Title: Since You Went Away - Chapter Fifteen: My Favorite Wife
Authors: i-must-go-first & UbiquitousMixie
Fandom: Brenda/Sharon, The Closer
Rating: PG-13 (Overall M)
Word Count: 8280
Disclaimer: Not ours. Please don’t sue.
Summary: A late-night craving and a coincidental meeting lead a certain deputy chief to discover that there’s much more to the inimitable Captain Raydor than meets the eye, and to realize that her mama was right: sometimes all a single woman really needs is a good girlfriend.
Authors’ Note: We are SO sorry for the lengthy break between posts -- is it just us, or does real life tend to get a little more hectic in the springtime? Anyway, we’re reasonably confident that this chapter will more than make up for the delay. When we first began talking about writing this story together, this is one of the scenarios that we were determined to write. Please enjoy and let us know what you think. Comments will totes shorten the time between posts.
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Most of the time, Sharon Raydor loved her job. She excelled in the no-nonsense, by-the-book atmosphere of FID, wholeheartedly appreciating that she could do her work (and do it well) without the inconvenience of excessive socializing getting in the way. She didn’t mind the fact that being a captain in IA made her an outsider who was often regarded with mistrust by her fellow officers; she was there, after all, to do her job, not make friends. It didn’t hurt that officers of the LAPD were always getting into trouble, keeping her busy enough to avoid thinking about her personal life.
It was therefore no surprise to Sharon that everyone had been on their best behavior over the past few days, leaving her with more free time than she cared for. She sat in her office, filling out the dreaded but necessary performance reviews, and reluctantly gave her mind free reign to wander to thoughts of the person who unintentionally demanded the majority of her attention.
A small voice in the most sensible recesses of her mind reminded Sharon that these newly arisen complications in her friendship with Brenda could have been avoided if they spent less time with each other or at least had other friends upon whom they could depend. They had somehow crept into the unfamiliar territory of co-dependence, needing each other far more than Sharon was admittedly comfortable with. It unsettled her to know how much she relied upon Brenda’s unwavering friendship; how healthy could it be to spend so much of her free time in the company of one person? What would happen when, inevitably, Sharon needed her and Brenda wasn’t there?
She’d been mollified by their conversation on the night Brenda had shown up at her house, and comforted even more by Brenda’s presence the following evening when they shared dinner with Richard.
No, it wasn’t necessarily a good thing to be fifty-four and entirely dependent upon the friendship of one woman--especially one woman she had enjoyed kissing more than the rules of platonic relationships would allow.
Despite having come to this conclusion with the help of her keenly logical rationale, Sharon knew that she didn’t want to make other friends. She didn’t want to spend time with other people. She most certainly didn’t want to date anyone.
The thought terrified her.
Her phone pulled her from her reverie and she was thankful for the reprieve--that is, until Will Pope ordered her to meet him in the Murder Room immediately.
Her thoughts clacking as loudly and rapidly as her heels, the captain set off for the suite of offices two floors down, taking the stairs to burn off a little excess energy. Pope summoning her to the Murder Room didn’t bode particularly well. Surely he wasn’t foisting yet another audit on her; and if there was a new case that was a joint Major Crimes-FID investigation, she would’ve been notified through channels. No, there was something rotten in the Murder Room. It reeked of Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson’s scheming from a mile away.
The quick, sidelong glance Brenda darted at her from beneath lowered lashes immediately confirmed that impression, even as Sharon murmured, “Chief Pope, Chief Johnson. Gentlemen.”
Tao offered her a little two-fingered wave. Flynn smirked.
“Let’s go into your office,” Pope said to Brenda as if it were a suggestion, and gestured for Sharon to precede him. Green eyes bored into a bargain-basement butter-yellow cardigan (really, as a friend, she was going to have to do something about overhauling the woman’s wardrobe) as Brenda led the way. What are you up to now, Brenda Leigh?
“Sergeant Rodney Crowther,” Pope began abruptly, facing Sharon and leaning against Brenda’s desk. “Remember him?”
Sharon blinked rapidly, but before she could say that of course she remembered Rodney, she hadn’t suddenly gone senile, Brenda fluttered her fingers anxiously and interjected, “No, no, let me tell her.”
“Tell me what, chief?”
“Actually I’ll show you.” The blonde opened a file folder lying on her desk, revealing several glossy photos that she spread out like a mosaic, and pages of a typed report. Sharon didn’t blink at the lurid stab wounds depicted, only adjusting her glasses better to scrutinize them.
“This isn’t Rodney,” she said immediately.
“No, this is Derek Weller. He was killed six weeks ago during an apparent home invasion in Silver Lake. His domestic partner is still in intensive care at Cedars. The doctors don’t expect him to regain consciousness.”
“And you think this is related to what happened to Rodney four years ago?” Sharon returned in that same low, even tone.
“I’m sure it is, and unfortunately Mr. Weller and Mr. Maher aren’t the only new victims.” Two other folders joined the one the deputy chief had already opened. “Annalise Langley and Catrina Sharp, murdered three weeks ago in their duplex in Studio City; and Karen and Deborah Millican-Crewe, murdered the day before yesterday in their Malibu beach house. Three couples, three completely different areas. Other than the manner of their deaths, they have only two things in common: they were all in same-sex partnerships, and they all bought new homes within the last six months from Heller-Manley Real Estate.”
The captain nodded stiffly. “I see.”
“Sergeant Crowther and his partner had also recently purchased a home, hadn’t they, captain?”
They had, and Brenda knew they had, and Sharon knew Brenda knew they had, but she still quietly answered, “Yes.” She’d gone to their housewarming party. She remembered how luxurious the champagne-colored carpet had felt as her heels had sunk into it, and what it had looked like a few months later, splattered with Rodney and Thomas’s mingled blood like a Jackson Pollock from hell.
She swallowed. “No doubt you’ve already thoroughly investigated everyone at Heller-Manley.”
“Exhaustively.” Brenda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Sharon took in just how exhausted the younger woman herself looked. She wondered how much Brenda had slept during the last forty-eight hours. “And I’ve got Tao and Sanchez goin’ over all of it again, but it’s a tiny, independent firm owned by Wendy Heller and Blake Manley. Two of the couples dealt with Ms. Heller, one with Mr. Manley; the two couples that had mortgages got them from different lenders; and none of our victims knew each other. So far all we have is two seriously spooked realtors and six -- eight -- dead men and women.”
“Heller-Manley -- that name doesn’t ring a bell.”
Brenda shook her head. “No, they’re a new operation, just opened their doors about eight months ago. Sergeant Crowther and Mr. Rios dealt with one of the big national firms. Neither Heller nor Manley worked there at the time.”
Sharon nodded, her hands finding their way into the pockets of her blazer. “Thank you, chief. I appreciate your courtesy in informing me.”
“I knew you’d want to know. Sergeant Crowther was one of your people.” Brenda cocked her head and fixed the taller woman with a direct stare. “But that’s not the only reason I asked Will to bring you in on this one.”
“Bring me in?” Sharon’s right hand emerged from her pocket to remove her glasses, and her eyes met the other woman’s without any impediment between them.
The blonde summoned a smile and even forced a peppy little lilt into her voice as she replied, “How do you feel about a little undercover work, Capt’n Raydor?”
The captain blinked and darted a quick look at the acting Chief of Police, whose face was a mixture of bemused annoyance. “You want me to go undercover,” Sharon repeated, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.
“For the record, I’m not fond of this idea,” Will stated, puffing his chest out a little.
Brenda waved a hand, dismissing his disapproval as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I’m afraid I need you with me on this,” she continued, cocking her hip against the window pane. “We don’t have much to go on here, but we’ve turned up nothin’ but loose ends since we started this case. We’ve run out of other options.”
“If I’m understanding this correctly, you want a captain and a deputy chief to go undercover as a lesbian couple to lure out a homophobic murderer with connections to a real estate company.”
“You’ve got the general idea,” Pope added dryly. “I know it’s not ideal--”
“I was gonna send in Flynn and Gabriel,” Brenda added, cutting him off, “but we’ve got intel that a lesbian couple has just closed on a Heller-Manley house. I don’t wanna take any chances that they’ll end up the next target while we’re goin’ through the motions of settin’ up cover for someone else. Besides,” she added wryly, moving across the room to sit at her desk, “I don’t have any other women in Major Crimes and I’d rather not have to call in Detective Mendoza.”
Sharon knew of Mikki Mendoza and her reputation as an exceedingly beautiful, flirtatious bisexual. She imagined the detective playing house with Brenda and immediately bristled. “That won’t be necessary. I’m familiar with Rodney’s case--I should be the one going in.”
As Sharon considered the reality of her own possessiveness, a voice in the back of her head added, If anyone should be posing as Brenda’s lover, it’s me...
The blonde smiled. “Good. We’re graspin’ at straws, but it’s the only lead we’ve got.”
“I’m counting on you to keep this as low-key as possible,” Will urged, his pointed gaze shared between the two women. “The last thing this department needs is two of its highest ranking officers getting themselves killed. We don’t have unlimited resources here to pay for an elaborate waiting game to stake out a suspect, so get this done quickly and conservatively.”
“Right,” Brenda drawled, “I’ll just make sure to let the killer know that we need him or her to abide by the LAPD’s projected timeline.”
Sharon held back a smirk.
“Look, Will,” Brenda continued seriously, “if we don’t want this to become a sensationalized killing spree of LA’s gay community, we need to act quickly. Captain Raydor and I can handle this.”
The bald man frowned. “Do what you have to do. Be careful.”
They watched him leave Brenda’s office, stopping to speak with Provenza. Brenda let out a huff. “Honestly, you think the man could give a pep talk every now and then.”
“And to think, you could have been the one in charge...”
Brenda narrowed her eyes. “Don’t start up with that again.” She rifled through a stack of folders on her desk and squinted to read the names on the side. Plucking her glasses from the neck of her blouse, Brenda put them on and found the specific file she was looking for. “Here we go. Susan and Jean Hennessey, Chicago natives, have been married since ‘02. We flagged them as we began investigatin’ the most recent murders.”
Sharon replaced her glasses and began scanning the proffered material. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?” she asked, her eyes focused on the profile.
“Resist what?”
The captain looked up with a grin. “Jumping at an opportunity to play my wife.”
Brenda’s cheeks bloomed with color. “I didn’t hear you offerin’ up all that much protest.”
“There’s only one small problem.”
The blonde quirked an eyebrow.
“There’s no way I can realistically pretend to be married to a woman who dresses like a refugee from a factory outlet.”
The deputy chief’s jaw dropped. “This outfit is from a perfectly normal store!”
“Brenda, if that sweater isn’t from Old Navy, I’ll eat my glasses.”
“What’s wrong with Old Navy?” she demanded indignantly, hands planted on her sharply jutting hips.
“Old Navy is where polyester goes to die.”
“Seriously? We’re goin’ undercover to try to find the person or persons responsible for seven deaths, and you’re worryin’ about my poly-cotton blend?”
“It would be easy enough to go shopping after work.”
Brenda scowled.
Sharon again removed her glasses and folded them precisely, placing them atop the file. “Fine, then. I thought that was what you’d say, so you have to be Jean, and I’ll be Susan.”
The scowl turned into a perplexed frown. “What has that got to do with anything?”
“Susan is a highly successful educator; she wouldn’t be caught dead in a poly-cotton blend.”
The younger woman rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“I hope you enjoy gardening.” Brenda’s eyes widened, and Sharon said, “You haven’t actually read these, have you?” Brenda didn’t answer, but no answer was necessary. The captain snickered. “Jean Hennessey is a master gardener. She works as a landscaping consultant. So you can look forward to spending lots of time on your knees.” Sharon smirked at her own little joke. “In the dirt.”
Brenda whipped the file folder away from Sharon so quickly that the dark-haired woman’s eye was caught by the sudden red bloom of a paper cut on her index finger before she even felt the sting. “I was gonna be Jean anyway. Susan’s the old one.”
Sharon gaped, the perfect image of outraged vanity, and Brenda flashed her a wide smile. “Now you’d better run on home and pack, captain. The movin’ truck’s comin’ tomorrow morning.”
Sharon stood, gripping the file on Susan Hennessy in the hand that wasn’t bleeding, and stalked toward the office door. “Is it a U-Haul?” she tossed over her shoulder.
Brenda Leigh’s eyelashes fluttered quickly. “Huh?”
Sharon looked over back, eyebrows raised humorously. “Well, we’re lesbians now, Brenda Leigh.”
The younger woman stared vacantly.
“You know, lesbians? U-Hauling?” When Brenda’s expression didn’t change, Sharon rolled her eyes in disgust and waved vaguely with the folder. “Forget it. Somehow I suspect my second marriage isn’t going to work out any better than my first did. I’ll see you tomorrow, honey. Please wear natural fibers.”
**
All things considered, Brenda Leigh found that the third time around, married life certainly was a charm. She watched with barely concealed glee as Gabriel, Tao, and Buzz, disguised as moving men and a cable guy, carried boxes into the house. She gave them a little wave, delighting in the fact that she had the easiest job of everyone in the division. Pretending to be married to Sharon Raydor (and catching a bad guy or two) would be a piece of cake compared to the tedious office work and surveillance the rest of them would be assigned.
She followed them inside and, as they set to work bugging the house, she went in search of her wife.
“Yoohoo, Suzie Q!” she called out, skipping up the stairs while men bustled down on the floor below. She peeked inside the guest room and master bath before finding Sharon in the master bedroom--the very same bedroom that they would be sharing. Together. At the same time.
“We’ve been married for an hour and twenty minutes and you’ve already assigned me a horrible pet name?” Sharon asked, glowering over the rims of her glasses. She unpacked her suitcase of essentials and Brenda watched, amused, as the other woman made an awkward show of hiding her underwear.
“Oh, there’s plenty more where that came from, sweet pea.” Brenda winked and flopped onto the bed, disrupting the captain’s neat stacks of clothes.
Sharon rolled her eyes. “Isn’t there something you should be doing? Unpacking, perhaps?”
“I am doin’ somethin’. I’m delegatin’.” The blonde let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not easy bein’ Jean Hennessey.”
“Clearly Jean wears the pants in the relationship.”
“You’re the one wearin’ pants, not me.”
“Why Brenda Leigh, are you suggesting that I’m the man in this relationship?”
“Of course not,” Brenda said, heaving herself off the bed and flattening her skirt. “There is no man in this relationship. That’s what makes this such a beautiful, lesbian union.” She nudged Sharon with her elbow and headed for the door. “Oh, by the way, the boys are settin’ up downstairs. For all of Will’s boo-hooin’ about costs and all that, he sure is footin’ a hefty bill to spring for all this surveillance equipment.”
Sharon snorted. “You know they’re all waiting to see how long it takes before we kill each other.”
“Or how long until...you know...” Brenda wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and giggled when Sharon’s cheeks darkened. “Oh you are too easy, Sharon.”
Sharon raised an eyebrow, not taking the bait that the blonde had so clearly set out for her. Disappointed, Brenda turned to go back downstairs.
“Oh--before I forget.” Sharon turned around, pulling something out of her back pocket. “I figured you’d need this.” She placed a thin gold band in Brenda’s palm.
Something tingled pleasantly in Brenda’s stomach. “What about you? Don’t you need one?”
The captain held up her left hand, showing off a similar ring. “It’s my wedding ring.”
Jealousy flitted quickly over Brenda’s features. But why in heaven’s name should it bother her if Sharon wore a ring from her previous real marriage? “Where’d this one come from, evidence?”
The brunette smiled slightly. “No, it was my mother’s. I thought it would fit you.” She reached for Brenda’s left hand, removing the ring from her palm and carefully sliding it onto the third finger, taking care not to chafe or scrape. “You have the same delicate hands.”
Brenda stared, fascinated, at the warm, smooth hand cradling hers and the muted glimmer of the gold band. “Oh, Sharon, your mama’s ring? I’ll take good care of it.”
Sharon squeezed the other woman’s hand in both of hers before releasing it. “I know.” She flashed a quick smile before taking a step away, aware that the moment had felt more intimate than she’d intended.
“This is a nice house.”
The older woman hummed. “It’s enormous. Can you imagine rattling around by yourself in all this space? -- Beautiful view down into the canyon, though.”
“Of course Jean and Susan will be here together, not by themselves,” the deputy chief pointed out as a resounding crash rang out from down the hall. She and Sharon exchanged a glance. “I hope that wasn’t anythin’ important. Good thing Gabriel and Tao went into law enforcement instead of movin’.”
The doorbell rang.
Sharon raised her eyebrows as Brenda Leigh pursed her lips. “Welcome wagon?” the captain suggested facetiously.
Brenda flounced down the stairs with Sharon, who did not enjoy bringing up the rear, so hot on her heels that the two of them scuffled and knocked into one another as they both reached for the doorknob. Over Brenda’s shoulder the captain caught a glimpse of Gabriel’s face wearing an expression of extreme trepidation and easily divined his thoughts: If they’re already jockeying to see who goes first, how long until the commencement of World War III?
Sharon almost wished she thought days spent alone in this house with Brenda Leigh would lead to a knock-down, drag-out fight. That she’d know how to handle.
Her slightly longer fingers succeeded in turning the knob and the door swung open.
“Hello! You must be the Hennesseys. I’m Wendy Heller. It’s so nice to meet you in person, finally,” gushed the petite blonde, practically vibrating with nervous energy.
“I’m Jean,” Brenda volunteered before Sharon could even open her mouth. “And this is my wife, Susan.” Sharon managed to refrain from an eye-roll at the unwarranted emphasis, and Brenda’s arm snaked around her waist, yanking their hips together. Subtle, thought Sharon.
“Thank you for helping us find this beautiful house,” ‘Susan’ said, extending her own hand more sedately. Wendy’s palm was clammy. The woman was clearly as nervous as a cat.
“Well, everything should be just so. The pool was filled yesterday, as we discussed, and your mulch will arrive first thing tomorrow morning.” Wendy positively beamed, so eager to please was she.
“Mulch,” Brenda repeated dubiously, and Sharon took a vicious pleasure in squeezing her waist a little too tightly.
“For your herb garden, sweetie. You said you wanted to get started as soon as possible.”
Brenda smiled faintly. “Oh. Yeah. Great.” She turned to look at Sharon, their faces inches apart. “After the movers leave, we can go swimmin’ -- in March, isn’t that great?” She turned her best smile on the realtor. “All this sunshine sure feels good after a long Chicago winter.”
“But you’re not from Chicago,” Wendy said conversationally.
Brenda’s eyes narrowed. The realtors weren’t supposed to know anything about the undercover operation. If someone had let something slip --
“I mean, your accent --”
“Oh, no,” the chief replied airily, her smile back in place in an instant. “I grew up in Georgia. How ‘bout you, Wendy? Are you a native Californian?”
“Oh, no. Midwest.” The small blonde smoothed a nonexistent crease from her skirt. “I just wanted to make sure you’d arrived and are settling in all right.”
Sharon smiled politely. “Yes. The last of our furniture won’t be here until next week, but we’ve got the essentials.”
“Everything in the bedroom,” Brenda chimed in suggestively, and Sharon flinched. Wendy looked uncomfortable.
“Just call the office if you need anything or have any questions, or you can reach me on my cell at any time.” Recovering her smile, the realtor handed Sharon her card. “And, oh, the security system -- It’s state of the art. You know how to activate it, right?”
“Oh, we probably won’t use it,” Brenda said casually, and Sharon offered a “what-can-you-do?” smile.
“Jeannie’s so forgetful. You wouldn’t believe how many times she managed to trip the alarm at our last place. We were practically on a first-name basis with the entire Chicago Police Department.” Sharon laughed brightly, as if to say, The little woman, ain’t she cute, and felt Brenda glaring daggers at her. “Besides, I’m sure this is a very safe area.”
“Oh, well, yes, of course.” Wendy chewed fretfully on her lower lip, gnawing away her bright pink lipstick. “But with a beautiful home like this -- property crime --”
“We’ll consider it,” Brenda promised in a tone designed to make it clear that they wouldn’t. “Thanks so much for stoppin’ by. You have a real nice day, now.”
The two women exchanged a long look after the door had safely closed behind the realtor. “By any chance did she strike you as just the slightest bit nervous?”
“A smidge,” Sharon agreed with a smirk. She folded her arms as she turned to survey the action in ‘their’ living room. “But wouldn’t you be, if your clients were being murdered in their beds? It’s certainly bad for business. -- Buzz, do we actually have cable?”
“Basic, ma’am. No HBO or anything.”
“At least we’ll have something to keep us entertained while we wait for our friendly neighborhood slasher to turn up,” Sharon said cheerfully, heading for the back of the house. “Let’s go see where your herb garden is going to be, babe.”
“I’m more interested in the pool.” Sharon didn’t have to look to know that the other woman’s eyes were twinkling as they stepped out onto the patio and she added, “You know, honey, even without cable, I’m sure we could find plenty of ways to keep ourselves occupied.”
The older woman snorted. “Jesus, Brenda, are you going to be this insufferable the entire time we have to be married? If so, I’m filing for divorce.”
Chocolate eyes blinked, their owner’s expression one of exaggerated innocence. “What? I meant swimmin’.”
Sharon sighed. “Yeah, of course you did.”
“Your mind sure is quick to jump to thoughts of sex,” Brenda added, leaning over the railing to smell the budding flowers of a small tree--which she’d probably have to identify if she was quizzed about Jean’s job. “We are married now. If you wanna indulge in all of the perks of married life, all you have to do is ask.”
If Sharon was a little bit cool and withdrawn when they made their way back inside, she was careful to keep it hidden from Brenda. “If I have to ask, that sort of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” She inspected the kitchen, testing the garbage disposal and dishwasher. “Besides, Jean and Susan have been married for ten years. Most of the magic is probably gone.”
“Well, we’re not Jean and Susan, are we?” Brenda asked quietly, quirking a suggestive eyebrow.
“Exactly,” Sharon replied, her voice a little harder than she had anticipated. She directed a pointed look at the younger woman, who was visibly perplexed, and nearly walked straight into Tao as he appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, Chief?” he said, holding up a bright blue envelope. “Wendy Heller just stuck this in your mailbox.”
The captain was relieved that the deputy chief’s attention was now firmly fixed on work. “Guess she forgot to give it to us when we spoke.”
“The sign of a truly anxious woman,” Brenda announced, plucking the envelope from Tao’s fingers. She tore open the seal and pulled out the cardstock tucked inside. “Heller-Manley Realty sponsors a monthly mixer for its new homeowners to, well, mix, I guess. The next one is tomorrow.”
“Ah, a box social,” Tao supplied with a nostalgic smile. “How quaint.”
“I wonder if our killer will be at the meet-n’-greet.” Sharon peered over Brenda’s shoulder, studying the invitation.
“It’d be great if he introduced himself as a wanted sociopath with a penchant for murdering gay people,” Brenda drawled sarcastically, sticking the invitation to the refrigerator.
“Why do you assume that our murderer is a man?” Sharon asked, cocking her hands on her hips. Tao’s eyes widened at the challenging tone in the captain’s voice and he immediately retreated into the hall.
“I’m not assumin’ anythin’...but there is a higher incidence of men engaged in hate crimes than women.”
Sharon rolled her eyes. “Homophobia is not restricted to the male population. Just you watch -- our suspect will turn out to be a woman.”
“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if you weren’t so suspicious of Heller.”
“I certainly would.”
Brenda laughed breathlessly. “Well, let’s hope that we find out sooner rather than later which one of us is right. I miss Sugar.”
“She’s in good hands,” Sharon said, patting the younger woman’s shoulder. “Daniel will take good care of her.”
“If she and Manzana don’t demolish your house first,” Brenda retorted with a laugh, leaving Sharon to stare at her retreating form with an expression of outright horror on her face.
**
By the time everyone had gone and the majority of their prop furniture had been moved in and the surveillance equipment had been installed, Brenda and Sharon had time for a late dinner before mutually agreeing that they were ready to succumb to exhaustion.
They made the trek upstairs in silence and took turns in the bathroom. When Sharon finally emerged after stalling for as long as possible, she had to bite her lip at the sight of Brenda Leigh dressed in short shorts and a tank top, sitting on her side of the bed while she lathered lotion onto her long, lean legs. Cheeks flushed, Sharon resolutely busied herself with brushing her hair and pulling on a pair of socks before finally running out of things to do. She avoided looking at Brenda’s limbs as she crossed over to her side of the bed, pulling open the drawer of the nightstand and checking the clip in her service weapon.
“Guess I better not try any funny business,” Brenda said, nodding toward the gun at Sharon’s bewildered expression.
“This is certainly more effective than ‘I have a headache’, isn’t it?” She climbed onto the bed, fluffing her pillow before slipping beneath the comforter.
“I’m too tired to put the moves on you anyway,” Brenda confessed with a sigh. “I’m disappointed though that our marriage bed won’t be broken in on our first night together.” She moaned lightly as she pressed her thumb into her calf.
The unmistakable sound, so quiet that it was almost unheard, forced Sharon to catch her breath. No--she could most definitely not be thinking such things while sharing a bed with this woman for god only knew how long. She ran her hands through her hair and scooted down into the bed until her head was pressed against the pillow, and then turned on her side, presenting her back to Brenda.
Not Brenda, she reminded herself; Jean. And she was Susan, and the two of them had been legally wed for ten years and together for God only knew how long before that, and the magic was most definitely gone.
“Jean” slid under the covers and wriggled a little, searching for a comfortable position, and in the process her cold, bare toes brushed “Susan’s” calf. The blonde released a small, uneasy laugh and said “Sorry.” The problem was that she sounded just like Brenda Leigh, smelled just like Brenda Leigh, wriggled around just like Brenda Leigh, and Sharon, not Susan, found it all disturbingly intriguing.
It was going to be a long night.
**
When Sharon opened her eyes to clear morning sunlight, she knew immediately that she was alone. She’d been aware of Brenda’s presence throughout the seemingly interminable night, had felt her there, breathing, each time she swam to consciousness from uneasy half-dreams. This consciousness had made her fight the urge to toss and turn and squirm, and instead hold her body rigid, carefully keeping to her half of the mattress -- really more like a third, clinging desperately to the far edge, practically with one foot on the floor. That might help to keep the room from spinning when you’d had too much to drink, but it did nothing to alleviate the effects of too much Brenda. Sharon sat up gingerly. Her muscles creaked and groaned in protest. She felt as if she’d slept on a wooden board.
The bedroom was shockingly bright, sunlight streaming in through the glass wall that gave onto a jaw-dropping view of the canyon below. Sharon gazed out at rocky crags and evergreens, giving her bleary eyes a moment to focus and her brain a chance to lurch into action. The bedside clock told her it was 6:45. It felt odd not to be stumbling into the shower and preparing to rush off to work.
She needed coffee.
Her eyes lit up when they confirmed the evidence of her olfactory sense: a fresh pot of coffee awaited her on the kitchen counter. She found a mug and filled it, sloshing in a dollop of skim milk, and took a long drink. Only then did she call, “Brenda?”
There was no answer, and the house was silent. Funny; she hadn’t pegged the other woman as an early riser.
The sound of a splash reached her ears, and Sharon followed it outside, firmly gripping her coffee in both hands. Brenda Leigh’s body flashed through the water like that of a fish, the water rippling over clean, pale limbs and what looked like a very skimpy black bathing suit. Her form was good, her strokes strong, and it gave Sharon genuine pleasure to watch her swim laps. She imagined the stretch of Brenda’s muscles, the tingling burn as she pushed herself, the way the tips of her fingers would pulse with her heartbeat.
The brunette felt her cheeks grow warm.
Brenda’s strokes ceased and she popped up like a buoy, bobbing just at Sharon’s feet. “Mornin’, Suzie Q,” she greeted her with a bright grin.
Sharon stiffened as if Brenda had thrown a bucket of pool water in her face. “Jean,” she responded coolly.
The blonde flipped onto her back and began to float. “I think Jean starts every day with a swim,” she declared. “How ‘bout Susan? Come on in and join me. The water’s perfect, and it’s not like we have anywhere to be.”
The captain took a step back. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” she lied, and then wondered why.
“Sharon Raydor, what is the matter with you? If we have to sit around in this house waitin’ for somebody to show up and try to murder us, the least we can do is enjoy this huge, beautiful pool. And look at the view!” She gestured over her shoulder toward the canyon. “You can borrow my other suit.”
Sharon gaped. “And use it as what, Brenda Leigh? Dental floss?”
Brenda huffed and flipped a sodden curl that had escaped from her ponytail out of her face. “So run home and get one.”
“We’re on an undercover operation,” the older woman pointed out sternly. “I can’t ‘run home.’”
“So go out and buy one! This is Los Angeles; there’re stores. You’re just bein’ difficult.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Suit yourself.” Brenda scissored her legs in a powerful kick and began a lazy backstroke.
“I feel like cooking.” That wasn’t precisely true, but she had to do something, so she might as well make breakfast. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Over easy, please, ma’am. With toast.”
Sharon’s heart pounded until she reached the relative sanctuary of her temporary kitchen. If she had been undercover with anyone else, it would have felt like work. There would have been no easy flirtation or comfortable pull into domestic routines. It was unsurprising that she had taken on the role of the housewife by default; when Brenda had offered to make dinner the night before, Sharon had insisted that she handle the cooking, not wanting to have the house burn down before they’d apprehended their suspect.
It wasn’t supposed to feel so natural to be cooking for Brenda Leigh, to be making her breakfast while she got in her morning exercise. It had been comfortable to cook for her as a friend, as she had so many times over the past several months, but something about this was different. Cooking for a friend was one thing; cooking for a wife was quite another.
Fake wife, she reminded herself, pulling ingredients out of the fridge. She popped a few slices of bread in the toaster and busied herself with the eggs, pausing for a moment to glance out the window as Brenda began to climb out of the pool. The sizzle of frying eggs was muted over the deafening thrum of her quickening heartbeat as she watched the lithe blonde pull out the elastic that held back her hair, shaking free the excess water before she pulled it back up into a high, messy bun. Water dripped down her scantily-clad form, skimming the generous curves of her breasts and the toned surface of her bare abdomen. When she bent to retrieve her fluffy pink towel, the roundness of her backside forced an unintentional groan from the captain’s throat.
As the sound echoed in the silence of the kitchen, Sharon shook her head and turned her flaming face back to the eggs, which would have been ruined had she continued to longingly stare out the window. When the toast popped up unexpectedly, Sharon jumped.
Get it together, Raydor.
No, if it had been anyone else that she had been undercover with, it would have been all business. Whatever this was between herself and Brenda was frighteningly close to pleasure, and Sharon berated herself for reacting so wantonly to the sight of her friend. Had she ever seen Brenda in such a minimal amount of clothing? Had she ever known how truly beautiful a body the other woman kept hidden beneath ugly floral skirts and poly-blend sweaters?
When the patio door slid open and Brenda walked in, Sharon kept her back to her until she was certain the rosy hue of her cheeks had returned to its preferred pallor.
“You really should think about takin’ a dip,” Brenda urged, pouring herself another cup of coffee. “The water’s great.”
“Maybe later,” Sharon replied, transferring Brenda’s eggs to a plate. “Toast’s ready--you can butter it yourself.”
“Thanks,” the blonde said, humming in delight at the smell of breakfast. “If I’d known how great it was to have a wife, I’d have gotten one ages ago.”
“I’m sure your husband would have loved that,” Sharon drawled, sneaking a peek at the other woman. She was relieved to see that Brenda had wrapped the towel around her body, covering her sinfully wet assets completely.
“Who knows...maybe he would have.” Brenda giggled and placed two more slices of bread into the toaster. “On second thought, I don’t think he would have. Male fantasies about two women together aside, Fritz was awfully jealous. He would’ve hated to share me.”
“Smart man,” Sharon muttered. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
The blonde gave a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Crawlin’ out of my skin, mostly. I hate waitin’ around for things to happen.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
“Oh hah hah...aren’t you cute?”
It was easy to tease the impatient deputy chief, but Sharon herself felt almost bereft without any files to read, suspects to interview, or paperwork to complete. The empty hours of the day stretched before her as a daunting prospect. It was probably too much to ask that the killer drop by for lunch.
As Sharon headed upstairs to shower and get ready for the day, she paused for a split second and looked directly into the tiny camera Buzz had mounted there with a view of the front door. It was completely undetectable, but the captain knew that the tiny nail in the wall was not, in fact, a tiny nail in the wall. “Morning, boys,” she said dryly. She imagined Buzz sitting there in the media room, his eyes already crossing from boredom. She suspected they’d have some sort of betting pool going: how long until the captain and the chief come to blows?
“So the guys are checkin’ on these socials.”
Brenda’s voice made Sharon jump as she stepped out of the en suite bathroom, a towel wrapped around her hair to keep the water from her purple tank-top. The blonde sat on the bed, swaddled in a fluffy pink robe.
Sharon nodded, watching Brenda in the mirror as she unwound the towel and began carefully combing her dark hair. “You think maybe some of our victims had met after all?”
“It’s certainly possible. That or they met the killer.”
The captain smirked. “What do you suppose one should wear to meet one’s would-be murderer?”
“What you have on is nice.”
Sharon’s eyes again darted toward Brenda’s in their reflected image and caught the younger woman in a lingering perusal of the way the pale gray skirt clung to the curves of the captain’s posterior. Sharon felt herself flush.
“I don’t think it matters what we wear,” Brenda continued, unaware that she’d been observed while observing. “But it might matter how we act.”
Sharon turned. “Oh?” she asked neutrally.
“These socials may be an excellent opportunity for our killer to observe his -- or her,” she qualified before the other woman could interrupt, “potential targets. We already know our victims aren’t the only same-sex couples who’ve purchased homes in the greater Los Angeles area in our time frame. They’re not even the only ones to buy from Heller-Manley.”
“So their behavior sets them apart?”
Brenda nodded. “It may. By all accounts, our six recent victims were in very happy relationships.” She crossed her legs and her robe gaped open all the way up to her thigh. Sharon averted her gaze. “Sharon, were Rodney and Thomas --?”
“Completely in love,” the older woman replied quietly, looking down at the top of the ultra-modern dresser, where her neatly placed cosmetics mingled with a hodgepodge of Brenda’s. “You know, I was the only one at work who even knew Rodney was gay. He told me in part because I was his commanding officer, but I think it had more to do with the knowledge that he could trust me, that it wouldn’t matter. I’ll never forget their housewarming party. They were... very sweet together.”
The chief was quiet for a moment, biting her lip and gazing at her friend as Sharon went about applying moisturizer.
“You know what bothers me?” Sharon screwed the top back on the small jar and again turned to face the other woman. “This four-year gap. One crime, followed by years of nothing, and then three more attacks within weeks of each other?”
Brenda sighed. “I know. We’re checkin’ prison records, mental institutions, everythin’ you can think of, but so far, nothin’. If we can figure that part out, I’m convinced we’ll be able to identify the killer. The link between Thomas and Rodney’s deaths and the rest of our victims is what’s gonna solve this case.”
Sharon nodded in agreement. “That’s something, at least,” she said softly. She felt Brenda’s eyes on her again, staring, and finally demanded, “What?”
The younger woman blinked and then colored slightly. “You’re really pretty without makeup,” she blurted. “You have beautiful skin.”
Sharon blinked back, at a loss. “And you’re getting chlorine all over the bedspread,” she retorted edgily. “Go take a shower.”
Brenda rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “Whatever you say, darlin’.” She nudged Sharon’s hip with her own, pushing her gently aside to open a few drawers and extract a pale pink slip and a pair of purple panties. “Too bad you started without me,” Brenda said, meeting Sharon’s eye in the mirror. “We coulda showered together...conserved water.” She winked and then sauntered off.
Sharon closed her eyes, attempting to channel some sort of calming energy, and wished for a hasty conclusion to this case.
**
The Heller-Manley Realty mixer was, for all intents and purposes, no more than a low-key cocktail party located in the main office’s largest conference hall. The circular conference tables had been cleared out, replaced by smaller tables that were covered with various appetizers and beverages. “Jean and Susan Hennessey” were one of seven other couples that had joined Blake Manley and Wendy Heller (and a small team of caterers and wait staff) for the laid-back occasion.
Sharon, for her part, was not particularly impressed by the gathering. They’d spent an hour discussing the do’s and don’ts of home ownership as well as various concerns that had arisen. Blake, a gregarious African American man in his mid-forties, had graciously explained that these mixers were designed to ease the stressors of moving and allow others the opportunity to mingle with couples who were in the same position.
As she carefully handled her glass of white wine, Sharon surveyed each person in the large room, looking for any signs of suspicious behavior. Wendy was as rattled and nervous as ever, her eyes often flitting to the clock. Blake, on the other hand, was pure charisma and charm, effortlessly socializing and fielding questions as if there were nothing more troubling to him than an empty hors d’oeuvres platter.
“Anyone jumpin’ out at you?” Brenda asked, leaning in to speak quietly in Sharon’s ear.
“No one,” Sharon replied. “Everyone.”
Brenda laughed breathlessly. “I know what you mean.” She angled her body toward Sharon’s and brushed the woman’s hair behind her shoulder, her fingertips lingering on the captain’s shoulder. “I’ll feel better once we can do background checks on everyone here...especially those caterers.”
Sharon nodded, noticing with muted interest that Blake was guiding a couple in their direction. “Showtime,” she mumbled.
Brenda nodded faintly and then leaned in to kiss Sharon’s cheek. She smiled brightly and the look of pure affection on her face was so convincing that Sharon lost her breath.
“Susan and Jean Hennessey, I’d like to introduce you to Chuck and Barb Jones,” Blake said, flashing a winning smile. “They’ve bought a house only a few blocks away from you.”
“Oh, well we’re practically neighbors then!” Brenda enthusiastically shook their hands before slipping her arm possessively around Sharon’s waist. “It’s so nice to meet some new people...we don’t know anyone out here yet!”
“Whereabouts are you from?” Barb asked, her plump face turning with curiosity toward Sharon. “Not native Californians, then?”
“We’re from Chicago,” Sharon offered. She smiled politely and forced herself to take her free hand out of her pocket to rest it on Brenda’s shoulder.
“I’ve always wanted to go,” Barb moaned wistfully, nudging her husband with her fist. “He always said he’d take me but we haven’t left the West Coast in years.”
“If you ever make it out there, I can tell you about all the places you must see. There’s this great bistro near Millenium Park that’s just so romantic...” Brenda smiled nostalgically at Sharon and squeezed her hip. “You know which one I mean, honey?” Her eyes glowed and she leaned in conspiratorially to Barb. “It’s where Suzie proposed. It was just about the most romantic night of my life.”
“How long have you been married?” Chuck asked. His hazel eyes gazed intensely at them both before his stare lingered in the slight valley of Brenda’s modest cleavage.
Sharon’s eyes narrowed momentarily at his leer before she turned a loving smile in Brenda’s direction. “Ten happy years.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Barb grasped Chuck’s forearm and squeezed, her cheek brushing his polo-shirt-covered shoulder. “We’ve only been married three. Second marriage for both of us,” she confided, leaning in toward the other women. Having received a decidedly cool look from Brenda, Chuck’s attention was already wandering, his eyes tracking a server with a tray of mini egg rolls. “The two of you still seem so together. I mean, I know we just met, but the way you look at each other gives me hope,” she continued, her face becoming progressively flushed, and Sharon wondered how many glasses of white wine the woman had downed.
This, of course, was an opportunity Brenda Leigh couldn’t pass up. “See, sugar? I told you it shows.” The blonde wrapped her other arm around Sharon, carefully balancing her wine glass against the taller woman’s hip, so that she draped over the captain like a clinging vine. Clinging vines, Sharon reminded herself, determined not to focus on the way the other woman’s breasts pressed against her arm, were parasites. As if reading her mind, Brenda shot her a defiant look before turning back to Barb. “Ten years, and the magic is definitely still there.”
Sharon flashed a bright, toothy smile, the same one she’d been known to turn on Chief Pope and even, earlier in their acquaintance, Brenda herself. “It’s definitely something, all right. Excuse me.”
She practically tore away from the chief and ducked out of the conference room, ostensibly in search of the ladies’ room. And if she happened to take a quick survey of the other offices on the way, well, anybody could get lost in a facility this bland; everything looked the same.
Brenda slipped into the bathroom as Sharon stood washing her hands at the sink. After checking beneath the stall doors to make sure they were alone, she murmured, “Anything?”
“Unsurprisingly, no. Neither of them has a great big bloody butcher’s knife on his or her desk. Wonders never cease, though: apparently Wendy went to Stanford.”
Pale golden eyebrows shot toward Brenda’s hairline. “I wouldn’t have pegged her as the type, that’s for sure. And she sells real estate? -- You didn’t have to run off like that, you know. I almost had to tell Barb you had bladder control issues.”
Sharon’s eyes widened to alarming proportions. “You did not!”
“I said ‘almost.’ But I could have. You were actin’ like your panties were on fire.”
The captain winced at the turn of phrase. “Did you also have to call me by your cat’s name?”
Brenda rolled her eyes. “It’s a term of endearment.”
“Well, baby, if you ever do it again, you won’t have to worry about who the murderer is, because I’ll suffocate you in your sleep,” Sharon promised in a tone of exaggerated sweetness, leaning in very close to Brenda because she was unable to resist taunting her. Sharon waited for the other woman to turn away.
Brenda didn’t flinch. Her dark eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them, and Sharon could feel her every exhalation against her own lips. Her breath smelled sweet, like the mid-range chablis they were serving out there.
“What would you prefer?” the blonde asked in a low, even voice. “Honey? Sweetheart?” Brenda’s voice in that register was making Sharon’s toes curl inside her pumps. The younger woman’s eyes were fastened on hers, and Sharon couldn’t bring herself to be the first to look away. “Darlin’? Baby?”
The moment was stretching out too long, too long, and Sharon felt a bubble of panic well up in her throat because she was very afraid that she was about to do something extremely stupid. She imagined Brenda calling her baby and breathed out harshly, her eyelids drooping.
“How about Suzie Q?”
There it was again, that cold-water-in-the-face sensation. Taking a decisive step back, the captain yanked a paper towel from the dispenser, hastily dragged it over her hands, and tossed it vengefully into the trash can. “Susan is more than adequate, Jean. How much longer do we have to stay?”
Brenda stood motionless for a few seconds, her lips slightly parted in surprise at the abrupt change both of subject and Sharon’s demeanor. “We haven’t learned anything yet,” she managed.
“Maybe we’re not going to.” The older woman glanced at her reflection and fluffed her hair before marching toward the door and yanking it open. “Maybe this whole operation is just an elaborate waste of time.”
Alone in the ladies’ room, Brenda looked at her own reflection and swallowed hard. At least, she thought, feeling a little dazed, there was free booze. The Lord knew, with a knife-wielding murderer on the loose and Sharon acting as cuddly as a prickly pear, she’d need it.
***