Christmas Crimes

Snow fell softly from the sky, coating the world in a blanket of white. We sat before a roaring fire, wrapped in each other's arms. Presents had been exchanged, wine forgotten. You kiss me, deep and long.

Ring...Ring...Ring...

Damn it! The dream was just getting to the good part as it faded away. I always said my partner had horrible timing.

"What the fuck, Cooper? Don't you know what time it is?" I growl into the phone.

"Summers, I don't care what dream I just interrupted. Now get your ass in gear and meet me at 1216 South Street. NOW Summers."

My response, one complete with enough cursing to make a sailor blush, was met with the dial tone. It wasn't even 5 a.m. Christmas day. Kids were still dreaming of the goodies they would find in the morning. I should still have been dreaming too...

I slid my badge into my pocket and strapped on my holster. Fresh snow crinkled under my boots as I stomped to my car. Slamming it into gear, I raced through the empty streets.

For once, there was no need for a map or my GPS. 1216 South was an address I knew well. The old church had been converted into a soup kitchen. Once upon a time, I had helped with its opening. And the owner, well, we had history.

My old partner, Kevin, was injured in the line one night. The guy took a bullet for me. From a crazed fucking meth-head. He got off the job and decided to open the kitchen as his way of continuing to give back to our city. Kevin had been a great partner. A good friend. And (once or twice) a remarkable lover. Okay. Maybe that's not exactly accurate.

Remarkable didn't begin to describe him. And it was far more frequent than once or twice. More like after every big bust to celebrate or a particularly tough day. He wanted to make it more permanent. I freaked out. Stupid move - one I always regretted, especially after he got himself all wifed up. She knew our history and didn't exactly approve of him spending time with me.

I couldn't blame her. I missed Kevin like crazy and, truth be told, I wanted him bad. It had been too long since we saw each other. Kevin and I had a regular meet about once a month, but the job had me canceling the last couple.

Get your mind out of the gutter. It was a strictly clothes on kind of deal. Not that either of us would have minded getting naked for old times sake. That's why our little get togethers never included alcohol. That's how little we trusted ourselves, despite the fact that we couldn't see to stay away from each other.

I felt a pang when I saw the soup kitchen flickering with the lights of at least 10 cruisers and surrounded by crime scene tape. I flashed my badge at the uniform guarding the scene and scrambled under the tape. I looked at the name on the girl's uniform. "Park, report. Where's the owner? Has he been notified?" I demanded.

My relationship with Kevin was no secret on the force. Apparently the newbies had been filled in as well because it was hard to miss the oh shit look on Park's face. "Uh, well, you see," she stuttered, red-faced.

"PARK!" I bellowed. "That is not how they taught you to give a report at the academy. Now stop stammering and give me a proper report!"

Just then the coroner came out of the building. Stan's blue eyes sparkled, as they always did, when he first saw me. Then his expression became crestfallen.

________

Across town, John kicked the snow off his work boots and removed black leather gloves from his hands. A biter smile played on his lips as he stared up at the Christmas tree. Stacks of presents covered the floor.

He wouldn't be able to keep up this charade much longer. Eventually he would have to tell her. She would be furious. No job. No savings. He didn't even want to think about what he had to do in order to afford those presents...

The new year has to bring better times, he thought hopefully. I can't go on like this much longer.

______

Julianne strolled into her penthouse apartment, lights illuminating automatically upon her arrival in each room. Music played softly as she removed her black leather gloves, placing them on the counter and slinging her trench over a chair.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. Holidays were always the hardest. Yet another special occasion spent without him. She thought of the presents she had lovingly selected and wrapped for him. Presents which still lay unopened on the table. The candles had burned out long ago. The meal she had lovingly prepared had gone cold.

A bottle of champagne still sat mostly untouched. She reached for the Dom, running a manicured nail over the label. Then her fingers curled around the neck of the bottle and hurled it against the wall. As the bottle shattered, so did her resolve. Julianne's eyes burned with unshed tears.

Being the other woman could be a real bitch, she thought bitterly.

_________

You didn't need my masters in criminology and 15 years on the job to put the clues together. The vic was Kevin. My Kevin. Fuck.

I should have taken myself off the case. You could say I lacked a certain degree of objectivity here. But my connection to the victim and the scene of the crime would give me the single-minded drive and focus necessary to solve this murder.

When we caught this fucker, I would be the one to get the satisfaction of bringing him down.

There's No Place Like Home...

In case you've been living under a rock, you heard that the east coast got pummeled with a blizzard Sunday night. Well, we were supposed to fly back from Florida on Monday afternoon. "Supposed to" obviously gives away the rest of the story...

But for those of you who need things spelled out...

We were told that our plane was at the airport and we were only delayed 30 minutes, which would work out perfectly because Newark was supposed to open its runways at 4. So on the basis of that solid information from my dad's special airline connections (he surpassed being platinum probably 4 months ago and is now like presidential elite super status), we checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport.

We checked our bags. Got through security. Made our way to the gate. This, of course, was no small feat with my 80 year old grandmother who had to keep stopping because her legs hurt, my uncle who is still in a boot and his leg is all fucked up, his wife, their two kids, my parents, husband and our son who likes to run freely around the airport making everyone chase after him. He's a fast little bugger. (Hubby's brother says Andrew DEFINITELY does not get speed or athletic ability from his dad) But it takes awhile to go anywhere when there are 10 of you...

So when we got to the gate, our flight was canceled.

While waiting on line to talk to someone at the gate, we got on our respective laptops, iPads, or cell phones - only to learn that the next flight we were eligible to take into Newark would leave Orlando on JANUARY 1!

The good people at Continental were able to get us onto a flight into DC the next day. As we wandered back to baggage claim to reclaim our 9 million suitcases, we were able to make reservations at a hotel. Of course, my uncle's family's reservation got booted twice - so they weren't able to make it onto the same flight as us.

DC is only a short train ride from home. We booked our tickets and hopped on a plane today into Dulles. Yeah... It took the freaking airline AN HOUR to get our bags off the plane. Which meant we had a whopping 40 minutes left to get from the airport to Union Station to claim our tickets and get on the train.

Yeah... We didn't make it. Not even close. And - of course - all the trains and cars and buses are booked for the rest of tonight.

So here I am. Sitting in my third hotel room in 2 days. (We managed to snag the last couple rooms left in the hotel, which is full of Carolina fans eager to root against my Terps) I could have driven back from Florida faster than I will arrive back home. We're set to take a train tomorrow afternoon.

Cross your fingers for me that we get back home tomorrow. We need all the good luck we can get!

(Meanwhile, I'd also like to thank the good people at Marriott and Continental, who have made a bloody fortune off my family this trip... But at least they got us on flights before next year and into hotel rooms, despite us apparently following the college bowl game circuit)

More...

The night began like so many others, with cheap booze and good company. I sat on the couch with a bad beer, staring at an even worse movie. I was so lost in reliving the latest fight with my boyfriend I barely saw the movie. It hardly registered when Anthony sat down next to me.

Anthony was a regular at these gatherings, though we rarely talked. Beyond his preference in beer and cigarettes, I knew relatively little about the guy. As I turned toward him, I unexpectedly felt myself flush under his gaze. I inhaled sharply as his fingers grazed my hip. Accidentally? Had to be. He has a girlfriend. We're in a room full of people. He's not going to start groping me with all these witnesses...

It was around then that I realized his lips were moving. Those intense eyes burned into mine but I had no idea what he was saying. He reached out and laid his hand on mine, thumb running over my knuckles. "Where are you tonight?" My eyes remained on his hand. Flesh burned wherever he had touched me. And I couldn't help but imagine how amazing those hands would feel over the rest of my body.

I shook my head, forcing those thoughts from my head, raising my eyes to his. "I could use another drink. You?" I stood quickly, retreating to the kitchen, hoping to put some distance between the two of us. As I poured myself a very stiff drink, I watched Anthony step onto the balcony. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, staring out into the darkness. I stepped out next to him, hoping to draw as little attention as possible from the rest of the apartment.

We stood beside each other wordlessly, the silence saying all the things we wanted to. I allowed myself to rub my leg against his, savoring the forbidden sensation of flesh on flesh. Watching him as he smoked, I knew Anthony would be trouble. And it was so fucking appealing.

I retreated inside and returned to pretending to watch the movie. In truth, Anthony had me captivated in a way that was both exciting and a little unnerving. He never returned to the couch, but I could feel his eyes on me. His gaze was a lover's caress along the length of my body. As the night wore on, and the drinks continued to flow, I kept searching for other opportunities to be alone with him, to find ourselves back out on the balcony.

That opportunity never presented itself. Too soon, he reached for his keys and began saying his goodbyes. When he got to me, he took in my glassy eyes and the bottle of vodka at my feet. "I'm taking you home. Don't even think about fighting me on this. You're in no condition to drive." He said.

He held out a hand to help me to my feet. I wobbled a bit and he slid an arm around my waist to steady me as we walked. I didn't really need the assist. I just wanted to feel his arms around me.

He eased his car into a spot across from my house. How had we gotten here so soon? He unfastened his seat belt and turned toward me.

You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you.

My heart skipped a beat before pounding wildly in my chest. I wanted desperately for him to kiss me. But what about his girlfriend? My boyfriend? Desire and loyalty began a furious war inside me... For once, I had no idea which side would win.

So... He began hesitantly. If I kissed you, would you slap me in the face? Kiss me back? Or continue to sit there with that shocked look on your face?

I didn't know. Still, a voice I hardly recognized challenged, "why don't you try it and see."

I can still close my eyes and savor every moment of that kiss. The feel of his lips. The musky scent of cologne. The look on his face when he finally pulled back, neither of us wanting that moment to end.

Soft and sweet. Heat sizzling just below the surface. It was the first of many and much more than just a kiss...

words...

Sometimes I sit down at the computer and the words pour out of me. Fingers fly over the keyboard, unable to keep pace with the ideas rushing forth to get down on the screen. Those stories are easy, the ones that write themselves.

Other times, the right lines, plots, words are more elusive. Those stories can take months (or longer) to gel, until I find the right inspiration to bring it all together. Those stories are harder, yet far more satisfying.

A jumble of words waiting to take shape into something bigger, better, than they were alone.

I'm starting to wrestle one of those stories to the ground. Only a few hundred words in, I love where the story will go if I actually take it the distance. But a few hundred words in, I also have to wonder whether anyone will want to read my words.

When I pick up a book, I devour it. I'm consumed by the characters, the plot, all the tiny details that make a story great. Hopefully one day you guys will be that entranced in one of my tales - and I can say I have a book of my own.

One day...