"Cold Case: The Lavender Ribbon"

[GimmeMooreGirl]

"Cold Case: The Lavender Ribbon"

(This is closed to niceandbrutal and myself.)

The woman with a badge and gun on her hip shooed the other cops, all males, out of the room. She approached the locked, bathroom door. "Miss Thomas? It's Detective Harris. Liz Harris. We talked earlier. We're done with the room. The others are gone. It's just you and me now. You can come out now."

She got no response. That wasn't surprising. The young woman beyond the door had suffered a trauma few ever would. Liz knew cops who'd retired after 40 years without ever seeing a dead body up close, let alone witnessing a murder. "Miss Thomas? Millie? I need you to come out now. Please? We need to go over your statement again. And we need DNA and fingerprints please."

This time a light sob sounded. Liz was relieved by the sound. She'd actually begun to worry that Millie had pulled out a razor to cut her wrists or swallowed a bottle of pills to stop her heart. This was taking too long. Her tone hardened. "Millie. We need to do this. We can either do this here or we can go downtown."

That worked. There was movement beyond the bathroom. The lock clicked open. And Millie Thomas opened the door tentatively:

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The young redhead clutched a thick, cotton robe to her body. It dragged on the floor about her feet as she walked out into the room. It had obviously belonged to the dead man downstairs, whose height exceeded Millie's 5'6" by almost a full foot. The tiny redhead looked about the room for the other cops.

Liz turned Millie toward a nearby table. "They're gone, Millie. It's just you and me. The pigs are gone." Liz laughed. "That's a condemnation of men in particular, not cops in general, by the way."

Millie didn't respond to the comic relief. Her expression remained hesitant and fearful. There had been so many cops there and for so long. Hours! They'd begun swarming the house within minutes of her 9-1-1 call. That in and of itself had been alarming. But as word slowly circulated that the eye witness was young, beautiful, and half naked, the number of male cops who had found a reason to ascend from the crime scene on the first floor to the witness's location on the third floor rose quickly.

They sat near the sliding glass doors leading out to the balcony. Liz read over the younger woman's statement, and Millie answered with mostly short statements. She'd just been getting out of the shower when she heard gun shots and loud voices and angry hollers and pained screams and men running around the house and up the stairs toward her and-- "I was so scared. I hid. I didn't wait for Harvey! I left him!"

The detective tried to comfort Millie with assurances that she'd done the right thing. She looked to a now opened door. "You hid is the panic room?"

The redhead nodded before again beginning to sob. "Harvey built it for home invasions." She looked up with tear filled eyes. "Is he dead? Is Harvey dead? Was it my fault? Closing the--"

The detective interrupted Millie with calming words and pats on her trembling hands. "No, sweetheart! You did the right thing. You're alive! Mister Reed would have wanted that. He would have wanted you to be safe."

Liz did her best to calm the distraught woman for a long moment while promising that she and her fellow detectives would find answers to the horrific crime. Once she'd calmed Millie as much as possible, she began again with a more serious tone. "Millie. Mister Reed-- Harvey. You-- You know what he did for a living, yes?" Liz got no answer which told her that the answer was yes. "I don't mean to be insensitive." She paused. "You know what Harvey's business was, yes?" She paused again. She didn't want to push the traumatized woman, but she needed answers. "Millie. Harvey was--"

The redhead sobbed. "Porn." She sobbed again. "He made porn. He was a porn king!"

Liz watched as Millie broke down again. She cursed herself for her lack of the cop version of bedside manner. She waited until the young woman finished another round of sobs and tears before gently asking a dozen or so questions about Millie's knowledge of Harvey, of his business, and of his associates. The redhead's answers were almost always negative. She simply didn't know anything.

The detective had asked in the initial interview what Millie's relationship to the deceased had been and got the dissatisfying and repeated answer of I live here.. Liz lifted the young woman's chin with gentle fingers and spoke in a soft, compassionate tone. "Millie. Were you one of Mister Reed's models? Were you-- Were you in his movies?"

Millie shook her head, then sobbed once again loudly. She almost burst when she answered, "I'm his daughter!"



Liz spent a few minutes trading information with her fellow detectives before searching about her for a very specific face. When she found him, the detective gestured him near with curling fingers. "Third floor. Witness's name is Millie-- Mildred Thomas. I need a full work up. DNA swab, fingerprints, photos."

She saw the expression on his face but waved off any possible protestations. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Not your job. I need you to do this for me. You!"

He started off but only got a handful of steps before she called him back and stepped up close, looking hard into the man's eyes as she spoke to him in a serious tone. "Don't be a pig! She's vulnerable, fragile. The vic' may have been her father. She's hurting right now. She doesn't need those big eyes of yours ogling her."

She sent him on his way again, then again quickly called for him to stop. She walked over close to him, speaking in almost a whisper. "Do you know this woman? Mildred 'Millie' Thomas?" She listened to his response. "Do you have previous experience with Harvey Reed? A previous case maybe?" Again she listened to his answer. She studied him for a moment, then explained her question. "She-- the witness. She was nervous. Didn't want the CSI guys coming up for DNA, prints, pics. She was on the balcony and spotted you. She said you looked nice."

Again Liz paused, looking for a response from the Tech. It was her job to be suspicious at all times and of all people, even her own people. She found it incredible -- by the true definition of the word -- that this traumatized woman would look down to the street from three stories, see an anonymous law enforcement employment, and suddenly declare about her upcoming tests How about him? He looks nice.

She shooed him off to do his work.



Upstairs, Millie had been watching the two cops from behind the shadows of the drapes. When she saw the man heading for the house, she backed into the bedroom. She shed the thick robe hiding her form and checked her appearance in the mirror. She turned left and right, then all the way around to look at her tight, young ass. Millie smiled, pleased with herself.

She crossed to the far side of the massive bedroom suite and opened the second set of sliding glass doors there. She stepped out onto the balcony and scanned about herself. The other side of the home looked out upon the coast highway, a small quaint mall with gift shops and sidewalk cafes, and dozens of other expensive, oceanfront homes. This side, however, looked out only upon Mother Nature's beauty and power. To her left reaching out to the distant horizon was the beautiful, blue Pacific Ocean. To her right were the tall basalt cliffs that that ocean had been pounding against for millions of years. And directly below her was 150 feet of straight down nothing. She leaned over and looked down to see the waves crashing against the rocks, sending up plumes of spray and mist.

Behind her, the sound of the bedroom door opening caught Millie's attention. She didn't turn through. Instead, she simply stood there looking out upon the beauty and wonder of Mother Nature. She hoped that the man behind her was looking at her and also thinking the beauty and wonder of Mother Nature.

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Finally he called for her attention. Millie turned and smiled politely. She pulled her sweater up over her shoulders as if trying to conceal at least a bit of her scantily dressed body. "It was warm in there. I needed air."

She turned to face him. If he let his eyes wander downward, he would see her smallish breasts. The chill of the ocean breeze had hardened her nipples to the point that even a blind man could detect them.

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Down farther, under the semi-sheer fabric of her boy shorts, a small triangular patch of a thong hid her remaining womanly features but only barely. She smiled politely to the man, nodded past him to the robe slung over a chair, and asked, "Do you mind?"

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Robert "Bob" Kershaw had had a rather tumultuous morning.

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He'd been promoted to detective only three weeks ago and so far he'd tagged along with Detective Harris on a few crime scenes "to observe" as the sharp woman had called it. But today's crime scene had been enough to make even seasoned veterans balk. The gunshot wounds on the vic were gruesome, meaning that someone really had it in for this guy. Bob had taken one look at the victim and tossed his cookies on the floor, making the crime scene guys glare at him and the veteran cops to laugh derisively.

He'd been unceremoniously dragged outside and chewed out by Det. Harris and the first respondents' leader both. At the same time. Like he could help it that he hadn't seen such severe wounds before, or smelt the innards of the pornographer spattered across the floor and walls. It didn't take a genius to see that someone had taken a personal interest in seeing Mr. Harvey Reed suffer before he died.

As he stood outside and regained his composure, the stories began to circulate about the vic and the eyewitness. Words like "porn producer" and "Gorgeous redhead" were bandied about in equal measure. There was an influx of cops headed for the third floor to ogle her. Bob really didn't care for that overt display of alpha male behaviour. If he reacted to the crime scene like he did, imagine what it would do to a young woman, presumably unused to violence of any kind. And to get a bunch of horny cops ogling her on top of that? Bob found it unseemly.

For a while he was used for crowd control, a task he felt better suited to than actual detectivce's work despite him not being a very imposing figure at 5' 11". Bob had liked patrol work as it had been varied, and he got to meet a lot of interesting and funny characters in addition to the perps he and his partner apprehended. But his father, one of the city's übercops had different plans. HIS son wasn't going to beat the pavement indefinitely, no sir! Truth be told, Bob hadn't wanted to be a cop at all. But his father had put the pressure on Bob, telling him that three generations of male Kershaws before him had been cops, and who was HE to spurn a family tradition? Bob's biggest secret was that he wanted to write. He'd dabbled in creative writing, both poems and short stories, all hidden on his desktop computer at home.

The thought of his PC back home brought a wry smile to his face. It was expected of him to do casework from home after he got off work. The secure line to the precinct had been established with an almost unseemly haste, and Bob knew he had his father to thank for that as well. When he'd mentioned it to Det. Harris she'd grown pale with anger and marched off to their supervisor, and a yelling match ensued, in which all bystanders and bypassers learned that it had taken close to a year before she had gotten a secure line. Bob hated the preferential treatment bestowed on him because of his father, and the resulting hatred of his colleagues.

Bob's reverie was interrupted by Det. Harris. "Third floor. Witness's name is Millie-- Mildred Thomas. I need a full work up. DNA swab, fingerprints, photos. Yeah, yeah, I know. Not your job. I need you to do this for me. You!"

Was this a test? If that was the case he wouldn't disappoint her. He gave the curtest of nods before he gathered his suitcase and set off. He'd taken about two steps when she called him back. "Don't be a pig! She's vulnerable, fragile. The vic' may have been her father. She's hurting right now. She doesn't need those big eyes of yours ogling her."

That stung. Everyone and his or her mother knew that Bob Kershaw wasn't exactly a ladies' man. He'd had precisely two girlfriends in his 27 years and had only had sex with the last one. It was no secret that Bob Kershaw was pining for female attention. But he was shy when it came to romantic matters, painfully shy and awkward. And now she was sending him up to what was described as a drop dead gorgeous redhead? Yup. This WAS a test, a sadistic test designed to torture him.

He set off again only to be called back AGAIN! What!? He thought to himself. Are you going to lay into me again for being a MAN!? It was no secret that Det. Harris had had to fight longer and harder than her male colleagues to get to where she was. And if it wasn't for her propensity for ballbusting she'd picked up along the way, Bob might have admired her for not giving up on her dream.

But this time, something was off in Det. Liz Harris' demeanor. She spoke to him as an equal in a low voice: "Do you know this woman? Mildred 'Millie' Thomas?" Bob could only shake his head. "The name means nothing to me, Lieutenant."

"Do you have previous experience with Harvey Reed? A previous case maybe?" This time he blushed. The legend "A Harvey Reed Production" wasn't unknown to him, and he told her so, stuttering and blushing. But no, he'd never met the man.

"She-- the witness. She was nervous. Didn't want the CSI guys coming up for DNA, prints, pics. She was on the balcony and spotted you. She said you looked nice." This time, Bob balked. He'd seen a flash of red hair on one of the third floor balconies as he managed the onlookers, but he'd quickly averted his eyes as he always did when he saw a beautiful woman in real life. He hated the thought that his looking at someone he found beautiful could cause discomfort. And so he erred on the side of caution and looked away quickly. He found it more than a little strange that she'd picked HIM of all people. But maybe she'd noticed that he hadn't been one of the alpha male gorillas that had scrambled up the stairs to see her? It might be as simple as that.

Det. Harris sent him off to do what he'd been told to do, and Bob swallowed a lump in his throat as he, averting his eyes, passed the body of Harvey Reed and ascended the stairs. He couldn't help but notice that the life of a porn producer had paid off handsomely. Upscale neighbourhood, rich lavish house with expensive rugs and furniture, and an ocean view most people would kill for.

Reaching the bedroom door, he steeled himself. He'd briefly glanced into other rooms before coming to this closed door. He carefully opened it and went inside. And his heart almost stopped. There, only a few feet away from him, was the most gorgeous female form he'd ever seen. It was slender yet curvy and crowned with a cascade of exquisite red hair that took his breath away. He stood gaping like a fish for a few seconds while a passage formed in his head. And he wept, for he knew that beauty such as this was not for him.

Then he snapped out of it. He had a job to do and the poor girl was traumatized as it was. "Um, Miss Thomas? I- I'm here to get your prints and pictures and DNA." She turned around and draped her sweater over her shoulder, and Bob had to summon all his strength to not openly gawk at her. Green eyes looked at him from under that red hair, and her form viewed from the front was even more enticing than from the back. It was warm in there. I needed the air.

Bob could only nod in response. Then she pointed at her robe: "Do you mind?" Bob scrambled over his feet like an eager puppy to get her robe and give it to her. He held out her robe, trying not to stare at her enticing form. There was a hint of soft warmth as her fingers briefly touched his as she took the robe from him.

He found it easier to look at her when she was covered up, and he quickly applied his most professional demeanor. It wasn't very convincing.

"I hate to put you through this Miss Thomas, but this is standard procedure, after all. Now I need to sw-swab your mouth for DNA, so if you could open wide for me, please?" He quickly swabbed the insides of her mouth, trying not to focus on the pearly white teeth or the luscious red and full lips that looked so soft and enticing.

Next came the fingerprints and he had to take the full set, which meant that he had to ink and press down each and every finger on her soft and dainty hands. He was in heaven and he was in hell. "It-it won't wash off right away, I'm afraid. The ink, that is. Um, but if you use alcohol of some sort most of it will disappear right away, only alcohol dries out the pores and ... but it's nothing a little moisturizer won't fix."

What the hell was he doing!? Like she cared one iota about whether or not the ink would wash off or not! Her FATHER was dead, for crying out loud!

And finally, the photographs. "I need you to puh-pull your hair back and away from your ears, Miss Thomas."

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Millie had to reign in the smile threatening to spread across her face as she watched the man scrambled to retrieve the dead man's robe for her. She loved to befuddle men with her sexuality. As he offered out the robe, Millie slowly turned her back -- and her scantily clad ass -- to him again, reaching an arm out in an obvious desire for him to help her into the oversized robe. As he did, she intentionally stepped back a tiny bit, pressing into him for just an instant before giggling. "Sorry. I'm just-- I'm a bit overwhelmed by all this."

She accompanied the man back over to the table where she had given her Academy Award winning performance to the female detective twenty minutes earlier. She watched him with an attentive gaze as he unloaded the tools of his trade. As he prepared to lifted the cheek swab stick and began to make his preemptory apologies for putting her through this, she cut in. "What do I call you? Captain? Lieutenant?"

Millie knew he wasn't either, of course. She knew very well who Robert Kershaw was. She hadn't picked him out of the mass of cops on the street below on accident. Millie knew he would be here today, that he'd been on shift. She'd culled him out of the herd of cops with her act of being overwhelmed earlier by all the other males. Of course, she'd never imagined that he would be a good guy about not coming up to ogle her in her underwear before she fled to the bathroom. His chivalry had been a fortunate accident.

Once he'd told Millie his name and true rank, she leaned toward him slightly, met his gaze, licked her lips in a slightly erotic way, then opened her mouth to allow him to swab the inside of her cheek. It was far more erotic than CSI agents were likely used to. Taking her fingerprints was nearly as bad. Each time he took hold of Millie's hands, she giggled and squirmed. "Sorry. You're tickling me."

They got through the printing finally. Millie was ready for Robert when he reached for the camera. She stood and turned from him. As she walked toward the only section of wall not occupied by an expensive, limited edition print or one of a kind statue or sculpture, Millie let the robe slip slowly from her shoulders, down her arms, and to the ground. For the third time, she was flaunting her firm ass cheeks to the man. At the wall she turned to face Robert. She cocked her head and smiled, then swept a hand across her just below her face like one of the Price is Right models showing off a new car. She explained the lack of the robe. "White makes me look darker in photographs."

Millie posed for Robert's pictures. She looked directly on, turned right, turned left. When he was done, she gave him a devilish smile and giggle. She turned in profile to the man, stuck a sexy pose, and asked, "Are you sure you don't want more?"

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Bob was seriously flustered by the time he was ready to take her pictures. He'd told her his rank (Sergeant). She'd accidentally pressed her body against him, and giggled and squirmed oh-so-deliciously when he took her prints. And then there was that look she gave him right before he swabbed her. If Bob hadn't known better he'd say she was flirting with him. But that couldn't be, could it? More probable than not, she was still in shock. Maybe the flirtatious manner was a coping mechanism?

But then she cast off the robe, and Bob forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing. She was simply ... he searched for the right word. Pretty? Gorgeous? Celestial? He gave up. There was no word in his vocabulary to describe her. But at that moment she could have asked him to do almost anything if it would assure him a night of passion with her.

Her voice snapped him out of it: "White makes me look darker in photographs." He fumbled with the camera, looking down to hide his blushing face. She struck the right poses for him, still with that bemused coquettish look on her face. Bob was torn between exasperation and desire for her, and he seriously wondered if she was in shock or was making fun of him. That she was actually flirting seemed very unlikely to him.

But then she struck that deliciously naughty pose and asked him: "Are you sure you don't want more?" Bob did a great impersonation of a fish as he stared at her while opening and closing his mouth. More WHAT!? he asked himself. He unscrambled his brain as best he could and told her in as formal a voice as he could muster: "Ah, um, I think I've got all the pictures I need, thanks. And besides," a short nervous chuckle as he dared a glimpse in her direction, "I don't think that pose would survive very long in the archives."

He started gathering his gear, but paused. "Um, miss Thomas. I, uh, was wondering if you have someone to talk to or to look after you? I imagine this has been very traumatic for you and you shouldn't be alone right now. If not, I mean, if you don't have anyone ... that is, if you need someone to talk to I could ..." He trailed off. He grabbed a notepad and scribbled down his cellphone number.

He held the note for a few seconds. This was a breach of several protocols. But he felt sorry for her. And he lusted after her. And she might just want to talk. Maybe the flirting behaviour was just her cry for help, maybe she just- his thoughts were interrupted as she gingerly took the note from him, her fingers brushing against his.

"That's, that's my personal number if you, you know need a friend or whatever to talk to."

In the back of his mind alarm bells were going off. He'd seen victims, witnesses, and next of kin at crime scenes before, and her behaviour didn't match what he had seen and knew. He ignored the alarm. For now.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

"That's, that's my personal number..." Robert began, seeming about to crack from nervousness to Millie. He finished, "...if you, you know, need a friend or whatever to talk to."

Millie smiled to Robert, showing her delight with his chivalry. She moved up to the Sergeant until only inches separated their bodies. She stood on her tippy toes, placing her hands gently upon his shoulders, leaned in, and kissed him softly on the cheek. She pulled back, keeping her face close to his. "Thank you. I will."

She dropped back to her flat, bare feet and moved away. She was done for now. He'd given her his phone number. First hurtle jumped. She watched as Robert collected his gear, quiet and still smiling politely, almost flirtatiously. That smile disappeared quickly when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Detective Harris entered the room. Liz slowed and looked between the two, the cop and the witness to whom he'd given his phone number.

Millie wondered whether the detective had caught any of the flirting. She didn't think so. She was always pretty careful when she was working a mark, as she had been Robert. She gave Liz a tentative smile. "I was right, detective." She glanced at Robert, then back to Liz. "He was nice. Thank you for letting him help. Can I--?"

Millie pointed toward the bathroom and told the more senior law enforcement officer she would like to clean up. Liz nodded. "Go ahead. Pack a bag after that. We'll move you to a hotel until you can find a place to--"

Millie's eyes grew and her mouth fell open. "I can't stay here?"

The detective looked taken aback. "Miss Thomas. A man was killed downstairs."

Millie's performance was back on as she seemed to lose ten years of age in her tone. "It's my home."

"It's a crime scene."

Millie's eyes began to tear up. "Do I have to go?"

Liz stared in disbelief. The body of her father had only just minutes earlier been removed. The carpet, walls, furniture, sculptures, paintings, and more were splattered or soaked with the man's blood. Why in the world would this young woman want to remain here? Then another thought came to the cop. "We are still looking for the men who committed this crime, Millie."

Millie said softly, "I don't mean to sound inappreciative but-- Please, detective, I don't want to leave."

"They could come back?"

"Why would they?"

Liz hesitated. Why would they? The detective couldn't answer that question because she didn't know why Harvey Reed had been killed.

Millie asked timidly, "Can you make me?"

Liz cocked her head, studying the younger woman. "Make you leave?"

"Can you make me leave?"

"No."

She could, actually. The home was an active crime scene, and Millie Thomas was a material witness. Liz could take the woman into protective custody and sequester her in a safe house or well guarded hotel. But she was a smart cop, and her brain was already working a plan. Liz drew and released an exasperated breath. "No. I can't make you. But--"

Millie knew what was coming. She said quickly, "I won't go in there! I won't go in that room." She donned a terrified look, feigning a tremble as if a shiver had climbed her spine. She spoke almost in a whisper. "I won't ever go in that room again."

Liz looked to Robert as he turned, his gear all put away. She gestured for the product of his labor, taking from him the evidence bag filled with the prints, swab, and flash drive with the pictures on it. She gestured him away with a nod of her head, then studied Millie as the younger woman watched the Sergeant depart. With her firm, professional tone she said, "Stay out of that room. Don't leave the house. Don't open the door for anyone." She pointed a finger directly at Millie. "Anyone! If I send anyone to talk to you or retrieve you, I will call you first." She pulled out a business card and gave it to Millie. "That's my number. And I'm going to put a unit out front. I'll call you with the officers' cell numbers. If you need anything, you call them. No one else! Them or me, understand?"

Millie nodded energetically. "I understand. Thank you. Liz. Thank you, Liz."


Downstairs, the detective found Robert at his vehicle. "How was she?"

Liz was concerned about Millie, but she also felt the young woman was hiding something. She listened to Robert's assessment of her witness, wondering whether he had picked up anything from the witness's demeanor that might not have been revealed to her. Would his being just a cop -- not the lead detective -- make a difference? Would his being a man make a difference?

When he was done, she told him her plan. "I'm going to leave a car out front. Visible. I want them obvious, in case our perps haven't been apprehended and decide to return. At 2100, I'm going to pull them off. Make it look as if they were called away. If our perps do return, there'll be a surprise waiting for them, two more units within view of the front."

She knew it was a risk. And she knew that if anything went wrong, she could be risking her career. But Liz had advanced quickly in that career by accomplishing things others couldn't-- Or wouldn't. And thus far, she'd never had anything go wrong.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

She was suddenly very close, so close that Bob thought he could feel the heat radiating off of her, close enough that her perfumed scent filled his nostrils, close enough to- soft warm hands on his shoulders, soft lips on his cheek. He drew his breath sharply in surprise, but before he could exhale she was off him, standing close still. "Thank you. I will." And she withdrew, leaving Bob feeling empty inside.

She was watching him as he packed up the suitcase again, watching and smiling. Bob stole a few glances at her. She just watched him and smiled. It was very flattering and a little unnerving. Bob was not used to this kind of attention from a beautiful girl. He felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed when Detective Harris entered the room. His attention on his boss, he missed the change in Miss Thomas's face.

"I was right, detective. He was nice. Thank you for letting him help."

And now she praised him! Bob felt he had to say something, but the two women were now talking about Miss Thomas and where she should stay. Bob felt it wasn't smart to leave Miss Thomas here and he was about to open his mouth and weigh in his opinion. Miss Thomas had sold her performance a little too well to Bob. He now was convinced she'd been in shock and that the strain from the morning's terrible events started to show. He was convinced a breakdown was imminent.

Detective Harris caught his movement and held out her hands for the evidence, and like that he was dismissed. His protest died and he shuffled out of the room, past the crime scene, and out into the sunlight. He had to wait for Harris because they rode in the same car, him being the driver. "Privilege of rank" was her excuse, although he suspected she got a kick out of having Comissioner Kershaw's son as a driver.

After a while, Harris joined him. "How was she?", she asked as they got into the vehicle. Bob thought for a moment, unsure about how much he should tell his boss. "Well Lieutenant, I'm not sure what to make of her. She seemed fine one minute, and the next she was afraid and almost crying. When we were alone, she almost seemed ... well ... happy?" He didn't tell Harris about the flirtatious conduct of Miss Thomas. He told himself it was a way for her to cope, to feel like she was in charge. And he wanted the one good experience he'd had with a beautiful woman in a long while to be his, and his alone, not the subject of prying questions and second guessing. Because no one would believe him if he said what he wanted to believe: that she liked him.

Bob's train of thought came to a screeching halt. Harris was staring intently at him over the rim of her sunglasses, her eyebrows raised. Bob knew that look only too well. She suspected a lie or a half-truth. The woman was uncanny. Strangely though, she said nothing.

Detective Liz Harris was worried. Bob wasn't telling her everything. He had several "tells": He blushed. He had small pauses when he spoke as if searching for the right thing to say instead of giving her his straight take of what Miss Thomas was like. He unconsciously covered his mouth when he spoke, as if to hide his lies. Never play poker, Bob. They'll tear you apart, she thought as she watched him. It was just her luck to be saddled with the son of one of the city's most famous and influental cops. She'd been pulled aside when he got assigned to her to be told that he was to be kept out of harm's way. When he was a regular cop working a beat he'd been assigned to the safest neighbourhoods and partnered with seasoned veterans. The poor kid hadn't had a real chance to prove his mettle because he was protected from Up High. She'd been annoyed with him while simultaneously feeling sorry for him. She decided that the boys club Up High could go fuck themselves as she told Bob about her plan to lure the murderers out.

Bob listened to the simple yet effective plan. He had to admit, Harris knew what she was doing. And she was tough as nails. But he hoped she wasn't placing Miss Thomas in any danger. The rest of the day back at the precinct he had to endure pointed comments and barbs about his throwing up and for being singled out to go up to the witness. It was a big joke to them, him being so awkward and shy around women. But today he didn't care. He still remembered that peck on his cheek and he sat daydreaming about what might have been if he'd been bolder and kissed her back. In short, he didn't get much done at the station after they returned from the crime scene.

He went home and studied the case files from his own den. After the breakup with Carol two years ago he bought her out of the flat, leaving him ample space for himself. The lab results weren't done, and there was nothing in the reports he didn't already know. He worked up a sweat on his exercycle before he went to work on his punching bag, kicking and punching to quell the restlessness that was growing in him. He kept at it for almost an hour before he with a final uppercut and frustrated growl gave it up. Her face flashed before his inner eye constantly, the short peck on his cheek haunted him, as did the touch of her body and her fingers as she giggled and- STOP!

He checked himself. Nothing good would come of these mental masturbations. In the shower he broke down and wept. He was frustrated and angry with his lack of self confidence when it came to women. It saddened and disgusted him that he so easily fell in love with a woman that he'd been touched by in the space of maybe ten minutes. And it disgusted him that he broke down and wept like this. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror he looked at himself. He wasn't a walking muscle mountain like some of his colleagues. He was well proportioned and had wiry and well defined muscles, short black hair and hazel brown eyes and a goatee he groomed and maintained more to annoy his father than anything else.

"You disgust me," he told his mirror image. "No wonder they make jokes about you, you sniveling lovesick puppy." The impromptu peptalk didn't lift his mood any. He got dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt and went about microwaving his dinner before settling down on the couch with a soda and some inane crime series. The exercise and the food made him drowsy, and he nodded off as the crook was apprehended while the main character donned his sunglasses AGAIN.

He awoke abruptly by an insistent buzzing sound. Cellphone. Dark. Late. His sleep addled brain needed a few seconds to piece together what was what, and only after a minute did he summon the wherewithal to actually grab his phone and read: "I'm scared. Can you come sit with me. Please??"
The clock on his phone told him it was 9:16 PM. He'd slept for an hour.

And suddenly he was wide awake. He checked the number and confirmed what he'd hoped: it was Miss Thomas, and she needed him. He changed his clothes, clipped his service pistol (something he considered a necessary evil), handcuffs, and badge to his belt before trotting out to his car and switching on the police radio. He drove over to the crime scene as fast as he could without breaking any major laws, his mind racing. He needed to get by the patrol cars.

He stopped a few blocks away, pondering. He needed some sort of diversion. He snuck out of his car and went a roundabout way to end up near the shopping center across the road from her. There were still people sitting on the sidewalk cafés and milling to and fro. Playing it cool, Bob waited in the shadows for an opportunity. A small group of people got up from a table to cross the street and Bob snuck along with them, close enough to be mistaken for one of the little group and his face turned down. When they reached the sidewalk on her side of the street, he kept on walking up on her property. Then he hid. There was no squeal of spinning tires and no alarm of any kind. He risked it and went up to her door.

He tested the door and found it unlocked, much to his surprise. He gingerly lifted the frail yellow crime scene tape and went inside. The lights were subdued, and he needed to adjust his eyes for a minute. Then he cautiously went about looking for her. Instinct told him to begin where they'd first met. And so he climbed the stairs and stopped outside the door of the bedroom where he'd taken samples from her earlier. He knocked gently and spoke. "Miss Thomas? It's Sergeant Robert Kershaw. You texted me about 20 minutes ago? I'm coming in."

He certainly sounded braver than he felt. He opened the door and went inside. And there she was! Her back was turned against him and she was covered by blankets. He moved around the bed and felt an immediate pang of pity when he saw her. Her face was a mask of anguish and fear. Speaking in a slow steady voice and focusing on her eyes, he told her: "I'm here now. I'll stay with you as long as you want. I guess the car parked in front of your house was called out on an emergency." He reached out and patted her shoulder clumsily. "I'll watch over you Miss Thomas. Don't you worry."

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

At the same time that Robert was chastising himself for being the failure he was so anxious to evolve away from, Millie was congratulating herself for being the skilled manipulator she'd been training to be since she was a young teenager. You didn't learn to play a piano's keys overnight. You didn't learn to play a man's heart strings overnight either. Millie had been at this since the first time a boy had asked to kiss her. Maybe even before that.

She spent the rest of the evening preparing for her long term relationship with Robert. First she'd worked the cops sitting outside her house. She'd gone to the windows often, making it appear as if she was frightened that they'd abandoned her already. She used the cell phone number the tall one had provided six times over just two hours. Once they came to get her food and drink from the kitchen, which she'd told them was so close to the crime scene that she simply couldn't bear to go down there. Another time they came to check out a sound she'd claimed to here.

Each time they reassured Millie over the phone, she thanked them profusely. Each time they came inside she was bundled up tightly in that big, heavy robe. She wanted them to see her frightened. She'd received a call just before 9pm, just as the light's of the patrol car out front flooded the neighborhood with powerful red, white, and blue flashes. It was the tall cop. "Millie, we have to respond to a call, but don't be afraid. There are two unmarked units outside. They are watching you. Don't be afraid! We'll be right back."

She thanked them, waited an appropriate time to give credence to her fear, and texted Robert. She'd half expected a text telling her he couldn't come. He'd been very friendly before he left that afternoon, offering his assistance with his phone number. But Millie half expected the Big Head to have talked the Little Head down by now and convinced him that future involvement with the scared little girl in the murder house was a bad idea.

Then she heard him call out. "Miss Thomas? It's Sergeant Robert Kershaw. You texted me about 20 minutes ago? I'm coming in."

She'd been standing at the glass doors, looking out at the crabbing boats bouncing in the swells 8 miles off shore. She spun, donned a wide smile, and dropped the heavy robe. Millie was again dressed scantily. She hurried to the bed and crawled under the covers, pulling them and her knees up to her chest.

He entered to the rear of her as she whimpered softly and looked over her shoulder. "I'm here now. I'll stay with you as long as you want."

She shifted a bit under the covers, allowing them to fall off her shoulders and yet contain her sexy body. She begged, "Sit with me, Robert. Please."

He moved over to the bed. "I guess the car parked in front of your house was called out on an emergency."

She sobbed, just once, quick and short. She sounded pitiful. "They left me alone."

Robert patted her shoulder clumsily. It felt to Millie as if he was afraid she might be a live wire, ready to shock him to death if he got to close. "I'll watch over you Miss Thomas. Don't you worry."

As he sat, Millie crawled out from under the blankets, revealing her lack of clothing. She laid into the Sergeant, the side of her face to his strong chest, her left arm reaching around his back to clutch his torso desperately, her right knee bending over his own. Her right hand skillfully brought the blankets over the top of her and part of Robert. She wanted him to stay, possibly falling asleep with her here without having to move an inch. But Millie wasn't a masochist, so she didn't want to spend the night shivering in the open air, either. As she cradled into Robert's body, she pleaded with a soft voice, "Don't leave me, Robert."

 

[Niceandbrutal]

She was on him like a shot as soon as he sat down. He actually had a short panic attack when he saw her scantily clad form in a brief flash when she lifted the blanket and wrapping herself around him. It was actually quite uncomfortable for him, so he snaked his arms loose and reassured her that he was only going to unfasten his badge, his handcuffs, and his gun from his belt. The thought of him getting up and leaving had given her a panicked look that made his heart ache. He placed his gun within arm's reach and settled down with her still wrapping her arms around him.

Bob was painfully aware that the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on was desperately clinging to him as if her life depended on it, and that she was almost naked. He felt the warmth and softness of her skin in patches where his own skin was exposed. He had no way to comfortably keep his right arm away from her, so he rested it gingerly, tentatively on her shoulder. Her hair felt soft, and he was acutely aware of her breath on hi chest, only inches from his nipple. And his dick, predictably, became engorged.

He tried nonchalantly crossing his legs. He tried thinking of Bob Dole naked. ANYTHING so she wouldn't brush against him and find a lump of stiff cock in bed with her. After a few awkwards moments of silence, she asked him to please speak. She sounded like a frightened little girl asking him to tell her a story. And so he talked. He didn't really know what to talk about at first, but he started hesitantly to talk about books he'd read and movies he'd seen. This slowly segued into the tale om him and Carol. It was a boring tale to be sure, but he suspected she only needed the steady drone of his voice to fall asleep to. And so he dissected his only relationship like you can only do to a perfect stranger. What shone through without him addressing it consciously was that he had little to no self-esteem and that Carol had left him because he wasn't ambitious enough. And that he was bitter because he felt used.

He was about to lay into Carol with a vengeance when he was interrupted by a soft snore from the redheaded beauty in his arms. She was fast asleep. Bob chuckled selfconsciously. Yup. He still could make a girl fall asleep. He tried to free himself from her so that she could sleep alone, but every movement away from her caused drowsy protesting noises from her. He settled further down in bed with her and she sighed contentedly and snuggled closer to him in her sleep.

He looked down on her sleeping form. She had a peaceful angelic look that made his heart ache for her. He had to keep reminding himself that the poor girl was traumatized and that the last thing she needed were advances from him. And so he lay back his head as his fingers started gently stroking her hair. It was soft and luxuriously rich, and he'd be ashamed of himself if it weren't for the fact that she made appreciative sighs as he caressed her locks.

Little by little, his eyes started burning with fatigue and his body felt comfortably warm and heavy. And when he came to the stage where he thought it smart to "rest his eyes", he was lost. Bob fell asleep with a material witness in his arms.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Millie moved enough to allow Robert to shed the tools of his trade, then laid even more tightly into his body once he'd slumped back into the stack of pillows she'd placed just for this opportunity. With the blankets placed, she wrapped her right arm around the front of his torso as she already had the left arm behind it. It wasn't the type of interaction a police sergeant was supposed to have with the material witness to a brutal murder.

Although it was meant to be a ploy, Millie was enjoying the closeness as much as Robert was. She liked men. She liked men a lot! She wasn't a slut by any means. But she rarely went a week without sex of one form or another. It didn't always come from men. In fact, for pleasure's sake alone, she preferred women. Or combos. Threesomes were nice! But for what she referred to as her work, Millie almost always found her pleasures in the arms of a man. Thus was the nature of her business.

Once the two of them were as comfortable as they could be -- and shouldn't be -- Millie whispered to the man tentatively holding her. "Talk to me, Robert. Anything. I just need to hear someone's voice. I need to hear your voice."

His nervousness was obvious. It was also cute. Millie wasn't playing fair. She'd lured him here, likely in violation of his personal and career ethics. She'd dressed down before his arrival. And now she was laying into him as if they were on their third date, when so many people thought sex was a cultural given. Fuck, who waits for the third date, she mused, feeling Robert's muscular form in her arms. Prudish losers.

He began just chatting, then speaking of books, movies. It was obvious that Robert didn't do this much. She wondered when the last time was that he'd had a girl friend. Her true interest was when the last time he got laid! She smiled, unseen by him, wondering how he would react if she suddenly asked him that question. Too much, too fast. Maintain your cover. "Tell me something about yourself, Robert. Are you married? Girlfriend?"

He started talking about his ex, Carol. Millie's interest and attention seriously perked up here. She didn't show this to Robert though. Her body language was telling him she was drifting toward unconsciousness. But every time he stopped talking, as if thinking she might already be asleep, Millie responded as if the silence had awoken her. "Hmm--? I'm listening. I'm awake. More. Tell me more."

Then she would nestle into him again, urging him on. Millie was learning far more from the cop than Robert probably knew he was saying. His life -- his sex life, possibly his entire personal life -- was one big mess! She felt sorry for the man. It was obvious that he was intelligent. It was obvious that he was nice. Looking at him earlier and now curling into him, it was obvious that he was good looking and physically appealing.

So, what was Robert's problem? Millie knew that despite the man not touching on that problem here. It was Commissioner Kershaw, Robert's father. The man was a legend in the city. He was so influential, there had been talk about the man moving into the political arena. Millie didn't know anything more about that end of the life of Robert's Old Man.

All she knew about the elder Kershaw was that he'd played a key part in the cold case was at the heart of every thing taking place here today. It was the reason Millie was cuddling up next to the confidence-lacking son of the former lead detective on the case that had changed the redhead's life even before she was born. She and her mother had been planning the upcoming events for as long as she could remember.

Millie recalled her mother's mantra, Vengeance will be mine. It was vengeance for her mother. But for Millie, it went far beyond getting even. She simply wanted to know the truth-- behind her father-- behind the crimes he'd been accused of-- behind his disappearance-- and behind the disappearance of the satchel her mother had for years told her contained the little souvenirs her father had supposedly collected from his victims-- souvenirs that included the Lavender Ribbon.

The necklace had been the property of Edith Livingstone, the wife of one of the city's most influential businessmen. It included 10 perfect diamonds of varying sized totally more than 110 carats, alternating with 9 matching amethysts totally nearly 300 carats. Although in any other piece of jewelry, the diamonds would have given the necklace its priceless value, in the Lavender Ribbon it was the amethysts that stole the show. The history behind the stones went back nearly a thousand years.

Livingstone had been the third victim of what would turn out to be a serial killing spree with 9 victims. It was the disappearance of the necklace that had given the case its name. And it had been that disappearance that had marked Millie's father as a person of interest in the crime. The father to be had sworn his innocence, but the circumstances that followed over the next six months of killing only strengthened the case against the man. Then one night just days before his daughter's birth-- Carlton Thomas simply vanished. And Millie's mother blamed Robert's father-- Commissioner Kershaw.

And now Millie was gleaning little details about the man's son, holding her tightly under the covers. She let him finish his current topic, waited a moment, then let a slight snore slip out. Soon enough, he was sound asleep next to her...



Seven hours later, she was standing over Robert as he jerked awake. As he looked up to her with a shocked expression, she emphasized the tray of food in her hands. "The cops are back. They made me breakfast. They don't know you're here, obviously. It's--" She looked to the clock on the wall before looking back to Robert who was scrambling out of the bed in what looked like a panic. "It's almost 6am. Sun'll be up soon. Can you stay, or...?"

She gave him a sad puppy face look, but she knew that he had to leave. After he left, she would test the tracer she'd place in between the metal and leather of his badge, as well as the burner phone that she'd clone off his while he slept.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Sleep. Warm blessed sleep. Something soft and warm kept him grounded, preventing any bad dreams, reminding him of what true comfort felt like. He slipped into deep sleep, oblivious to the fact that his sleeping partner slipped out of bed and tampered with his gear. All he knew was that the soft and fragrant warmth left him. And so, little by little, he woke up.

He jerked awake, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings and the fact that he'd slept in his clothes. The thing that cleared the cobwebs from his head though, was the beautiful redhead standing in front of him, brandishing a tray of food.

"It's almost 6am. Sun'll be up soon. Can you stay, or...?"

Oh. Oh no. He couldn't. He snuck up to the balcony door facing the cafés and the shopping center. Yup. The red, white, and blue was blatantly parked out in front of the house. Great. Shit!

He wavered at the look she gave him, but it'd be his ass if he was discovered here with her. Gathering his gear, he tried remembering what he'd read about the house in the reports. And- yes! Large side windows on the first floor. They had been mentioned as a possible entryway for the assailants.

"Listen, Mil- Miss Thomas. I can't be seen leaving the house by the front door. I have to sneak out the side windows on the first floor. I'd love to stay for breakfast, but maybe when, um, when this thing blows over, we could ... we ..."

His courage failed him. He'd wanted to know if he could have a raincheck on that breakfast, but he was sure she was just being nice to him to thank him for staying with her and watching over her during the night. He didn't want to be pushy. His mind blanked out the fact that she had all but asked him to stay.

He looked at her, torn, before he sighed helplessly and told her: "I really have to go. I'll see myself out. If- uh, if there's anything you, y'know, want to talk to me about, um, counseling for instance, please tell me."

And then he was out the door, crept down the stairs, and stealthed out the side windows into the twilight. He was not seen.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Millie feigned a disappointed expression as Robert left. She moved to the top of the stairs, from which she could see him heading for the window that was his only inconspicuous escape. She almost laughed. How many jokes, sitcoms, and big screen romantic comedies had included a scene of a man jumping out a bedroom window?

After he was gone, Millie hurried back to the bedroom. No longer needing to flaunt herself, she donned some comfortable, warm sweats. She pulled her laptop from where it was hidden in the bedroom closet and turned it on. With a few key taps, she was watching Robert's homeward progress via the tracer hidden inside the leather badge cover. It wasn't the best coverage in the world. The tracer worked off cell phone towers, triangulating his position. She knew from previous uses that she would lose him from time to time, particularly when he was indoors. She also knew that the precision of identifying his location was an unacceptable 100 feet. She could track him to a mall or office building or park and never be able to find him unless he happened by her. And if he was inside a building -- the precinct, for example -- there was no way of knowing which floor he was on.

The goal of the tracer, though, was to let Millie know when Robert was near to or distant from her, not necessarily for her to know exactly where he was. As helpful as the tracer was, though, Millie knew that it was the cloned phone that would be the major information provider. She pulled out the burner phone and turned it on. She wasn't surprised to find him not using it. He was likely still driving home.

Millie tapped keys on the phone and then on the laptop to sync the recording feature on the latter. After ensuring the pair were working together, she went about her morning routine. She changed into some exercise shorts, sports bra, and tennis shoes and headed to the basement gym. She spent an hour stretching and performing yoga poses. Once she was warmed up, Millie spent the next hour running on the treadmill and the half hour after that on the free standing heavy bag . A work out like that would kill most people. But Millie was more than just a sexy body. She could run many professional athletes right into the ground if ever pitted against them. And there'd been more than one occasion when her strength and stamina had gotten her out of trouble that could have left her dead or arrested.

Finally too exhausted to continue, Millie returned to the top floor, stripped, and jumped into the shower. She loved this shower. Harvey Reed, the porn king, hadn't scrimped on any household feature in which a naked person might be. The beds were huge and comfortable. The play room -- which she assumed the cops had had fun investigating -- offered every sex toy ever made. And the shower was almost as big as her college dorm room had been and offered a half dozen shower heads, some on hoses to reach those out of the way areas Millie liked to put some pressure to. She sat on one of the heated shower chairs, opened her legs, and drove herself to orgasm with the oscillating water flow, with her fantasy filled mind set upon the image of Robert on his knees here, eating her out.

Finished, she dressed comfortably again and returned to her laptop. She smiled at the sight of recorded phone conversations. She listened to them from the beginning as she checked the tracer's route track which -- with a few breaks -- showed Millie Robert's route over the past hours.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Bob looked at the prowler parked in front of her house. They had a clear line of sight to him, but no glances were cast his way and no alarm was raised. He had an idea. He brought out his camera and approached the car slowly, badge in his left hand, phone camera in his right. He got right up to the passenger side window. He slammed his badge against the window and said loudly: "Open the window, numbnuts!"

The cops jumped and did a double take when they saw just who it was that was barking at them. They rolled down the windows and Bob chewed them out, taking their badge numbers and generally making their morning anything but bright. And when it slipped out of them that they'd made breakfast for Miss Thomas he just about exploded.

He decided to check on the other two cars. The officers in one car recognised him a long way off and got out to greet him, asking him if they were to be relieved. Bob spent a few minutes chatting collegially with them, berating the numbnuts in the prowler.

The other car? He phoned Detective Harris. "Good morning Bob. What- why are you calling me?" She sounded drowsy. It pleased him to have gotten one over her for once. "Morning Liz. I took it upon myself to check on the cars in your trap. I am standing in front of the northernmost car right now. The officers are safe and sound, asleep inside the vehicle."

"They- what!? Are you kidding, Bob? Is this a joke!?"

"Hang on, Liz." Bob snapped a picture of the two sleeping officers, and also sent the film where he snuck up on and berated the officers in the prowler. "I just sent you something to enjoy with your morning coffee. Talk to you at the precinct, Liz." He hung up.

Liz Harris stood in her bathroom, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. What the hell? Bob Kershaw showing initiative? Huh. A sly grin crept across her face. Looked like someone's balls had finally dropped. Good for him.

Bob was back in his car, shaking like a leaf through a panic attack. What the HELL did I just do!? He hadn't raised his voice in anger in years! He sat in his car for almost ten minutes, letting out a short guffaw as the sleeping officers in their car jumped awake as dispatch woke them up.

He drove off and made an early day of it at the precinct. He read through the night's reports. Nothing hairraising. The ballistics report was back. The fuckers that killed Mister Reed had dismembered and castrated him with flechette rounds from shotguns. Someone really had it in for this guy. But since the killers meticulously had picked up the shell casings before vanishing, they had little in the way of ballistic data to go on. Bob was not a gun nut, but as a cop he had a better knowledge than most civilians. Flechette wasn'tordinary ammo.

He went on the net and googled the ammo and that's how Detective Harris found him. He brought her up to speed, and she nodded, more surprised than anything. "Listen Bob, I'd prefer it if you didn't call me Liz. It's Lieutenant Harris." Bob looked at her, his face blank while he again decided on the best course of action. She was obviously testing him. "Fine Lieutenant Harris. But please extend me the same courtesy. Sergeant Kershaw, not Bob."

Liz had to take a sip of her morning coffee to hide her grin. Someone had definitely grown a pair overnight. Now she could start teaching him actual police work and not be the wetnurse of the comissioner's son. She composed herself and tried to look as strict and stern as possible. With a faux exasperated sigh she told him: "Liz and Bob then. Just as long as you remember who's wearing the trousers in this relationship."

It was Bob's turn to hide his grin as he caught the trace of a smile and the humor. He replied with a faux grumble: "Good. Now maybe we can do some actual work around here!" That earned him a smack on his shoulders and a "Oh no you DIDN'T!" from Harris. And suddenly they were sitting side by side, talking like professional colleagues as they searched the net to eliminate dead ends in what was now called the "flechette lead".

More than once that morning, Liz wondered what profound change had come over Bob. Maybe he'd decided to man up after the humiliating experience of puking at the crime scene? Or maybe it was the fact that she'd asked for his honest opinion regarding Miss Thomes. Or maybe it was Miss Thomas herself? That set off a few alarms in her head. Miss Thomas was a material witness, sure. But she couldn't be ruled out as a suspect just yet.

During lunch, Bob got a call from his father. It was an exercise in humiliation. His father apparently kept tabs on his son and had noticed his son's uncharacteristic conduct that morning. And so he phoned Bob to tell him how proud he was of him and how he was a chip of the old block after all and how he knew he'd had it in him all the time. Bob bit back his more bilious replies. Instead he answered in clipped short sentences and just let his father drone on in his usual pompous way. In the end, when his father started reminiscing about some serial killer case he'd cracked wide open back when Bob was a kid of 5, Bob had had enough.

"Great talking to you Dad, but, um, I'm booked for the range this afternoon. Say hi to Mom for me, okay?" And he hung up after brief goodbyes, his father clearly miffed because he was interrupted while talking about the Glory Days.

He spent a few hours at the gunnery range to keep his edge and to test flechettes for himself. He punched out at 4 PM and headed home. He was in dire need of a shower and a change of clothes.

(And all through the day, her face had popped up before his inner eye. That soft and sexy body of hers, the way she looked at him, the way her voice sounded... he was also in dire need of a good wank!)

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Millie moved out into a padded lounge chair on the balcony looking over the ocean. She brought with her the laptop, cloned phone, a set of headphones, and the still half filled tray of goodies. Watching the crabbing boats again bobbing in the ocean, she donned the headphones and listened to Robert's cell phone conversations.

Detective Harris: "Good morning Bob. What- why are you calling me?"

Sergeant Kershaw: "Morning Liz. I took it upon myself to check on the cars in your trap. I am standing in front of the northernmost car right now. The officers are safe and sound, asleep inside the vehicle."

Millie chuckled. Robert had been so careful to sneak out of the house through the window, only to find out that the cops who were supposed to be protecting her were sound asleep.

Detective Harris; "They- what!? Are you kidding, Bob? Is this a joke!?"

Sergeant Kershaw: "Hang on, Liz... I just sent you something to enjoy with your morning coffee. Talk to you at the precinct, Liz."

Millie sat up and looked to her laptop, tapping a few keys. She saw an icon for the picture Robert had sent but couldn't do anything with it. She grumbled, then reminded herself that the software she was using had been designed for parents watching nanny's and private detectives eavesdropping on cheating spouses, not by the CIA or NSA for following the evil goings on of terrorists.

She tapped the play button to begin the next call... and her body so seriously erupted in goose bumps that it was painful. Commissioner Kershaw! Millie knew that there had been a possibility that she would eavesdrop on conversations between the father and son. In fact, she'd counted on it. She knew that the elder Kershaw would never say something incriminating over a cell phone, let alone to his son. But anything he said would be helpful.

Then, a second wave of tiny bumps flooded over her as Robert's old man actually began to talk about the Lavender Ribbon case. Millie clenched her teeth so tightly that he jaws began to hurt. This wasn't the first time she'd heard his voice, of course. She'd attended speeches he'd given to the Chamber of Commerce and the Benevolent Officers Fund. She'd watched dozen of short interviews and Q&As on the news.

Each occurrence had only made her hate the man more. Millie's mother's beliefs about Kershaw's involvement had fluctuated over the years as more information had become available. Had he hidden evidence that would have exonerated Millie's father? Had he fabricated evidence that made the man appear more guilty? Had he himself been involved in the killer or friends with the killer? That last option was the one her mother had clung to after new information fizzled and the case was declared cold.

Sergeant Kershaw: "Great talking to you Dad, but, um, I'm booked for the range this afternoon. Say hi to Mom for me, okay?"

Commissioner Kershaw: "I will. Hey! We're having lunch at the club today... about 2pm. The Thompsons will be there. The Carltons, too. You know what that means."

Millie didn't know but she would shortly. After the end of the call, she would google the names in association with Kershaw. They were wealthy locals who were heavily involved in state politics. So, Kershaw was running for office. Or... was he grooming his son to?

She listened to the pair of men trade farewells. Closing the laptop and tossing the clone into another chair, Millie sat there fuming. The man's voice was too much for her. She stood suddenly and stomped into the big closet. From between a pair of thick, fuzzy blankets she pulled out a Beretta .380 semiautomatic. She checked the clip, then the chamber. Both were loaded. She remembered what her mother had often told her about an unloaded gun being nothing more than an expensive paper weight. Millie stared at the weapon, imagining walking into the club and up to Kershaw, then pumping all 14 rounds into his chest.

When she realized that, one, she was trembling and, two, doing such a thing would destroy decades of work by her mother and herself both, she put the gun away. She returned to the bedroom and dressed. She spent the day relaxing about the house, frequently calling the now more diligent cops downstairs to either get them to do things for her or offer to do things for them. She was keeping up the frightened girl appearance like a pro.



It was almost 6pm when she heard the cloned phone beep. She hurried to snatch it up in time to hear a female voice.

Detective Harris: "Bob, I just got a report from Forensics on the door at Reed's. It was jimmied just like we thought, but... the Techs say it was done after the shooting. There was blood on the lock, meaning the person with the pry bar had already been part of Reed's killing."

Millie listened to Robert's response, live this time, not recorded. When he finished, Harris continued: "I want you to take lead with Miss Thomas. There's something I don't like about her. She was either part of this or knows who did it or... something! See what you can get from her, okay?"

Millie let out an exasperated sigh. Stupid fucks. If you want it done right, I guess you have to do it yourself. She checked the car out front, finding a second pair of cops now on duty. She dressed in all black, went to the panic room, which Liz had freed up as part of the crime scene in case Millie needed it again. Opening a safe that she'd told the detective she didn't have access to, she pulled out a tool of her business. She donned a back pack that included her laptop, her cell phone, and the cloned phone. She exited through the back door to the 1st floor balcony, then the locked security gate beyond it, then ran through the thick forest in a way that would make her tracks appear to be those of a person in panic.

It took her twenty minutes to work her way to the spot on the cliff across the road and above the house that she'd checked out days earlier. From here, she could see two of the three cars watching the house. She waited an hour, to let darkness fully set in. Then, leveling the tool over a rock, she quickly fired an entire clip of .30-06 bullets through the glass wall of the stair case located on the street side of the home. It was the only part of the house from which someone on the outside could see someone inside, except through a window with drawn shades, of course. Harvey hardly ever used this particularly stair case, simply because the paparazzi and process servers used to sit outside and watch him. The shots followed a path down the stairs, from the 3rd to the 2nd to the 1st floor, as if following someone running for their life.

Seeing the cops from both cars surging outward, Millie was done here. As she stood and turned, she could see some of the cops heading for the house and others heading for the cliff. She hurried down the path until she was close enough to the cliff to heave the rifle through the air and down 150 feet to the ocean below. Then, she hurried onward again. When she reached a paved driveway, she shed the heavy boots she'd worn for the ruse and ran across down the street in her socked feet until she reached the trail from the house. Here she found the slippers she'd worn through from the house and donned them again. She hurried down the path, turned away from the house and continued. Eventually she was close enough to the water again to heave the boots into the crashing surf.

Eventually, she came out of the woods in an alley behind the little mall. She hid the back pack under a dumpster, then pulled out her phone and called Robert. Feigning intense panic, she cried when he answered, "Robert! Help me! Oh my God! Robert!"

That was all she said. She dropped the phone on the ground in plain sight, knowing that they would be able to track the signal, then crawled in between a pair of parked cars... and waited.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

Bob was about to sit down for a microwaved dinner after a long workout and shower. In the shower he'd grasped his manhood and imagined Miss Thomas in there with him, the water flattening and streaking that shock of red hair as she leaned into him, her pert breasts pressing softly into him as she lifted her head and opened her mouth, signaling for him to kiss her as her hand trailed down his body to grasp his dick. Bob had erupted quickly as those vivid images filled his head.

His phone rang. With a heavy sigh he muted and froze the detective show he was watching before answering the phone. It was Liz.

"Bob, I just got a report from Forensics on the door at Reed's. It was jimmied just like we thought, but... the Techs say it was done after the shooting. There was blood on the lock, meaning the person with the pry bar had already been part of Reed's killing."

Huh? What the hell? "That means that they were either invited in by Reed or M-Miss Thomas or that they've gained access through some other means. Someone's playing us for fools, that's for sure."

Liz smiled. The kid was slowly starting to shape up. She did not, however, like the way he tripped over Miss Thomas's name. It made what she had to say all the more difficult: "I want you to take lead with Miss Thomas. There's something I don't like about her. She was either part of this or knows who did it or... something! See what you can get from her, okay?"

Bob felt a range of emotions course through him. Pride because of the trust Liz showed him, concern over the new clue that cast doubt on the assailants' invading of the house, and a twinge of sorrow over the possibility that Miss Thomas might be playing them. He really wanted her to be innocent.

He replied: "Sure. Do we bring her in or do we interview her at home?"

Liz let out a relieved sigh. Bob wasn't thinking with just his dick. That put him ahead of many other cops on the precinct in Liz's eyes. "We downplay for now, Bob. Don't let her think we suspect anything yet."

Bob hung up, conflicted. There was only one man he could talk to about matters like these, and that was his grandfather. His paternal grandfather had been content with sticking to the low end part of policing. He'd been promoted, kicking and screaming, and he used any excuse he could to get out on the street with "the guys". He'd retired a police captain, and these days he spent his days helping inner city kids to stay on the straight and narrow through physical education and stern but loving lectures.

Calling him now, the phone was picked up on the second ring and a cheerfully raspy voice barked: "Bob m'boy" How's this fine day treatin' ya." Bob smiled. To blend in with the old guys and to uphold a cop tradition, Bob's grandpa had affected an irish-scottish-gaelic-sounding accent in the beginning of his career. It stuck, to the point of parody. His grandmother had repeatedly chided Bob's grandpa, telling him that he was one "faith and begorrah" away from sleeping on the couch.

Bob greeted and explained his conundrum regarding Miss Thomas. calling her "a suspect" all the way through the conversation, although one slip of the tongue taught his grandfather that her name started with an 'M'.

Bob's grandpa grew silent, then: "Well Bob, I'll nae pretend ye're the first to fall for a lass in the course of an investigation. And she sounds like a fair lass to be sure. But me instinct's flarin' up, Bob lad. Tread carefully. Women be masters o'manipulatin' us menfolk. If not, marriage wouldn't be nearly as popular as it is!" His grandpa guffawed and Bob could hear his grandma in the background, telling him off.

After assurances to come visit them next sunday, Bob hung up. His mind was working overtime as he ate the bland microwaved fare and watched the equally bland cop show. He felt restless, and so he went for a drive, police radio on. He'd stopped for a coffee and a cruller when the radio squawked harshly. It was the police car stationed outside Miss Thomas's house, and they were yelling "SHOTS FIRED" over the airwaves. Bob distinctly heard the crack of a rifle, sending chills through him. It sounded like a poerful automatic weapon. Gunning his car as he tossed the coffee and cruller out the car window, he activated the siren and discrete flashing lights installed in his car courtesy of his dad.

On his way over there, his cellphone rang. Answering on his handsfree, Miss Thomas' voice was amplified in the car's interior, sending chills of panic through him: "Robert! Help me! Oh my God! Robert!" He slammed the steering wheel with the palm of his hand in anger and frustration. The sound of raw panic was evident in her voice. Then he heard a thud. "Millie!? Millie, answer me!! Are you okay!? MILLIE!!" He'd taken the bait hook, line, and sinker.

Several units were in place when he arrived. There were two ambulances present, and a civilian was sitting on a stretcher with her arm in a sling. A small swarm of cops and medics were gathered around some parked cars standing up to a wall. Bob skidded to a halt and leapt out. He was met by Liz. Without further ado she grabbed his arm and said "we need you!" She had rings of fear and stress under her eyes. She guided Bob through a small throng of uniformed personell. Coming closer to the parked cars he became aware of shrill panicked screams from a woman. Liz look at him and said "someone just took a shot at Miss Thomas. She's beside herself with fear and fights off everyone that tries to grab her. She's asking for you."

As if to underscore what Liz had just said, a shrill panicked voice lashed out: "NO! GO AWAY! I WANT ROBERT!!" followed by crying. Bob's eyes welled up and he pushed through the group of officers and announced loudly: "I'm here now! Let me talk to her." Someone handed him a flashlight and he hunched down, looking between the cars. (Unbeknownst to him, a TV crew had arrived and were filming the whole seance.)

He saw a small form hunched up against a wall between the parked cars. Bob switched on the flashlight and illuminated his face while he waved for silence with his free hand. "Hey Millie, It's Bob. I'm here now. Won't you please come out?" He heard a sob and a scrambling sound and suddenly a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him as a head burrowed into his shoulder. There were twigs and leaves in her hair and she looked like she'd ran through a briar patch. But apart from a few cuts and bruises she seemed physically unharmed. Someone draped a blanket around them and Bob just held her as her body was wracked with sobs as she bawled her eyes out. All Bob could do was hold her and try to calm her down.

"It's okay Millie. You're safe now. We're here." He was on the verge of tears himself from both anger and relief. He sat down and put her in his lap as she slowly, ever so slowly calmed down. He hugged her back and softly stroked her hair, removing leaves and twigs as he did so. Poor kid. That was twice in less than 48 hours she'd been subjected to gunfire.

After a while, Liz came over and hunched down beside them. "We've arranged for a safe house for Miss Thomas. I think it'd be wise if you stayed with her and watched over her, Bob." At this, Millie looked up at Liz, all bloodshot eyes and tearstreaked face. "Can't we stay at Bob's place," she said, surprising both Liz and Bob. Liz tried telling her that Bob would be with her and that the safehouses would be just as good if not better than Bob's apartment. But Millie was adamant, hysterically so. The more Liz tried to convince Millie, the more agitated she became.

In the end, they agreed that she could stay at Bob's flat for the night, but that she would have to be moved tomorrow. After a checkup with the medics (where Bob had to be present all the time) they drove home. Liz had gathered up toiletries, underwear, and a change of clothes from inside Millie's house. There would be several units parked in Bob's neighbourhood, and she was not to leave the premises without an escort. Bob led her up two flights of stairs and unlocked his small apartment. It had a small kitchen, an equally small bathroom, a fairly sized bedroom where his exercycle and punching bag were, and a living room. The flat was sparsely decorated. The furniture was mostly IKEA. There were bookshelves in both living room and bedroom containing books and films both.

He sat Millie down on the couch and looked around. Compared to her house, the flat was nothing. He shrugged and said almost apologetically: "Well, it ain't much. But it's home."

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Mall parking lot
Malibu
8pm:

Millie didn't know whether the patrol officers who finally located her had done so via a GPS search for her phone or simply a search of the neighborhood. What she did know what that by the time they had, she was seriously freezing her butt off and stiffening up from sitting on the concrete between the parked cars. Had to pick the coldest night of the year so far for this, didn't ya, Mill?

Of course, this night -- or more specifically the night before -- hadn't been chosen so much as forced upon her. Millie had wanted to wait a few more weeks before putting this circus on the road. But there were things outside of her control that had accelerated what she hoped would be the final chapter in the Lavender Ribbon case-- For her-- For her mother-- and for the world at large.

Although almost every single day of her recalled life Millie had thought of how resolving the cold case would affect Commissioner Kershaw, she'd never considered how it would affect his son before. Robert had only ever just been a name to Millie. Even later when she learned that he'd been promoted to Sergeant and now had access to the various police data bases she wanted access to, Millie still only saw the man as a tool in her job.

Now, though, he held her closely as he walked her up the flights of stairs to his apartment, which had already been cleared by a pair of patrol officers. And she was beginning to wonder whether she needed to somehow ameliorate the damage she was going to cause him when she uncovered his father's role in the two decade old serial killer case. He was a nice guy. A sweet guy. A good cop, too, even considering the lack of confidence that other hero cops seemed to have been born with.

As he put her in his bed, Millie curled up and pulled the blankets fully around her. She disappeared into them, becoming just a shapeless lump on the mattress...



Robert's Apartment
2am:

It was hard, but Millie maintained that sad, defeated, little wad of human being below the bedding. She was getting stiff, and at one point she developed a cramp in a calf and had to ride it out without sound or movement. Except for the slight rising and falling of her breathing, she'd appeared almost as if dead for hours before she suddenly started trembling, then shaking, then flailing, then screaming in her feigned nightmare.

She'd heard Robert enter the room several times. He'd even sat down in a nearby chair a couple of times, though it had been hard for Millie to accurately assess how long he'd remained. Her nightmare brought him running to her, of course. She pulled away to the headboard in fright, as if still in her dream. Then, with an expression of recognition and relief, she threw herself into her protector's arm and clutched him not just with arms wrapped around his neck but parted legs wrapped around his torso in a way that pressed her womanhood to his manhood. She held on tight, again feigning her deep fears through sobs and tears that wetted the fabric of his tee shirt.

Despite her weight of just 122, Millie must have been getting heavy in the strong man's arms. He turned and sat on the bed's edge, continuing to hold her as she sobbed. It wasn't long before she could feel Robert's erection pressing against her panties, and she had to shift the way her face was buried into his chest to hide the fact that her lips were spreading wide in a devilish smile. She did nothing to alleviate any possible embarrassment he might be having, and when he tried to shift his own body to hide the sudden growth, she only gripped his body tighter and pleaded, "Don't let go, Robert! I couldn't bear to be alone right now!"

She continued to grip the cop for-- hell, she wasn't even sure how long. Finally, she pulled her head back slowly and looked him in the eyes from so closely that their lips were almost touching. As she felt his breath upon her face, Millie whispered, "Thank you, Robert. Thank you-- very much." She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek as she had back in Reed's house. But this kiss landed close enough to his mouth that the extreme edges of their lips touched.

Millie let go of her bear hug on the cop and slid out of his lap. She looked herself over, still in her dirty, torn clothes. She chuckled and pulled a soft fluff of moss from her belly, holding it out to Robert. "I'm turning into a tree."

She studied him for a moment as if wondering what to do now. She already knew exactly what she was going to do, of course. She'd been planning the next scene for days, weeks! She unzipped the last two inches of the ratty old sweat suit top's front and pulled it from her body. Underneath she wore a thin, tight fitting cropped top that showed off her flat, smooth belly and the hardened nipples of her unbridled breasts. She sniffed the air playfully, then said, "Robert, I really need a bath."



Coastal overlook
Malibu
11pm (earlier):

The detective on the cliff pointed his powerful Maglite to the things and locations he was describing to Liz Harris. "Shooter fired from here. There are scrapings on the rock, where he rested the rifle. First rounds struck the glass wall of the third floor-- down to the second-- the first. Eight rounds--" He held out an evidence bag filled with casings and an empty, bottom loaded rifle clip. "--reloaded, then six more. She-- Thomas, was probably out of his view before he could empty the second clip."

A second detective in the bushes below the other shown her flashlight in one hand on the shining casing in the other. "Fifteen." She looked to the house. Bullet pattern-- first five were within inches of one another on the third floor. Rest trail down the glass to the bottom. Figure Thomas must have crouched for the first five, probably peeing her panties-- then started running down the stairs while the rest chased her."

"Would you have?" Liz asked the other female cop.

The junior detective asked, "Run?"

Liz clarified with obvious disapproval of the woman's earlier comment, "Peed your panties."

The cop showed the proper expression to the chastising and returned to searching the underbrush in silence.

The first detective -- chuckling, but only for a moment -- began again, pointing. "She ran out the back. Can't see it from here, but-- she headed that way, disappeared into the trees-- emerged on Highway One near the mall-- ended up over there where the patrol officers found her."

"Detective Harris!" Liz turned to find a uniformed cop nearer the bottom of the trail pointing his own Maglite at a cell phone in his other hand. "Commissioner Kershaw for you, detective."

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"Detective Harris! Commissioner Kershaw for you, detective."

Liz sighed. She needed interference by a nepotistic dad like she needed a colonoskopy. She took the phone and answered with a tired and formal voice: "Good evening, Comissioner. This is Detective Lieutenant Harris. You wanted to talk to me, Sir?"

Comissioner Timothy Kershaw grinned. He'd heard about Lt. Harris and her ballbusting ways and he found it a treat to have a woman with her reputation address him so respectfully. He chose his jovial one-of-the-guys voice when he replied: "Good evening Lieutenant Harris! I just watched my son on the evening news helping a victim tonight. I just wanted to call and thank you personally for letting my boy step forward tonight!"

Liz was dumbfounded. She was in the middle of investigating a crime scene, and this buffoon thought it pertinent enough to call her and THANK her!? She was cautious and tactful in her reply: "Well Sir, I think Sgt. Harris is starting to come into his own, and he has a special bond with the victim. She asked for him by name, wouldn't let anyone else near her."

Kershaw frowned at that. He secretly regarded his son as an apathetic spineless embarassment. To receive something that damn near sounded like actual PRAISE for his son put him on guard. "That's- that's good to hear, Lieutenant," he continued. "And it is good of you to help him in becoming the good police officer we both know he is! Let me assure you that your work has not gone unnoticed, Lieutenant. Keep doing what you do and good things will happen."

Ugh. The comissioner's message was clear enough, embarassingly so. Help his son and get rewards. Only one problem: that's not how Detective Lieutenant Liz Harris rolled. "I assure you Sir, the level of confidencd I have in your son directly reflects the necessities of this case and my respect for him as a fellow officer." She hated the bullshit language of office politics and was stubbornly insistent that her promotions and perks should reflect her achievements in the field and not who she knew. "As it is, it was Miss Thomas who asked for Sgt. Kershaw. If anyone's to be-

"Miss Thomas!? Is that the name of the young woman Bob rescued tonight?" Something stirred inside the comissioner. Where had he heard that name before? The name 'Thomas' as a surname had been on his mind not too long ago. He was sure of it. Detective Harris confirmed that yes, that was indeed the young woman Bob had rescued. Trusting his instinct, Kershaw said: "I'll get out of your hair now, Lieutenant Harris. I can imagine you have enough on your plate as it is. But I'd consider it a great personal favour if you sent copies of the case files. Good night, Lieutenant Harris." *click*

Huh. That was odd. Liz could have sworn the comissioner stumbled and balked when she mentioned the name 'Thomas'. Liz's sense of unease grew. There was something here that didn't add up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bob had finally gotten Millie to bed. She'd been afraid to be alone, but Bob had assured her that he would be in the next room and that he would check in on her regularly. Her frightened eyes between red bushy hair and blankets, and her quavering and small voice when she asked: "promise?" had steeled his resolve. He would stay awake and watch over her.

He spent some of the time in front of his desktop PC in his living room. He got updates on finds on the crime scene regularly. One shooter. Short range .30-06!? Whoever it was meant business. His brow creased when he saw the most likely candidate for a weapon. An M-1 Garand rifle!? A rapid fire semiautomatic rifle issued to GI's during WW-2 and Korea, a weapon like that would be overkill at that range. As it was, fragments of a bullet had nicked a young woman at one of the sidewalk cafés. The only reason Millie was alive was probably because the '06 round had a powerful kick, spoiling the assailant's aim. Or Millie had ran like the devil was close on her heels.

Either way, she was safe. And nothing brought Bob more pleasure right now than that thought. He was almost ashamed by the fact that he'd suspected her of any wrongdoing. The state she was in now told Bob that someone genuinely had wanted her dead earlier this evening.

Millie.

Dead.

An involuntary shudder passed through him at the thought and he had to check in on her. She was asleep, breathing heavily. Bob tippy-toed inside and sat down on a chair beside the bed. He entertained the notion of climbing into bed with her, but he might doze off and leave her feeling unprotected if she woke up. The thought was utterly alien to him. So he pulled out his cell phone, set it to mute, and started surfing the web to keep himself awake. From time to time he thought he detected twitching, and one time she made an almost pained exclamation. But her sleep was uninterrupted.

His phone buzzed into life. His father was calling. Exhaling heavily and rolling his eyes, Bob reluctantly left the bedroom. "Hey Dad." An embarassing conversation ensued. Bob's dad started by congratulating Bob on a job well done, and by telling Bob that he'd been recorded on TV. Bob's dad told Bob how clever it was of him to step up when TV was present and how that might make him noticed among the higher ups.Bob assured him that he'd chase the TV crews off if he'd known they were there and that the victim was traumatized enough. Then the conversation took a bizarre turn: "Say Bob, Lt. Harris told me you're with Miss Thomas now. I just have to ask you, do you know her? The surname Thomas rings a bell with me." Bob replied no, and went on to tell his dad the involvement he'd had with Millie, omitting the sleepover last night. Bob's dad caught a whiff of lies and started pursuing it.

"What aren't you telling me, Bob?" Bob blushed. He'd never been a good liar. But his newfound defiance reared its head: "What I may or may not be telling you is my business, Dad. Just believe me when I say I have my reasons, okay?" That came right out of left field for Bob's dad, and he needed a moment to collect himself. Bob rarely stood up for himself! What the hell was going on!? And why did the surname Thomas bother him so? Bob's dad said a quick goodbye and sat by his desk, pondering. He needed to start sniffing and digging around tomorrow. His gut feeling was seldom wrong.

The next couple of hours were uneventful. He went to and fro between the living room and the bedroom, checking on her regularly. He grew ever more tired and was on the verge of snoozing on the couch when a piercing scream shattered his peaceful mind. MILLIE!

He ran into the bedroom to find her screaming and cowering against the headboard. Her face was a mask of pain and fear and her eyes were red and glistening and unfocused. He sighed in relief. She'd had a nightmare. She was unharmed. The embrace was almost painful in its intensity. She was warm and trembling and soft, and Bob pretty soon had problems maintaining a professional composure. Her groin was rubbing against his. He was not unaffected by it. But every time he tried to shift his position so as not to press his erection on her she clung harder to him and begged him not to leave her. It was agony. He was tempted to kiss her and caress her, but he didn't want to take advantage of her.

And when she finally let him go she kissed him before starting to undress. The kiss alone made him dizzy with lust and the unselfconscious way she took off her top made the longing to kiss and caress her milky white silken skin an almost acute pain. His trousers were not so discreetly bulging now, and he did what he could to hide it.

"Robert, I really need a bath."

A chance to be away from her! "I'll get your bag, Millie!" He practically ran out of the room and collected the small travel bag Liz had packed for her. He gave Millie the bag and started rummaging in his closets for clean towels for her. Then he followed her to the bathroom and placed her bag and the towels inside. He held the door for her to let her in, realising his mistake a little too late. There wasn't much room in his tiny bathroom, so they were naturally standing close to each other. Not only that, he'd have to inch himself by her to get out and leave her alone.

"Um, Millie, I have to get out now. If you could just move..."

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

"I'll get your bag, Millie!"

As Robert practically leaped from the edge of the bed, Millie's gaze inconspicuously fell to his groin. His erection was obvious. She contained her smile as she turned and headed to the open bathroom door. This time her smile got away from her. The room in its entirety was smaller than the shower at Reed's that she'd masturbated in that morning.

She moved around him to allow him to set her bag on the counter. When he turned, she was close to him again, looking up into his eyes with an expression of appreciation. He couldn't pass by her, though. "Um, Millie, I have to get out now. If you could just move..."

She looked to the door and the path toward it and giggled. "Sorry." She moved, but not in the best way, causing the two of them each to turn 180 degrees. Their bodies bumped. Millie giggled, apologized, then laid a hand upon Robert's hip as she pushed by him, her breasts sliding across his chest. Again she giggled, apologized, and was finally the only one in the tiny bath. She closed the door only half way. "You'll stay out there, right? Don't leave, Robert. I couldn't bear it." She giggled then demanded with a laugh. "Don't look! But-- don't leave."

Millie closed the door a bit more, leaving it open just a couple of inches. She set about stripping, ignoring anything other than her clothes and the beautiful body within them. Occasionally, she grimaced or gave a bit of a painful moan. "Do you have a first aid kit, Robert? Neosporin? I cut myself."

She repositioned her feet to inconspicuously peek into the mirror. She could the darkness of the bedroom. But Millie couldn't see Robert. Was he standing there in the dark watching her? She had no way of knowing whether her host was peeping on her. But she definitely wanting him to have a sneak peek. Even though she could have reached the towels from where she was standing, Millie moved closer to the sink counter. That put her in the mirror and more in a direct line of sight to the bedroom. Robert had done his duty as host, leaving her a wash rag, hand towel, bath towel, and large poolside towel. Millie could have wrapped herself with the pool towel. She chose the bath towel instead. In the process of wrapping herself, she flashed the mirror and open door both a view of her bared, tattooed backside and her equally naked front side, featuring the smooth, hair free skin at the meeting of her thighs.

She never once looked up, wanting Robert to believe she believed that he would never sneak a peak of her. The smaller of the two big towels barely covered Millie's body from just above her nipples to just below the roundness of her shapely ass. She moved forward toward the door, reaching for it. She only moved it a tiny bit before turning back to look at herself in the mirror. She was giving Robert a chance to moved away in case he had been peeking. She opened the door and asked, "Can you put something on my cuts?"

She moved back into the bathroom again, and turned to look into the mirror. She touched one of the cuts on her shoulder, wincing. Then, she lifted the towel, revealing part of her buttock cheek and hip. It was erotic, though Millie made it look innocent enough.

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"You'll stay out there, right? Don't leave, Robert. I couldn't bear it. Don't look! But-- don't leave."

"I'll stay right outside, Millie. And I won't look. Ten pinkieswears in my heart and hope to cross. Or something," he said with a feeble attempt at humor as he averted his eyes. He exited the bathroom and sat on the bed with his back turned to the bathroom door. He'd noticed that she let the door stand ajar by a few inches and he respected her stated wish for privacy. So he watched the door to the living room while his ears caught almost every sound she made. He heard the clothes come off and he had to reposition as his dick grew, imagining what she looked like naked.

"Do you have a first aid kit, Robert? Neosporin? I cut myself."

"You see that little cabinet by the shaving mirror? I keep some medical supplies in there. Just take what you need, Millie. I mostly use band-aids for shaving cuts and blisters. It should be fairly well stocked."

"Can you put something on my cuts?"

He'd been afraid of that. But of course she needed help. She'd amassed a few cuts running through the woods, and some of those cuts were in hard to reach places. "I'll see what I can do," he replied with a slight quaver in his voice.

As he entered the bathroom her naked buttock was revealed to him. Blushing furiously, he looked away and stammered out an apology. He looked back after a few seconds and found that she had covered herself.

Steeling himself, he grabbed a bottle of sterilized saline solution he used to clean minor cuts. He used gauze and saline solution to gently clean her wounds before applying the antibiotic ointment. All the time he marveled quietly about the silky softness of her skin. His fingers might have lingered a little longer than necessary as he examined the cuts, but he never groped or fondled her.

The real challenge was a cut below her collarbone that went under the towel and crossed the magic line of the swell of the right breast. "I-I guess you want to clean that yourself?" he stammered, rising to leave. She bit her lower lip and shook her head 'no'. "Please help me," she said and lowered the towel to right above her nipple.

With trembling hands, Bob set about cleaning the wound, painfully aware of the soft mound he was working on, and more painfully aware of his straining erection. It was torture, but he would not take advantage of the situation. She didn't deserve that after all she'd been through.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

"I'll see what I can do," Robert called in response to Millie's question about offering first aid. She turned her head away from the mirror in case he was watching. A smile had spread as she thought, Haven't you seen enough already? She was, of course, thinking that Robert had been spying her for the past minute or so.

Robert began cleaning her wounds, but when he reached for Band-Aids Millie only said, "I'm going to shower. Don't bother. Afterward." He cleaned one scrap, cut, or abrasion after another. She noticed that he began with the ones in the least personal areas. The last two were the ones on the round of her breast and the middle of her thigh near the high rising towel to last. She watched Robert in the mirror to see if his eyes wandered. They didn't. Millie wondered whether that was hard for him. Or was his chivalry that strong. She began to question whether or not he'd watched her through the door. Disappointed? she asked herself.

Millie winced often during her care, unnecessarily so most of the time. She even slapped his chest twice, whining, then giggling. "This isn't Fifty Shades of Gray, Robert!"

He finally stood back, scanned her exposed flesh, and said, "That's it."

She watched Robert as he tossed the dirty and sometimes bloody cotton balls and gauze into the trash and headed for the door. She said softly, "You missed one." When he stopped and turned, Millie stood and faced him directly. She reached to the folded corner of the towel that was keeping it pulled tightly about her smallish breasts. Wearing a seriously seductive expression, she loosened the towel and began to let it slip downward. A devilish smirk spread her lips. Just as the towel reached her nipples and threatened to expose them, she turned her back to Robert and lowered the towel until it was barely hiding her buttocks. She turned her head partially to the right -- away from the mirror -- and said, "I can feel it. Can you see it? Is it bad?"

Millie knew that although Robert couldn't see anything personal directly, if he looked into the mirror she would be able to see her left breast. She'd turned her head to ensure he could get away with peeking and not get caught. On the upper round of her right buttock was another more serious cut. She knew it was there, not because she felt it but because she'd put it there after shooting up Reed's house.

She held the towel around her waist, continuing to leave her upper body exposed as Robert dealt with the injury. Twice, she flinched, again playfully chastising him. Each time she did, she let the towel fall a tiny bit. It wasn't much, but by the time he was done, two inches of her butt crack was clearly visible to Robert.

When he finished, Millie raised the towel upwards again, clutching it to her breasts but not tying it again. She turned and faced him. He was only inches away. She looked up into his face with a yearning look. She studied his lips as if wanting so badly to kiss them. Looking back into his eyes, Millie spoke to the man in almost a whisper. "Thank you, Robert." She reached one hand out and placed it upon his chest. Her gaze followed the finger tips that slid inside his button up shirt. "Robert. Would you--" She released her grip on the towel and let it fall to the floor. She looked up into his eyes. "Would you like to wash my back?"

She backed away from him, slowly, in no hurry at all. She gave him the opportunity to study her again if he chose-- or to maintain a higher altitude gaze-- or to look away, as he wished. She turned, again taking her time, and entered the shower. She left the door open as she turned the water on...

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"You missed one."

Bob was seriously flustered by now. He'd managed to maintain his composure while watching more and more of that delectable body being exposed. The way she looked at him, the way she playfully giggled and slapped him whenever it hurt ... Bob was starting to wonder if this wasn't so innocent after all. But he couldn't comprehend why she would be going after him. A girl like her could get any man she set her sights on, why go after a Detective Sergeant? He'd convinced himself that he was being delusional when she called for him again.

He turned around and promptly lost the ability to form coherent thought and speech for a few seconds. That look she gave him alone was enough to stun him and when she lowered the towel and turned around he caught a flash of a small perfectly formed breast in the mirror. He wanted her and he hated himself for wanting her. She needed his help and she was fragile after the happenings of the last two days. Maybe she was this flirty to feel that she was in control? It was a behaviour that was not unheard of. Bob steeled himself and looked at the wound.

"I can feel it. Can you see it? Is it bad?" Bob winced. It was the most serious cut she had. It looked painful. A new thought struck him: maybe she was being so flirty to be assured of his help? That would make her more than a little calculating. Bob didn't like that thought one bit. He set about cleaning the cut, doing his best to avert his eyes and distance himself from the intimacy of the situation. When the cut was cleaned, he had a great view of her buttcrack. A part of him wanted nothing more than to plant a kiss at the top of that crack. He was almost delirious with lust for her now. He'd seen most of her body, touched much of her skin, seen the way she looked at him. And he was surrounded by her scent, a sweet and clean musky scent that he'd never smelled before. Carol had smelled more sour, perfectly matching her disposition.

"Thank you, Robert."
They were facing each other now. She was looking at him, touching him, making it unbearable for him.

"Robert. Would you--"

Robert couldn't contain a gasp as the towel fell to the floor. She ... did she really ... ???

"Would you like to wash my back?"

She backed slowly away, hiding nothing. Bob's last line of defense kicked in. He gawked at her, then checked himself and looked away.

"Millie," he said. "I, uh, I'm not sure that would be a good idea. I'm- I'm supposed to protect you and- and I-" He swallowed hard, on the verge of tears now. "I'm not sure I could contain myself if I went into the shower with you. You're very attractive and it's been a while since I-"

He trailed off. He wanted to leave and let her shower alone. He wanted to stay and go into the shower with her with all that entailed. He took a step backwards, his low self esteem arguing with himself.

Why the hell would she want YOU!? But she's all but painted a welcome sign on her body! That's just wishful thinking, buddy boy! She needs to be in control! It's not about you! And so on.

He stopped, made as if to turn, took one step forward then one step back. He was at a loss.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

She listened to Robert's voice flowing over her body from behind and smiled. He was going to shower with her. She knew that. He was trying to do the right thing. He deserved credit for that. He deserved her appreciation and thanks for that. But Robert's lack of confidence was trapped in a Catch-22. If he came to her, undressed, entered the shower, touched her, groped her, fucked her, he would feel as though he'd failed his witness, his charge; and Robert couldn't fail at this because he would have to answer not just to his own self but to his Lieutenant and his father as well. On the other hand, if he turned around now and walked away, leaving a beautiful, flirtatious, and don't forget vulnerable woman standing alone and naked in his shower, would he ever again be presented such an offer, maybe for the rest of his life?

Millie wasn't thinking with conceit as she turned the handles and adjusted the water. She was thinking with fact and history. Despite the image of all males as horn dogs, most actually had a few lovers over the course of their lives. Some married young and remained faithful. Some simply didn't sleep around. Oh sure, she knew some men who just had to get fucked every weekend or at least waste those party nights trying. But then there were guys like Robert. Nice guys. Shy guys. Broken guys. Millie didn't need to know any more about Robert's father to know that the man had had a devastating effect on his son's personality growing up.

Robert would, one day, meet a nice lady. Maybe a social worker working with the department. He would find her physically and personably attractive. She would find him dependable and secure. They would have coffee. Lunch. Dinner. See a show. They'd kiss. Make love. Talk about the future. Get married. Get a house. Have kids. Grow old. Die. That was Robert's future. It went well with his past. But--

This was the present.

Millie turned to face Robert. She studied him for a moment before moving slowing toward him as she spoke. "Robert. I'm-- I'm so lucky to have you here. Protecting me. No one has-- No one has ever done for me what you have done for me." She reached her hands up to his chest again. She caressed the fit body underneath and began unbuttoning his shirt as she continued. "I want to show you my appreciation." She took one of his hands and lifted it to cup a small breast. "Robert. This is all I have to offer in appreciation." She encouraged him to squeeze the breast with her hand over his. The other hand continued to unfasten the buttons until at last they were all loose. She lied to him. "It's been a while for me, too. A long while."

She lowered her hand from his and as she continued, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped him. "I need you to stay with me tonight, Robert. I couldn't bear to be alone. I need to feel safe. But-- I need to feel comfort, too. Please. Please, Robert." His loosened pants fell from his hips to the floor, gathering about the shoes that neither of them had done anything about thus far. She began to move back again, leaving him there with his open shirt hanging about his shoulders, his slacks encircling his ankles, and his cock -- fully hardened -- sticking straight out through the open fly of his boxers. Millie conspicuously looked down to his groin. She smiled, then looked up to Robert again. "Someone wants to comfort me, Robert." She turned and entered the shower. The water splashed off her tattooed flesh, darkening the colors as she looked out through the open door-- then held out a hand in invitation to him. "Come, Robert. Comfort me."

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"Robert. I'm-- I'm so lucky to have you here. Protecting me. No one has-- No one has ever done for me what you have done for me."

She moved toward him. Her voice was soothing and alluring. Her sultry eyes looked up at him from under her long red hair. Her hand caressed and tickled him deliciously as it crept under his shirt while she unbuttoned it.

"I want to show you my appreciation. Robert. This is all I have to offer in appreciation."

She wanted this. She really wanted to do this with him. Her breast was silky smooth, the nipple hard against his palm. She wanted him to squeeze and caress her!

"It's been a while for me, too. A long while."

A small part of him found that hard to believe. But that depended on what she meant by 'a long while'. For Bob, it had been years since he'd had sex, and that was with a woman that reluctantly tried to use sex as a means of controlling him. Making him beg like a dog. Before that there was nothing.

She was all but begging him as she undressed him now. He was starting to feel very stupid for trying to not make love to her. Damn it all! SHE wanted and needed this as much as he did, that much was obvious. These thoughts coursed through him as she opened all his clothes and ensnared him with her body and her words.

"Come, Robert. Comfort me."

He made up his mind. He kicked off his shoes and the rest of his clothes and stood naked before her. For the first time he looked at her without shame or shyness. She had been so forward with him now that he felt that he'd earned to look at her like he did. She oozed sex and seduction. She stood with her back turned to him and looked over her shoulder, an innocently sly smile draping her lips.

Bob entered the shower, and she turned around and closed the distance between them, quashing his throbbing penis between them. Right about then, Bob had his last moment of objective clarity and a concerned look crossed his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak out against this and she pressed a finger to his lips.

"Shhhh! Stop thinking, Robert. We both want this," she told him. And then she stood on her toes and kissed him. She placed the hand with her shushing finger on his neck and pulled his head down. Her other hand trailed down between them and gently, slowly caressed his manhood. The sudden overwhelming sensation of touching and kissing had Bob gasping in delight, and he started kissing her back, tentatively at first.

As his confidence and passion grew he embraced her and kissed her fiercely as he pushed her up against the shower wall. His hands started exploring her body, trying to be everywhere at once. His mouth started exploring her as he kissed and licked and sucked on her lips, her earlobes, and the base of her neck and the collarbones. His hands explored her curves, her smooth skin, her breasts, and carefully between her legs. It was the pent-up energy of one starved of sexual attention being released all at once.

He started kissing his way down her body, wanting to taste it all.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

The man was a ball of pent up sexual frustration ready to detonate. As Millie encouraged Robert to kiss and caress and grope, she smiled with delight. She'd done this to him. He'd told her it had been a while, of course. But he probably could have gone another few days, weeks, months, or even years without getting laid-- Until he met her, of course. Millie had lit a fuse that wouldn't be extinguished until Robert had exploded.

His lips began making their way down her body. Neck. Collar bone. Breast. Millie grasped his head in both hands and directed his mouth to one nipple, shoving it into his mouth. She purred, then demanded. "Bite me, Robert. Bite me."

Millie let him work the pert button of flesh for a long moment, her body rolling against him as the water cascaded down over them. She moved his mouth to the other nipple forcefully. She repeated her demand. "Harder."

Tomorrow her nipples would be bruised. Millie didn't care. It felt so good. He was too cautious, but with each demand that he bite and suck her harder, she moaned and even cried out her approval until finally her body was ready for more. Millie pushed Robert's shoulders downward, forcing him to his knees. She grasped the hand hold to her left and the shower door to the right. She slung one knee over the cop's shoulder, pressing her calf to his back. She repeated with the other leg. Then, forcing her pussy into his face, Millie demanded, "Comfort me, Robert. Comfort me."

 

[Niceandbrutal]

"Bite me, Robert. Bite me."

This was miles away from his previous experience. The one time his teeth had grazed Carol's nipples, she'd all but shouted at him to be careful. Millie? Mille took charge and asked, no DEMANDED that he treat her a bit rough. It took him a few tries to determine exactly how hard she wanted him to bite her, but for each moan from her lips, for each time she rolled her body against him in pleasure, he grew bolder until her gasps were half pain half pleasure. He looked up at her once to make sure he wasn't TOO rough with her, but the look on her face told him he was on the right track. He all but mauled her nipples then, enjoying every sigh and moan from her lips. He even found the odd exclamation of pain arousing now. If she could demand of him to bite harder, she could damn well tell him if he should go softer, he decided.

When she pressed him down, he was more than ready to proceed. When she slung her legs over his shoulders, he used his hands to support her buttocks as he set about 'comforting' her. Her pussy lips had taken on a deep shade of red and her clit had started to protrude ever so slightly. Slick musky juices had started flowing out of her and he started lapping them up with a broad tongue, like a dog that hadn't seen water for days. He started sucking in her clitoris and tickling it with his tongue, as well as teasing it with his teeth while she corrected and encouraged him. He grew bolder still and explored the whole cleanshaved area with his mouth, from her clit to her anus and back.

He had to let go with one hand after a while. He started fingerfucking her as he simultaneously embarked on an all-out assault with his mouth on her clitoris. He licked sucked, bit, and pinched the ever growing bud, while he hammered her box with one, then two, then three fingers. Unlike Carol, Millie wasn't afraid of being loud or demanding satisfaction. And as inexperienced as Bob was, that was a good thing.

 

[GimmeMooreGirl]

Millie was coming unglued! She was riding Robert's shoulders like a bronc buster, rocking her pussy up and down in concert with the man's furiously working mouth. She spat instructions occasionally, between moans and cries. And Robert followed them to the letter. She occasionally looked down at him and marveled at how good he was at this. Some men were just naturals at oral. Robert was. Oh god, was he.

Soon enough -- sooner than Millie would have thought -- the pleasure he was causing her welled rapidly. She knew her orgasm was coming. She reached one hand to Robert's head, pressing his face hard into her crotch. She drew a deep breath, feeling the power of ecstasy building deep within. Suddenly, she exploded! She gave out a long, loud cry as the euphoria swarmed through her. Her back and skull pressed hard against the colder tiles behind her as the warmth of climax invaded her every cell. It was an incredible orgasm, as the fierce clasping of her thighs around Robert's head likely told him. And it was a long one, perpetuated by her screaming commands of "Don't stop! Don't-- Stop--!"

He continued to work her hole and clit until Millie simply lost control of her body and slumped down along the tile. Her hands clasped the holds and door, but she had no strength in her arms. She felt Robert Maneuver her legs out and around until she was sitting in his lap. She was like a rag doll, loose and flexible, totally at his control. Later she would ask herself when the last time was that she'd cum like that, and she wouldn't be able to recall such a time at all. When she was finally able to open her eyes, she gazed at Robert with a look of satisfaction many men had never seen on a lover's face.

She reached a hand out to his face, caressing it for a moment. It was a tender touch, a loving touch, something a woman he'd wooed for months or years might have shared with him. Then she smiled slightly and whispered, "Fuck me, Robert. Fuck me. Hard."