Jamie left the building and started to walk along the sidewalk. Her thoughts were chaotic; her feelings too close to the surface. She tried to grasp any one of her thoughts. Shane, her father... Father. She hadn’t thought of him that way in years, the memory of his presence in her life ruthlessly erased. Therapy had soothed away some of the edges of the past. Hatred, fear, guilt had all softened to a dull throb. She barely registered the thought that it was her father who was dead; he had stopped being that a lifetime ago. Part of her knew he deserved what he had gotten. The bastard. She suddenly realized that she should tell her mother.

***

Leaving the police precinct, Shane drove with one eye on the rearview mirror. She recognized her symptoms as paranoia but she figured she was entitled, having spent the last hour being questioned in connection with a homicide. With Jamie Saunders in the room, knowing she was lying. Of course, Jamie had also been lying by omission. I wonder why? Curiosity? To see how far I would go? She had fully expected the detective to denounce her as a liar. She hadn’t. Maybe she was protecting her own reputation. Maybe her colleagues don’t know that she is gay. Maybe that was part of it. For today at least, Jamie had been more interested in keeping their night together a secret than in impeaching her statement and nailing her as a suspect. But that could change. I don’t have much time.

***

Hesitating, Jamie stood on the sidewalk, just looking at the tiny bungalow. The shutters had been painted a muted green; her mother’s prized roses were in full bloom on either side of the walkway. Now that she was here, she was at a loss. She hadn’t considered how she would broach the subject of her father, that topic that had not been brought up in this house since that horrifying night when he had walked out for good, a shotgun aimed at his chest providing the motivation.

The front door opened and her mother stepped out onto the porch. She stood squinting into the sun, an older shorter version of Jamie - fuller in the face, her hair a quieter shade of blonde, her face faintly lined. Only her eyes, a soft blue, were different. Jamie had inherited her father’s eyes. Twenty-five years later, looking into those eyes still brought a jolt of pain to the older woman. Her mother smiled at her in delight. "Hi, honey. This is a surprise."

Jamie shrugged as she climbed the steps to the small front porch. "I was in the neighborhood." She nodded toward a couple of white wicker chairs in the corner, inviting one to sit and while away the hours. "Those are new."

"My reading corner," her mother replied, astute eyes reading the tension in her daughter’s body. As if that weren’t enough of an indicator, the eyes were a dead giveaway, turning a dark, turbulent gray when Jamie was upset. "Want some iced tea?"

"Sure."

They stepped back into the cheerful little house, the scent of lemon wax mixing with that of freshly cut flowers. Jamie followed her mother to the back where the kitchen looked out over a neat yard. She perched herself on one of the stools that sat by a large breakfast nook, and silently watched her mother efficiently pour them each a glass of iced tea from a pitcher.

Her mother turned and caught the quiet interest. "Honey, what is it?"

Jamie smiled ruefully. I never could keep anything from her. Except for that one terrible secret that had, when exposed to the light of day, destroyed her family. "Have you seen the news lately?"

Her mother chuckled. "Never. I refuse to watch anything that will depress me." She took her glass and started walking back to the front. "Let’s go sit on the porch."

Jamie followed slowly, feeling the tightness in her chest. Her mother patted the flowered cushion beside her and Jamie settled there, a familiar scent drifting toward her. She always smells of lemon and something soft. That smell evoked everything that was good about her childhood. Her mother put an arm around her shoulders, and they sat quietly for a moment.

"I’m working on a new case."

Her mother stayed silent, knowing Jamie would reveal what was bothering her in her own good time.

"A murder." Jamie took her mother’s hand in her own, feeling the strength and the fragility in equal measure. "The Chief Justice was killed last Thursday." Even now she could not bring herself to call him dad. She felt the stillness in her mother’s body, the brief tightening of her hand. Felt the slight shudder that then followed. She looked at her mother who stared out into the distance, her face pensive.

"Funny, for years I did wish him harm. But in time, that wish dulled as I tried to focus on the good."

Jamie stroked her hand. "I’m sorry, Mom." Sorry for destroying your life, sorry for destroying the illusion, she thought but did not voice.

"Sorry?" Her mother turned to her. "Oh, honey, don’t." Her hand cupped the trembling chin and she lifted Jamie’s face to look deep into her eyes. "You are my angel. Having you was the good that I kept remembering. I stopped hating him a long time ago. The man is dead, and I’m sorry that he died by someone’s hand." She settled her hands in her lap with a sigh. "Truth be told, though, I’m not sorry he is dead."

"Neither am I."

"Will you tell Emma, or do you want me to?" her mother asked, referring to Jamie’s sister.

"I will." Jamie leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder as she had when she was a child, and felt the soft stroking of her mother’s hand on her head. They sat quietly, each lost in thought. "I love you, Mom."

"And I love you."

CHAPTER SIX

"Daddy?"

"Hush, Sweet Pea. You don’t want to wake your sister." She felt his hands on the front of her pajama bottom. "Remember the game I taught you?"

"But, Daddy..."

"Shhh...Be a good girl."

"Daddy, it hurts..."

Jamie bolted up, a scream dying on her lips. Disoriented, her eyes frantically searched the dark room and she slowly clued in to the dream. She shoved a trembling hand through her tousled hair as she gulped in air. It had been years since she had been visited by those images. She rubbed a hand over her face and felt the wetness. She glanced at the clock beside the table. 3 a.m. The silence pressed down on her and she felt the panic spread through her body. I’m safe. I’m safe, she kept repeating to herself. After a brief hesitation, her hand reached out for the telephone.

"What?" the grumpy voiced answered on the seventh ring.

"Darcy? It’s Jamie."

There was a pause. "James, this is starting to be a bad habit." The growl deepened.

"I’m sorry." Then a thought dawned on Jamie. "Oh. Darcy, Are you alone?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Not that it’s any of your damn business." The grumpy tone almost made Jamie smile.

"Can I come over?"

Something in Jamie’s tone alerted Darcy, who sat up, pushing the tangled waves from her face, immediately concerned. "What’s wrong?"

"I don’t want to be alone."

The pause was longer as Darcy absorbed the quiet words. "Honey, are the demons back?"

Jamie swallowed hard, trying not to cry. "Kind of."

"I’ll leave the back door open."

"Thanks, Darcy."

"Forget it. I was just sleeping. Alone."

Jamie hung up then stood up on trembling legs. Darcy was the only one of her friends who knew any part of the sordid story. Years before, after too many glasses of wine, she had stayed overnight and had been awakened by Jamie’s screams. As Darcy held her, a sobbing Jamie had told her about the nightmares that came and went. It had all come tumbling out in a rush of words as if it had been too long held back: the secrets; the waiting for the sound of footsteps outside the bedroom door, the horrific visits in the middle of the night, as her sister lay sleeping in the bed next to hers, until the night when Jamie had woken up and heard her sister crying. Even at eight years of age, she had known then that her father had been visiting both of them. To protect her sister, she had gone to her mother the next day and told her everything. She had been eight years old and even now, thirty years later, she could recall the look on her mother’s face: the shock, the disbelief, the pain. And she had been the one to cause it; it had been her fault.

Over the years, whenever the screaming in Jamie’s head got too loud, Darcy had always been there - non-judgmental, dropping everything to be with her when needed, - as the nightmares appeared with less and less frequency. Jamie couldn’t remember the last time she’d had one. Until tonight.

She got to Darcy’s and let herself in. Darcy had turned on all the lights and was now in the kitchen, getting the Scotch ready. She had hastily pulled on a navy robe to cover her nakedness. The thick auburn hair, which she usually wore up or tied back, fell in a wild mass of curls down to the middle of her back. Seeing Darcy standing in the kitchen looking sleep tousled and grumpy, Jamie was struck with the realization that her friend was stunning. It was an unusual thought to be having at that particular moment, but the only one she flashed to.

Darcy had always worn her sexuality comfortably, at ease with it. It was just genetics after all, she often said when complimented. She rarely considered her effect on people. And over the years, neither had Jamie. But when she let her hair down - both figuratively and literally- the impact was powerful. And for a moment, Jamie felt it…shivered with it. Darcy looked at Jamie, the look in her blue eyes quiet. Without a word, she handed her a tumbler.

"I’ve got a fire going in the other room." That was all she said as she crossed into the living room. Jamie was grateful for the matter-of-fact tone as she followed. Darcy settled her long form onto the brown leather couch, then raised a brow at Jamie. With a quiet smile, Jamie crossed to her and settled beside her. Darcy wrapped her arms around her and Jamie relaxed into her embrace as they sat watching the fire as it hissed in the grate.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The question was asked softly.

Jamie sighed. "Same nightmare. It’s been a long time."

"What brought it on, do you think?"

The hesitation was brief. "He died. It brought back a lot of stuff I thought had been dealt with, I guess."

"You have dealt with it, James, to a certain extent." For a while they watched the flames flicker and take shapes in front of them, comfortable in the silence. Jamie smiled as she felt Darcy’s hand caress her hair, the touch soothing. She relaxed further into her arms, inhaling her scent, which had, over the years, become as familiar as her own.

"Why do you suppose we never got together?" Jamie suddenly asked, the thought coming to her out of the blue.

The question startled Darcy and she took time to think about it. "I dunno. Maybe because relationships often come and go, but true friendships can last a lifetime." Darcy looked at her, the look in her blue eyes unfathomable as she studied the attractive blonde. "I guess I’d rather have you in my life for a lifetime."

Having expected a flippant remark more in keeping with Darcy’s nature, Jamie stared at her, unexpectedly touched. "You sometime surprise me, Darcy." Jamie’s smile was tender.

Hiding her sudden embarrassment, Darcy grinned. "Don’t get used to it."

Jamie settled back into the strong arms. A feeling, soft and sweet, stole over her as she felt Darcy’s arms tighten around her. Safe. I’m safe here.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Attorney Ken Landry arrived looking flushed, rushed, and apologetic. He was still wearing his tennis whites. "I’m sorry, Shane. I was into a second set when I got your page. I got here as soon as I could. What’s this about?"

Landry had a solid reputation and an excellent track record as an attorney. Rarer than that, he was known as a man of unimpeachable integrity. Alex wondered how he knew Shane Scott. She nodded at him in acknowledgement. "We have some additional questions we’d like to put to Judge Scott in connection with the murder of Chief Justice Reynolds."

Landry’s jaw dropped. "You’ve got to be kidding me."

"Unfortunately, no, she’s not," Shane said dryly. "Thank you for coming, Ken. I’m terribly sorry for pulling you away from your tennis game."

He waved that away and turned to Alex. "Can you explain how the hell things got to this point?"

"Certainly," Alex said calmly. "We have a witness who positively identified Miss Scott as being at the scene of the crime around the time of the murder.

"Excuse me?"

"How was she identified?"

"His description helped us create a sketch which was then identified as Miss Scott."

"Can I see this sketch?"

"Excuse me," he interrupted, turning to Shane. "You were interrogated prior to today?"

Landry looked at her for a long moment before he turned to Alex. "I insist on consulting with my client before this goes any further."

Alex had to smile at that. "Of course." She reached over and turned off the recorder before stepping outside, closely followed by Stacey.

***

Two can play at this game, she thought, pushing her frustration down. "Do colleagues see each other after work?"

"Did you at times do so?"

experience and the particular points of law being debated."

"Have you ever been to Judge Reynold’s residence?"

"Don’t answer that," her lawyer advised.

"I want to; I have nothing to hide. I have been at the suite that he kept at the Colonnade, as have most of my colleagues at one time or another."

Alex’s fingers tapped on her front teeth as she thought. In another room, Jamie, watching with Stacey, fought off the urge to pace. Instead she pushed her hands into the front pockets of her pants and fixed her eyes on Shane, trying to decipher something, anything from her body language.

"Would you allow us to take a look at your phone records?"

This time Shane almost looked amused. "Not without a subpoena."

Alex nodded. She had expected as much. "You told us that on the night in question, you were walking around and ended up at a bar."

"Yes, that is what I said."

"You also said that you stayed there for a while, had a drink, then left." When Shane nodded, Alex asked, "Did you leave alone?"

As the judge hesitated, Ken Landry said, "Tell her to go to hell, Shane. If you don’t, I will."

"You heard my attorney’s advice, Detective." Alex couldn’t help but smile.

Ken stood up. "I’ve indulged this fishing expedition all I’m going to." He assisted Shane from her chair, politely, but in a way that brooked no arguments. "Judge Scott deserves an apology for this. And if you so much as breathe her name to the media in connection with this case, you’ll have a staggering lawsuit to deal with."

Alex looked down at her folder thoughtfully. "Oh, one more thing?" she asked without looking up.

Shane stopped in the doorway.

"Do you own a weapon?"

"Lots of things could be used as a weapon."

"The reason I’m asking is because the coroner’s report indicates that it was exactly as we thought - he didn’t die from a blow to the head, he died of a gun shot." It was a small lie but Alex felt no qualms about telling it.

"He was shot?"

CHAPTER EIGHT

"I think it was genuine."

Stacey looked at Jamie. "Come on. Get real."

Jamie - who had watched the interview through a two-way mirror - glared at Stacey, then turned her attention to Alex. "It was the first and only time she showed any emotion or spontaneity. I think her surprise was authentic. Up to that time, she didn’t even know how he had died."

Stacey snorted.

Jamie turned on her. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I’ve got no problem, but I think you do."

"Excuse me?"

"You seem a bit quick to want to believe that our pretty judge is innocent."

Because that cut too close to the bone, Jamie erupted. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I saw you watching her through the whole thing. You could barely keep your eyes off of her. Be careful you are not thinking with some part of your body other than your brain."

Jamie’s face turned red with fury and she felt a vein throbbing in her forehead. She had taken a step towards Stacey when Alex stepped in and grabbed her arm.

"Easy."

Jamie angrily shook her hand off. "You have absolutely no clue. What I’m trying to do is make sure that we build a solid case here. You remember what the hell that is? I’m just making sure that we are not going off half cocked in our rush to find someone to pin this on. What the hell do we have? A witness who may or may not have seen her? Where is the motive, the physical evidence? All I’m saying is let’s be thorough in our investigation and not simply decide ahead of time what the outcome should be." The last was a barb alluding to a previous case they had been involved in when Stacey had stopped an investigation before the evidence was followed to its conclusion. Her motivation had been painfully personal, and Stacey paled at her words. Alex, who had been directly involved in that investigation, stepped in to stop the argument before it progressed beyond words.

"Enough. Both of you knock it off," she snarled. "I’ve got better things to do than to play referee for a couple of immature know-it-alls." She glared at them, waiting to see some sign that they were listening. Satisfied, she turned to her friend. "I’m sort of agreeing with Jamie here. The main problem I have with her being a suspect is that she didn’t have an alibi."

Stacey threw a look at Jamie and then more calmly turned to Alex. "I’m confused. Are you thinking that by not having an alibi, she appears more innocent than if she did?"

Alex looked thoughtful. "Not necessarily. It just makes me wonder if she’s waiting to see how far this goes before springing an alibi on us."

"Like she’s holding one in reserve, just in case?"

"Something like that."

CHAPTER NINE

Tomas Reynolds’ will stipulated that he be cremated. A memorial service had been scheduled, and the morning dawned bright and sunny. By ten o’clock, the Cathedral Church of St. Paul was packed to capacity. The famous and infamous were there, as were those who had come to gawk at the famous and infamous, including the current junior senator, the mayor, and the entire court of appeals.

Some had never met Judge Reynolds, but deemed themselves important enough to attend an important man’s funeral. Almost without exception, most of those in attendance had disparaged the deceased while he was alive. Nevertheless, they filed into the church, shaking their heads and mourning his tragic, untimely death. The altar overflowed with floral arrangements.

Outside, inconspicuous against one of the faux Greek pillars, a police photographer was snapping shots of everyone who was in attendance. Often killers returned to the scene of the crime, or came to watch the mourners. Alex had decided to attend, in order to watch the crowd. Alex beside her, Jamie sat in the back of the church. As soon as they had entered, she’d caught sight of Shane sitting in the front, her head bowed as if she were praying.

Jamie tuned out the scripture readings and eulogies as she mulled over the details of the case. The case. That was all it was to her. Her father’s death, his murder, was reduced to the level of an investigation. The pressure in her chest intensified. She looked across the packed church and was surprised to see her vision was blurred. She blinked as more tears came. How can I be crying for the bastard? Her hands clenched in her lap, and she felt the shudder that carried the grief through her body. Her fingers rubbed impatiently at the wetness on her cheeks, and she focused on the back of Shane’s golden head.

"Daddy, I’m afraid."

"Of what, sweet pea?"

"The monster. He’s in the closet."

"Don’t worry, honey. I’ll take care of him." He walked over to the closet and opened the door and made all kinds of noise. "There. He’s gone."

She smiled at him. Her daddy would always protect her.

"Are you okay?" Alex asked, glancing at her as Jamie shifted restlessly beside her.

"I’m fine. See anything of interest?"

"No."

As the hymns rose all around her, Jamie started to panic, sweat breaking out along her spine. She took a breath and all of a sudden felt lightheaded. "I’m going to go check on things outside." Without looking at her, Alex nodded. Jamie squeezed past her and slipped out the back. Outside, she blinked into the bright sunshine and nodded once toward the uniforms slouching against the unmarked car that was parked along the curb. She stood stock still trying to calm her jittery nerves. There was a faint breeze that carried the scent of something sweet. She barely felt it.

I’m losing it. Maybe I should make an appointment with my therapist. Jamie had stopped seeing her a few years before, when she thought she had done enough work on understanding herself to take a break. But now the hard won peace seemed to have evaporated. Being reduced to panic attacks in church was not a good sign. Her eyes caught a familiar car pulling up to the front of the church. The red Mustang convertible had been a weakness and an extravagance that suited Darcy to a T. The auburn haired woman got out of the car, her impossibly long legs catching the attention of the officers in front. She flashed Jamie a smile that had Jamie grinning back.

"What are you doing here?"

"Sure as hell not paying my respects." Darcy squinted into the sun. "Alex told me about the funeral, and I thought I would come by just to make sure he was dead."

The remark was so outrageous that Jamie stared at her for a moment open-mouthed. Darcy looked back at her, her mouth curving. Jamie started to laugh and it felt good. She leaned her head briefly on Darcy’s shoulder, inhaling the familiar spicy scent. "I’m so glad you came. I think I was in the middle of a full fledged panic attack in there."

"How are you now?"

Jamie stared at her fully, something moving in the depths of her eyes. "Better."

Years before, she had stopped questioning why being with Darcy made her feel protected. It just did. But on this afternoon the thought crossed her mind again. Her eyes studied the smooth profile, the full unsmiling mouth of the woman beside her and she felt the flutters bouncing in her stomach that for her usually signaled attraction. Surely not this time. She shifted, trying to quell the rising feeling. "Listen, I..."

Whatever she was about to say was lost when the church bells started to peal. The service was over. She glanced back at the oak doors and swore silently. Darcy looked at her. "What were you going to say?"

The moment had passed. "Nothing important." The doors swung open with a dull thud, and the crowd started to spill out of the church. Jamie sighed. "I have to go." She glanced at Darcy, who was smiling at the gawking officers. "Don’t toy with them."

Darcy grinned at her and shrugged. "Habit."

Jamie shook her head and turned to leave, but stopped. "Can I come over later?"

An eyebrow lifted in surprise. "Why would you even ask that? You always come over."

Jamie’s smile was tentative. "I mean after you finish work."

Darcy froze as she met the gray eyes. Something tangled in her stomach but let go before she could name it. "Sure. I’m not closing tonight, so come by anytime."

"No hot date then?"

That stopped Darcy as she tried to remember the last time she had had a date.

"Fuck, I guess I’m going through a dry spell." They both laughed at that.

Jamie impulsively kissed her on the cheek, tempted for one brief moment to lean closer. She pulled back reluctantly. "I’ll be over later."

***

When Jamie arrived at the café, Darcy was leaning against the oak bar flirting with a pretty brunette in a very short skirt. The auburn haired woman had changed into faded jeans and a loose charcoal gray sweater, her hair tied back carelessly and she looked casually sexy. For some unfathomable reason, this irritated Jamie. Darcy turned and flashed a quick grin in her direction but her grin faded at the look on Jamie’s face.

"Are you okay?"

"Just edgy."

"Want a drink?"

"Not really." Jamie shifted, unable to put words to what she was feeling.

Darcy leaned over and whispered something to the brunette, who laughed and nodded. Still smiling, Darcy turned and caught Jamie’s intent look.

"What?"

"A new prospect?" There was an edge in her tone that had Darcy looking at her curiously.

"As a matter of fact no. Natalie is engaged to Billy and is just killing time until his shift is over." Billy was one of her pretty boy bartenders. Now feeling foolish, Jamie frowned, rubbing an impatient hand along the back of her neck. What the hell is wrong with me?

"She lets me practice my lines, on her though," Darcy added with a grin.

Jamie shook her head. "You don’t need any practice, Stretch. Believe me, you’re dangerous enough."

Darcy studied her for a moment. Something didn’t feel right. Almost like a note that was off-key. "James, let’s go for a walk."

Bundled into jackets against the cool evening air, they started walking without any particular direction, gazing into windows, reading the menus plastered on entryways. As they passed a roadhouse the tantalizing smell of mesquite floated past them. Music drifted from a bar across the street. The sidewalks were alive with people walking home from a movie, from late business, from a visit to friends. A subway train rumbled underground. Taxis were coming back from the theaters, traveling to little clubs on the side streets. Jamie took a deep breath and slowly eased it through her body. She needed this, this aimless drifting that allowed her to empty her mind and just concentrate on the noises and smells around her. There were almost no stars in the dark inky sky. As they continued walking, their footsteps echoed softly on the pavement. They didn’t say anything, felt no need for words. The silence between them was easy. They crossed at a traffic light and as they got to the other side Darcy grabbed Jamie’s hand and held it as they continued walking. Jamie shot her a quick glance but Darcy’s attention was on one of the displays in an antique shop. Jamie’s fingers curled against her hand and she let Darcy lead her as they resumed walking. Darcy grinned when a woman in a tight blue running suit ran past and shot the auburn beauty a quick look. The look was subtle but effective. Darcy was more amused than interested. She felt the sudden tension in Jamie’s hand and turned her eyes to her. Jamie was glaring after the jogger with what looked like annoyance.

"Jamie?" Curious once again at the mixed signals she was sensing, Darcy stopped walking and released Jamie’s hand. "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk?"

Jamie didn’t understand why she suddenly felt so resentful of the attention Darcy was getting. No, resentful was the wrong word. I feel...Puzzled, she stared at Darcy, then it hit her with a sudden stabbing clarity. Jealous? I’m jealous? She forced a smile. "It was just a bad day, Darcy. I’m feeling off. That’s all."

Jamie started to walk again and Darcy followed. But the air between them had shifted once again and Darcy puzzled over the undercurrents that pulled at her. Then her eyes caught a green and orange neon sign that was as colorful as Christmas lights and she stopped, delighted. "Mario’s. I forgot he was still here. We have to stop. Tonight calls for a hot chocolate." She grabbed Jamie’s hand again and pulled her to the pastry shop with the gaudy window displays. "Wait here."

She went in, leaving Jamie standing outside the door, lost in thought as she watched the traffic go by. A few minutes later she returned and handed a cup to Jamie while she held another. It was overflowing with whip cream.

"I ordered extra whip. This is guaranteed to improve any mood," she told Jamie with a grin. Then her pink tongue slowly licked the foam from the top of her cup. Fascinated by the movement, Jamie stared at her, unable to look away. Becoming aware of the stare, Darcy stopped and lifted her eyes questioningly. The look in Jamie’s eyes had Darcy’s heart lurching against her ribcage. They held the look until Jamie abruptly broke it to take a sip.

"This is too sinful to be having on a weeknight," Jamie injected into the charged air.

I probably misread the look, Darcy thought. She forced a smile. "I know. Decadent isn’t it?"

"I’ll have to run an extra 10 miles tomorrow, but it might just be worth it." Jamie took another sip, her eyes closing with pleasure.

Darcy grinned. "A taste of heaven." Her thumb reached out and slowly stroked Jamie’s upper lip. "You’ve got foam all over the place." Jamie went very still at the feel of her finger against her mouth and for one crazy moment, she was tempted to seek more. She blinked once as her eyes focused first on Darcy’s mouth, then lifted to the waiting blue. Darcy looked at her, unsmiling, and Jamie read the awareness in the blue eyes, an acknowledgement that the temptation was somehow mutual. Jamie’s mouth curved in response. Then they broke contact almost simultaneously.

They resumed their walk. Whatever it was had passed, and the fleeting moment was filed away to think about later. But as Darcy’s hand took hers once again for the walk back, Jamie smiled to herself. Despite the difficult day, the last couple of hours had evaporated her tension, replaced it with a different kind. The kind that left you breathless and in knots. And Jamie had no doubt that the reason for it was the woman walking beside her. Once again Darcy had made the bad things better. She glanced at her friend as they approached the café. Without thinking about it, Jamie reached over and pushed a strand of hair that the wind had tossed and toyed with behind Darcy’s ear. Darcy’s head turned toward her as they stopped at her front door. "Want to come up?" It was said softly. The question was simple, the meaning unclear. And Jamie’s need was huge. Shaking her head Jamie sighed. "No, it’s best that I don’t." She leaned over and kissed Darcy on the cheek. "Good night, Stretch."

To be continued...

Return to the Academy

This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to represent any particular individual, alive or dead. This work may not be printed or distributed for profit without the express written permission of the author. Copyright registered with the Library of Congress.