Chapter Four

Guin stood before her bedroom mirror strapping on her gun belt. She knew the action by heart—hardly needed a mirror—but used it to study the woman behind her.

Cheryl’s natural auburn hair tumbled over bare milky shoulders as she bent to retrieve her uniform. In their frenzy it had become part of a combined heap of blues lying next to Guin’s bed. Lunch hour, as it turned out, served to satisfy an entirely different appetite.

Cheryl fished a shirt out of the heap, shook it out and draped it over her camisole.

“Beautiful…” Guin mumbled as she fastened her buckle.

Cheryl stopped mid-shake. She heard it. “I’m sorry?”

Guin looked embarrassed, surprised that the end part of her thought had wafted out of her muddled head. Her cheeks flushed slightly.

“You are beautiful.”

Cheryl, wearing only her shirt over a camisole and panties, dropped everything she’d gathered up. Smiling sweetly she approached Guin, wrapped her arms around her waist. She kissed her, leaned toward her ear. “You’re pretty beautiful yourself.”

“No,” Guin quickly protested. She started to pull away, but Cheryl only tightened her embrace.

“You’re not good with receiving compliments. I’ve noticed that about you.”

Guin arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, not really.”

“You can trust me. Trust my words,” Cheryl quietly assured her. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.” But then Guin amended her words with the quivering statement. “Not much.”

It was the closest thing to an admission of vulnerability she’d uttered in years. Cheryl seemed to know this. Guin knew that she too read people well; it was organic, not psychic. It was a major contributing factor that made her a good supervisor.

Cheryl straightened Guin’s collar, let her fingers rove down her crisp shirt to the belt buckle. She made a show of slowly buckling it.

“Thank you, Sergeant.”

“No problem, Marcus,” Cheryl played along. “I wouldn’t want you to misrepresent the department by not looking your best.”

Guin moved in close. “Really?”

They kissed again.

“Frank’s pulling another all-nighter tomorrow night,” Cheryl whispered between kisses.

A crooked smile tugged at Guin’s lips. “Is that an invitation?”

“Invitation? Hmm…” She looked thoughtful. “I’d say it’s more like an order.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to be insubordinate.”

Cheryl lowered her eyes. “You know I wouldn’t tolerate that.”

Guin kissed a trail past her collar, headed downward.

“Guin…” Cheryl whispered. “Why don’t you have anything on your walls?”

Guin raised up, saw she was serious. “Is there something wrong with that?” she stammered.

“I suppose not.” Cheryl was inventorying the room and Guin followed her gaze: dresser, mirror, bed, whitewashed walls, not even a rug. It was perfunctory at best. “Are you some kind of minimalist?”

Guin smiled, looked away. There were so many reasons she lived the way she did. Every picture, every postcard—everything triggered a vision or feeling. It was enough that she dealt with so much in the line of duty. The last thing she wanted was more uninvited stimulus from the single place she trusted to be her solace. It would never be easy to explain to anyone she chose to tell. “You know me better than that.”

Cheryl seemed to consider her vague answer then whispered, “I do know you.” She kissed her. “I know you very, very well.”

The words sent a chill through Guin. She closed her eyes, basked in the bit of security that had been extended to her and wished more than anything she could fully submerge herself in it and forget everything else.

They kissed deeply, their passion escalating once again. Guin ran her hands up her partner’s loosely hanging shirt, cupped her breast, felt heat all over again.

“We’re not very good at this,” Cheryl said, an air of hopelessness in her tone.

“You kidding? We’re great at this.”

“Not this part,” Cheryl said between kisses, smiling, almost laughing. “The part where we try to get dressed.”

“No, we’re very, very bad at that.” Guin’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Do you want me to fuck you again?”

Cheryl nearly melted against Guin, nodded quickly. “And then again.”

“I don’t know…you think you can handle it?” A flick of her belt buckle and the gun belt was around her ankles. Pants came down on top of it. Guin went to work on the buttons of Cheryl’s shirt and tossed it onto the heap of clothes along with her camisole. She leaned into Cheryl, couldn’t get close enough.

“Why do we get dressed at all?” Cheryl softly laughed.

“Foreplay,” Guin answered, smiling. Never breaking contact, she kissed a sliding path to Cheryl’s belly. Then lower. She made love to her with her mouth, touching and teasing her until Cheryl’s legs went limp with desire. Cheryl stroked Guin’s head.

“Cheryl…” Guin almost choked. Her heart had nearly engaged her mouth without first cycling through her brain. She felt her chest lurch, her stomach didn’t feel much better. A mistake like that could cost a girl... She reprocessed whatever intended flowery sentiment she’d nearly fatally uttered, selected a more benign statement. “I am nutty about you.”

Cheryl’s lips turned up into a small, knowing smile. Guin’s insides hopelessly sank.

Cheryl held out her hand and quietly ordered, “Take me to your bed.”

They dropped onto the sheets for the preliminaries leading to round two. This time Guin’s visions were not touch-induced, but wound through her brain, threatening to strangle every thought of making love to the woman in her bed. Cheryl had a husband, two children, and the thought of those beautiful boys was enough to inspire Guin to order the woman right out of her house. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have options. Women—particularly well-to-do women, for some reason, threw themselves at her on a regular basis. She had no business getting wrapped up in a woman with so much baggage.

Only it didn’t feel like baggage. Guin felt genuine affection for Frankie and Michael. Hell, she even liked husband Frank—how sick was that? An admittedly insane thought tickled the back of her love-weary brain that Frank would somehow fit into this picture; a pool boy, a handyman, a next-door neighbor over for coffee…? As if Frank wouldn’t majorly kick her ass if he knew she was fucking his wife.

These odd delusions would not abate. Guin with Cheryl and their happy household of children, a dog, possibly a guinea pig—a school project. Homework, chores, fixing the dishwasher… She couldn’t wake from the twisted, iron-clad, happily-ever-after fantasy no matter what light of reason she tried to throw in her own path. Foreign dreams of sublime happiness and normalcy threatened to chip away at her miserable existence.

Fuck it all. She closed her eyes and spun. Sweet orgasm.

Guin lay utterly paralyzed.

Breathless, Cheryl nibbled her neck, worked her way up to Guin’s ear, whispered, “So, you ready to catch the bad guys now?”

“Hon,” Guin muttered, exhausted, half-laughing at herself. “After that, I’m pretty much ready for anything.”

“That’s my girl.” Cheryl sat up. Sunlight hazily streamed in through the sheer curtains illuminating her glowing skin and soft, supple curves.

“I mean it.” Guin’s voice was a choked rasp. She swallowed hard, repeated her earlier sentiment. “You are beautiful.”

She watched her lover gather her clothes for a second time and head for the bathroom. In moments she heard the shower streams and soon small clouds of perfumed steam mistily floated from the open door.

Guin sighed, pushed her weary body over until she sat on the edge of the bed. She was emotionally and physically wrung out. She caught sight of Cheryl’s camisole in the center of the floor and went to pick it up. She regarded it cautiously, held it up against the sunlight. Helpless against herself, Guin clutched the article and drew it close to her chest. She closed her eyes and to her relief, felt only great joy and warmth. She proceeded to bury her face in the silky material, smiled, even laughed. She felt happy. She felt loved.

Guin carried the garment into the bathroom and gently placed it on the pile of uniform blues. She softly tapped the shower door and was pleased when Cheryl pushed it open as an invitation.

Later, on their way to their car, Guin wondered what her landlord thought about all the women who entered and exited her tiny pool house on a regular basis. The thought of it made her smile, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Cheryl.

“What’s got you grinning like that?”

Embarrassed, Guin shook her head. “I was thinking that I can’t imagine tomorrow’s dinner topping today’s lunch.”

They got in and Cheryl promptly slid over to Guin’s side, sexily whispered in her ear, “Let’s not forget dessert.”

Guin shuddered with delight, almost dizzy at the thought. She started up the patrol car, cleared her throat. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I just explored your nether regions for an hour and now you want to get personal?” Cheryl practically giggled. “I think that would be okay, Officer Marcus.”

But the look on Guin’s face said the conversation was about to take a serious turn.

“Do you and your husband…” Guin stammered, almost didn’t ask, but was encouraged by the patience that shone in Cheryl’s eyes. “I was just wondering how it’s all working with you two these days. Rekindling any…fires of love?”

Cheryl leaned back in her seat, finally said, “It’s different with Frank and me than it is between us.”

“Obviously.” Another nervous chuckle.

“Frank is a good man. He’s an excellent father.” She selected her words carefully, like she was tiptoeing over a minefield. “But he’s not my soul mate. I know that now.”

Guin swallowed hard, nodded. She didn’t dare ask the obvious question. She didn’t think she could sustain that injury no matter which direction the answer went. “I see.”

“Or did you mean in bed?” Cheryl looked at her earnestly.

“I meant…everything.” There was silence.

“You know how I feel about duty,” Cheryl stated. Her voice gathering strength. She was always at her best when she was talking shop. “You sign on for a job, you do it to the best of your ability.” Then she softened, admitted, “I have a duty to my marriage.”

Kapow. A landmine.

“I see.” Guin’s heart sank. They rode in silence while she gathered her courage. “What about your duty to yourself? What about your right to be happy?”

Cheryl’s voice was a well-rehearsed monotone. “I’m happy with my kids. I wish I had the luxury of making all the other things right too.” She paused, lowered her voice. “Because I really would like to make you happy.”

“Come here.” Guin pulled her into a half hug at the stoplight. Cheryl’s response was in truth what she feared it would be. “You do make me happy. I respect that you’re doing right by your family.”

Cheryl wore remorse painfully well. “You seem to know me so well, Guin. It’s remarkable. You never push too hard. You’re good with me and my…situation.”

“Well, at least I’m good at something.”

Still, Cheryl looked troubled. “But when it comes to you, there’s something you’re holding back from me.”

Guin blinked, looked out the window, looked anywhere but at the woman in the seat next to her. “You’re married, Cheryl. It’s always in the back of my mind no matter how I try to pretend you’re not.”

“It’s more than that,” she softly said. “There’s a darkness about you that I can’t pinpoint.”

“Well, we all have our dirty little secrets.”

“It’s not like that. But I do feel you’ve been carrying something with you for a very long time.” Cheryl’s hand snaked across the seat, clasped Guin’s. “When you’re ready, I’d like you to share it with me.”

Guin swallowed hard. For a moment it crossed her mind that she might not be the only one in that squad car with a psychic gift. It was hard to believe Cheryl could sense such things about her. She felt transparent, just as she had many times in her presence. She could almost tell her…

“Unit fifty-four, come in.”

The fuzzy sound of dispatch infiltrated the car, dispelling any hopes of sharing her secret with Cheryl. Guin’s shoulders caved slightly with her disappointment when Cheryl picked up the call. Domestic disturbance. Super.

Guin punched a button, flipped on the lights, and made a skillful, sharp U-turn amidst thick traffic headed toward the freeway. She should tell Cheryl. She owed it to her. After all, her power was no threat to the woman—it was nearly impossible to get a strong read on Cheryl for some reason. She was so different from anyone else she’d ever dated.

Dated?

It was officially complicated. If she spilled her guts to Cheryl, there was a chance she would think she was outright batty. Maybe she’d want to get as far away from her as possible and that would certainly solve Guin’s lovesick problems.

But Cheryl had a good heart and when it came down to it, she was the only one Guin could imagine herself with, even in parceled-out increments. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe it could work if she could manage to reprocess those traditional ideals everyone had about happily ever after. Not like she’d had a real clear bead on normalcy in the first place.

She would tell her tomorrow at dinner.