picked his pager up. Catherine slipped a leg off the table, and caressed his upper thigh with it. He swatted at her. “Knock it off, Cath...” He looked into her smiling eyes. “I’d hate to have to explain why we’re an hour late.”
“Hour? We just got the call?” He didn’t have to explain; when he looked at her with that strained expression on his face, she understood what he was implying. “Oh. Yeah. Me, too.”
“I’m going to wash up,” he told her, slipping his pants back on, “Before heading to the lab.”
She nodded, grabbed her pants and sliding into them. “Yeah. I think I’m gonna change my underwear. They’re wet. Wonder why?”
He chuckled. “Oh, don’t you even try to pin this on me.”
She grinned. “Well, I think it was a joint effort.” She shrieked when he pulled her by her wrist, stealing a passionate kiss. “We’ve got to go,” she pulled back panting. “I’ll meet you at the lab.”
He groaned. “Deal.”
~*~
Gil had been coming back from his office, when he heard Greg’s voice. “Did you ever wear one of these when you were dancing?”
Catherine replied, as he came into view. Their eyes met, and desire subsequently flared. “I wore nothing but skin.”
She cleared her throat; Greg turned around. He really did look silly in the dancer’s headdress. Greg’s cheeks reddened a little. Gil glanced at Catherine, who shrugged. She didn’t look ruffled anymore; she hid the evidence very well. “I, uh,” Greg started. “Compared the DNA from the tooth with the hair follicles found inside the headdress. I think we have a match, and I think we may have a homicide. Excuse me.” He darted into the lab.
Gil looked at Catherine, since there was nothing standing in his way. She shook her head, smiled, and wagged a finger at him. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“I don’t what?” He smiled innocently.
“Don’t you look at me like that. I don’t have any more clean—” she stopped talking when a technician popped out of the lab, heading in the direction of Trace. “You know perfectly well what you’re doing.”
He smirked. He liked knowing he affected her so much. Before he could respond to her accusations, their pagers sounded again. He glanced down at it, and looked back up at her. “Brass. Why does he want us at this restaurant?”
She shrugged. “Better go see what this is about.”
“I’ll drive.”
~*~
In the restaurant, Gil and Catherine approached Brass. “Jim,” Catherine smiled.
“Hey. We got the whole place clocked, keeping an eye on the Haynes couple. Sherrif doesn’t want them skipping town.”
Gil stepped behind her, discretely putting a hand on her lower back. He felt the muscles move, and he knew he had produced the effect he wanted—it was time to pay her back for all the times she had teased him in public. “Neither do we. We have a strong suspicion that Portia Richmond is dead.”
Catherine watched the Haynes couple. The woman put her coat over a fur stole, and then turned away to kiss her boyfriend. When she turned around to pick her coat up, she took the fur with her. “Did you see that?”
Gil’s hand slid under her coat. “They’re on the grift!”
“She took that fur from right under their noses.”
Gil squeezed gently. Catherine shot him a somewhat dirty look from out of the corner of his eye, and stepped in front of him. To keep himself from laughing, she had stepped on his foot. He knew it was intentional.
“Hi,” Gil managed when the couple neared them. “May we check your coats?”
~*~
On the way to the police station, Catherine looked at him from her position in the passenger’s seat. “Were you intentionally cruising for a bruising?”
He pretended to look innocent, but he knew it wouldn’t work with her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Riiiight.” She sighed. “This is about playing with your leg under the table, isn’t it?”
“That and the fact that I can’t help myself around you, yes,” he glanced at her briefly while driving. She chuckled, and leaned back in the seat. He glanced at her again when they were stopped at a light. “Will you ice my toe when we get back to the crime lab?”
“Ice? What?”
“When you stepped on it,” he replied with a smile. “I think you might’ve broken it.”
She groaned. “I’m not that heavy.”
“No,” he pointed out, “But, your shoes have a very pointy heel.”
“Fair enough.” She smiled at him. “I’ll ice your toe for you.”
He started driving again. “After we ice it, can we break in my desk again?”
She laughed, reaching for his free hand with hers. “Most definitely.” She quickly added: “But, then, you have to put that headdress on for me.”
He groaned, and kept driving.
The End!
