Double Grades

by Kristine Robinson

  Then, waiting for help to arrive, I help cover up the worst of Andrea's wounds. Most are superficial, some are not.

  “I k-killed someone,” Andrea says, clutching my shirt tight. “I didn't want to kill anyone. Are you ok? Are...” I see she's going into shock. Her eyes are fully dilated, and her words are trailing off.

  “Ssh. It's okay. It's okay.”

  I can't wait to explain this shit to the chief, though.

  I groggily shake my head. I think I'm concussed. I'm not sure, but I'm struggling to punch through the fog in my brain to form coherent thoughts.

  I think... I might just be...

  Blackness rushes to meet me.

  Final Chapter

  It's a week later since the death of Chavo and the nameless tattooed man. The police had turned up, along with medical assistance about twenty minutes after the call, because we were too far removed from regular routes.

  A week of concern, worry, and disapproval. My parents flew in from Venezuela to see me in hospital, as it turned out that I had sustained two broken ribs, a concussion from having my head smashed against the rocks, contusions and an aggravated windpipe. Andrea needed a blood transfusion to survive, and stitches to her arms and neck. I shudder, thinking how close she must have been to death. If he had run his blade over her jugular, she wouldn't be here.

  And I'd have no one to share the experience with except myself.

  After our subsequent recovery, chief Excelsior arranges to meet us both in his office at the precinct. My colleagues give me wary glances, all aware of my lie by now, and scowl at Andrea who glides behind me in all her glory, stitches protruding out of her short sleeved top and circling her neck.

  “I'm not happy with you,” Excelsior says. His bushy eyebrows knit together, and I quiver at the squint in his eyes. I wonder if I'm about to be fired. If Andrea's involvement in this debacle is clear, and she'll be arrested. I glance over to her, resisting the urge to reach for her hand, knowing affection does not have a place in this office. “You deliberately lied to us about your emergency leave. You lied to my face, so you could delve into a crime yourself without the legal authority to back it up. You had no gun, and you foolishly risked your life by playing the hero. What were you thinking?”

  Shame pulses inside. Andrea stares at me, stricken. She's at least semi-aware of how important this job is to me. The job that I so frivolously disregarded in order to pursue my own notions of heroism and bravery.

  He's right. I'm a fool. And there's only one way out of here, one way to make sure Excelsior might give me a chance.

  It's to tell the truth. Or as much of it as I can.

  “Andrea used to work for the bad guys,” I say, and her expression freezes. Excelsior's features remain neutral, fathomless. “She finally escaped that lifestyle to live her days clean and unfettered by the past. Except, the past wanted to kill her. And I didn't want her to die. She didn't want to go to the police because they would start digging too closely into her past. The only person she could go to for help was me.”

  I take a deep breath. Excelsior betrays nothing, not even a flinch of muscle in his arms. He simply waits, patient for me to continue. I can't help but feel I'm walking into the jaws of a bear as I do so.

  “I admit my judgement was erred. I let my emotions get in the way, because I had affection for her... sir.” I bite on the word, aware that it makes me sound like a lovestruck fool, and not a professional cop. Andrea has by now let her face relax, realizing what I'm trying to do. There's a softness there when I mention affection. “My original intentions to track down the operation using Andrea's intel fell sadly short when we were caught unprepared, in the open.”

  In our bed, more like.

  Excelsior nods, sensing I have no more words to say for now. His gruff voice tumbles out. “You have a good instinct to contact us. I caught some of the conversation between you and Chavo. Enough to know he planned to head to the mountains. It also appears that despite being tied and outnumbered, you two somehow managed to kill two people and force the rest to run away. I find this interesting.” He leans forward, his hands steepling together. He takes a long, studious examination of Andrea.

  “You're a criminal.”

  “Former,” Andrea corrects faintly.

  His lips twitch upward. “By all rights, I can detain you, since it appears that some of the things you've been formerly connected in are rather... noticeable. That's several lifetimes in prison, at least. Some impressive heists.”

  Andrea's face drains of all color. “Yes, sir..” I notice how she's adopted the “sir” as well, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I can't help but smile.

  “There is one condition where I may turn the other eye. For your transgression, Jennifer Garcia, and for your implicit involvement, Andrea Jones.” He taps his fingers on the desk, creating a reassuring drumming sound. I see his knee is jigging from whatever thoughts are racing in his head.

  “Chief?” I say, flabbergasted, but hopeful at the same time.

  “Tell me, Andrea Jones. How much do you know about your former... associates?”

  Her mouth drops open in an o of revelation. “A lot, sir. I know how they work, what they do, and several of the linchpins in over fourteen states. It's a big network.”

  “I'm aware. The government loses millions each year to business and bank heists. Monies being drained out of accounts by cyberhackers, physical robberies... it's a nightmare.” Excelsior clicks his fingers together. “If you're willing to help us tip the lid on these activities, you'll become a consultant to our precinct. And you'll work with Jennifer, who, despite her newbie status, does show moral fiber and promise. Since the alternative is life imprisonment, I imagine you will much prefer the former.”

  Andrew lets out a nervous giggle. “Yes, sir. I might just.”

  “Then we're sorted.”

  I stare incredulously at the chief. “That's it? You're not gonna fire me?”

  “Not yet,” he replies, with a faint smile. “You have, naturally, been docked pay for your emergency leave. I suggest you take your actual leave now to recover.” He gives me a sly glance, and my cheeks flush crimson.

  “Thank you, sir,” I say, sincere. He gives me a grunt of acknowledgment and dismisses us both from his office.

  ***

  Andrea and I are stunned.

  I don't know what we expected, but that definitely wasn't on the list.

  “Your boss is kind of cool,” Andrea says.

  “Yeah,” I agree, staring off into space, beyond the scrawl of traffic, honking horns and pedestrians swarming over the sidewalks. I see the Wichita Mountains in the distance, where two people lost their lives. I see those bank robberies, where innocents had died in unnecessary, bloody ways.

  I see Chavo's scornful face, and those eyes popping in rage and disbelief, cursing me as he falls from the edge to his doom. I remember the weight crushing me from above, as Tonio sought revenge.

  Then I look at Andrea, and a shiver of something ripples through. A trickle of sunlight peeks through the obscuring clouds, illuminating her perfect, rounded cheekbones. And then, I smile wickedly, realizing that I have a former criminal as my new consultant.

  “You can be my Patrick Jane,” I say, reaching over to hold her warm hand in mine. She raises one inquisitive eyebrow.

  “Please. I'm totally Castle.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “Peter Bishop, then?”

  We grin at each other, seeing a whole new future unfold in front of us. “You're free,” I say. “You'll never be chased by him again.”

  “Yeah.” She stares up at the sky, focusing on a pigeon as it flutters overhead. “I'm just trying to wrap my head around that now.”

  I lift a finger to stroke the stitches on her neck. People are walking past us, curious, because we do look like a couple of war-torn survivors. “Why did Alison help you?”

  Andrea sighs. Her vibrant blue eyes fix on mine, making my heart stop for an ins
tant. “Because she felt guilty. Not because she cared. Because she felt bad. Alison only cares about Alison.”

  “She did seem truly... regretful, though.” I decide to not mention the kiss that I saw. I don't think there's a point in it right now. Not when we're both together, holding hands, coming to terms with our new future.

  “Maybe. I doubt it, though. I really doubt it. But I'm glad she helped.”

  We reach the traffic lights, and wait for the signal to start walking across. “Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, leaning on her shoulder, a strange rush of affection tackling me. I'm enamored by the idea of her being my perky sidekick, of the notion that we can solve crimes together.

  And possibly romp under the sheets at night.

  “Yes. Though I was planning to stay in a hotel tonight. I don't feel so safe there. Even though I know he's gone.”

  “The hotel wasn't safe either,” I point out. I squeeze her hand. “How about you come over to mine? Plenty of room there for two.”

  “Hmm,” she replies, a mischievous grin eating up her face.

  I know exactly what that grin entails. Images of her on top of me flash through my mind, along with the memory of how she feels wrapped around my fingers, as she shudders underneath me to an orgasm.

  Suddenly, we can't move fast enough to get back home.

  I smile all the way back. Whatever happens, it looks like our futures are entwined together. Metaphorically and literally. Since I plan to do a lot of physical, erm, entwining tonight.

  Indeed, we barely make it past the front door of my little apartment before she's upon me, gasping into my mouth with hot lips, her palms burning a trail over my clothes. She clutches me tight, squashing our bodies together, and I can't stand the intensity that zips between us. I think if she keeps touching me like this, I'm going to explode into a million bliss-riddled pieces – and if I'm honest, that wouldn't be a bad way to die.

  Maybe it's the stress of the last week, of mending in hospital, and having to deal with the fear of being fired by Excelsior. Maybe it comes from seeing the stitches upon her face and neck, and knowing how close she was to death. How close I was. It's easy, to see Chavo's frothing mad face, his eyes bugging out as I somehow pull my hands out of those bindings, stop him from sending me to become a pile of broken bones and dreams on the ground. It hurts to remember Andrea's complete shock as she lay there in the granite beside me, hands trembling from the life she had taken. No longer a friendly Robin Hood, but a murderer, with blood spilled.

  She kisses me with fierce intensity and longing, as if by pushing her lips against mine hard enough, we can merge together and become one person, and forget everything else that exists, or perhaps forget we exist.

  I like the idea as well, and my tongue leaps out to brush hers, to galvanize us into erotic action. We're still wearing our full clothes, and we still haven't progressed much further beyond the front door of my apartment.

  “I can't wait to taste you,” she whispers into my mouth, eliciting a groan from my throat. Out of all the things she could have said, that ranks high on the list of holy shit that's hot. It helps as well that in her body and looks, she's everything I could ever want – and together, we've managed to battle past an ordeal that neither of us ever anticipated.

  “Not if I get down on you first,” I respond, smirking, ready to rise to the challenge. I'm a cop, after all, I do regular workouts and try to stay off those donuts. However, she's taller than me, and has a natural strength in that body that I could never hope to emulate. Her tongue flicks against my lips, then moves to wet the soft spot behind my ear, making my eyes glaze over and my body shudder.

  I want her. My brain and body practically screams for her to take me, to make me hers again. Giving into passion and melting in that pool of ocean deep desire is something that isn't a distant dream around her. We finally make it into the bedroom, and at this point, several more items of clothing have teased themselves off, finding their way into crumpled patches on my wooden floor. Our feet scuffle and scratch the boards, and our breaths huff and pant in the air, excitement hitching each inhale and exhale. My heart pulses blood through my body with frightening speed, and hers bangs against her ribcage like a drum. She's shaking as she takes off my top, unclasps my bra and sinks her mouth onto my breast, licking and sucking and kissing the erect nipple there. I moan and thread my fingers into her hair, tossing my head back and thrusting my chest deeper into her face. Shockwaves jolt inside me from every piece of bare skin she touches, and the sweet feeling she conjures when brushing my breasts with her affection and dedication is making it incredibly hard for me to form thoughts, or well, focus in general.

  She's like some damn Goddess with that tongue of hers, a tongue that craves to taste the core of me, and that thought sends rippling currents through my body, supercharging it to unimaginable heights. How is she so good? I don't understand. No one should be this good, make me practically tip on the edge of orgasm with just breast contact alone. She's incredible. She's amazing.

  Andrea topples me onto the bed and slides me along the sheets, which tickle and shiver along my skin. She pushes her clothed body onto me, wedging her knee firmly between, and pressing her thigh into my crotch. She begins a grinding rhythm, gliding over my body with each forward motion, caressing my breasts at every opportunity, ducking her mouth onto mine for quick, stolen kisses in the light of our lovemaking. Her fingers are so soft and smooth, like feathers on my skin. The friction generated from that fucking contact on my core from her thigh is insane – I can already feel myself bottling up, muscles tensing in preparing to come, and come hard. Unbelievable.

  In the moments where I do open my eyes, when I'm not giving into the moans and purrs that rumble out of my lungs, she has an intent, determined fix to her eyes, and her jaw is clenched as she examines my body, and deliberately stretches out to elongate the impact of her thigh rubbing against my crotch. Then, she makes her thrusts harder, jarring my hips, making me gasp at the delicious tension.

  “Fuck, I'm coming...” A series of gasps and cries fall out of my mouth as my legs bubble in tension, and let out a succession of tremors as the orgasm undulates and murmurs through my body. It's not the biggest one I've ever felt, but it's enough to leave me gasping in surprise, and for my eyes to see stars spinning. “Oh God.”

  “He's not here, but I can take a call, if you want?” She quips, a shit-eating grin on her face, obviously proud of the fact that she made me come without even taking my pants and panties off.

  “You fucker.”

  “That's the idea. And we're not done yet. Not by a long stretch.” She runs her tongue slowly over her lips, and I track the motion, enthralled by the provocative act. I imagine that tongue dipping between my thighs, that wetness colliding with mine, lapping at my juices, kissing me in my most intimate place, after my heart.

  No way is she doing that before I've at least gotten her fully naked and had my wicked way on her body. With a growl, I flip us over, and tear at her shirt until it peels off with her assistance. Her chest heaves up and down in amusement and excitement, and I fight her pants and panties off, dragging them from her hip until I'm left with my reward in front, naked and hot from her desire for me. Her skin is flushed in places, burning from my touch, rearing up in craving for my hand to grope it. I squeeze her sides and her breasts, aggressively massaging, being rough and commanding over her body.

  This is what I want. Not just to lie there like some damn pillow queen, but to dominate as well, to have my partner writhe beneath me, mewling and clawing at my hair as I lick her into ecstasy. She worms her palm down to try and hook her fingers through my panties, and she gets a brief hand glimpse of my wetness, before I bat her away. She's not getting me again so soon. Oh no. Not until I've had my fill.

  Not until I've made her mine.

  “You look like you're plotting something evil,” she breathes, taking a moment to run her fingers through my messy hair. I feel a slight flex of her muscles, and know s
he's planning to flip us over again.

  Nope. Not gonna happen. I grin salaciously at her and pepper kisses from her mouth to her neck, taking extra care to leave light, worshiping kissing on her stitches, because each stitch is a reminder that she lives. I leave a damp trail between her pert breasts, the jutting nipples, and work my way to her hot and waiting core. As I near my prize, I can smell her arousal, and it has a strong, concentrated odor, which makes my mouth water in anticipation.

  If she's planning to resist, all attempts at mustering a defense her end crumble when I make it to her throbbing center, and see her lower lips actually twitch at the contact of my hot breath upon them. I see a little wetness seeping out her core, and I slowly slide my tongue along, gathering the arousal and smearing it over her labia, before locating the nub tucked within hooded folds, and daub my tongue into there, touching the delicate bundle of nerves. She lets out a shuddering gasp, and I quickly clamp my hands onto her thighs to stop her moving out of my grasp. I try different things to see what kind of reaction I'll get from her. Broad, long strokes don't do that much for her, because I'm not hitting any specific hot zones for her. Little jabs, using my tongue as a lance seems to make her twitch and gasp, especially when I aim myself diagonally into her hood.