Everyone else, thanks for stopping in. And thanks for sending me such terrific e-mail. Y'all are super cool.

Thanks to Ume for taking care of my grammar and usage.

Creme Brulee: cremebrulee@myrealbox.com

I've been in love from the moment I first set eyes on her. Since the beginning of time. Or since the beginning of the rinse cycle if you want to get picky about trivial, irrelevant details like facts. That was ten minutes ago. But I don't do things by halves. Some have gone so far as to call me an extremist. I don't know about that, but I know a looker when I see one.

She keeps checking her watch like she's got somewhere to be. She's not doing her laundry. She's not dressed for laundry either. Unless all of her clothes are dirty and all she's got left is a $500.00 suit. I'm not complaining about her choice in clothes, but I'm sure I'd love her in rags just as much. And that's another pipe dream because a woman who looks as sweet as that isn't going to want anything to do with me. Hell, I don't want anything to do with me a lot of the time.

So what's she doing in the laundry at six thirty in the morning looking beautiful and nervous? Waiting for someone? Carpool? Probably.

I'm a neighborly kind of person who notices things. I've been told that I notice too much for my own good. It comes in handy in my line of work. Maybe she's got some big meeting today and is sweating the result. Maybe she's lost. I've never seen her around the neighborhood before. Dressed like that, there's not much chance she's the girl next door.

I'm giving into my overblown sense of responsibility and maybe the need to hear her voice. If you're going to love someone to your dying day, you should know what their voice sounds like, right? So I walk over and sit beside her and say, "Hi." I ask her if she's lost or needs anything. She gives me a cursory glance, maybe pauses a hair as she looks me over. Interested? I doubt it. She smiles the sweetest smile I've ever seen and shakes her head. "No, thanks, I'm fine. Just waiting for someone."

That was all I needed to die happy. I lie. I'll be miserable for the rest of my life because damn it, her voice completes the picture. She's an angel. An angel who's as interested in me as a busted harp. She checks her watch and clears her throat. I take the hint and go back to my machines. I'll never be the same.

My laundry has finally made it into the spin cycle and I wish it would hurry on through the rest so that I can get out of here. Being around this woman is making me giddy. Something has come unhinged in my mind and I think my heart's been hijacked. Even through the delectable haze of such an immediate and unrequited love I acknowledge that this probably isn't normal behavior, not even for me.

A car pulls up outside and she glances at it. She stands, looking more nervous, and smooths the wrinkles from her jacket and skirt. Then she bends over and removes a briefcase from beneath her seat. A prickling sensation makes itself known at the base of my neck. I hadn't seen the briefcase. I try not to look obvious as I glance at the car that she's headed toward as she opens the door. There's a single occupant, caucasian male by the looks of it.

She gets in and they sit there talking for a minute. Then there's shouting. I can't hear any of it, I can only see it from where I'm standing. It's when he grabs her by the hair that I'm jolted into action. I can't figure out how I got from where I was standing to his window, but that's where I am. I'm looking at him, holding her by the hair, shaking her head as he shouts at her. Even standing right next to the car all I can hear is muffled noises. My blood is rushing in my veins, I'm acting on pure instinct. I tap on the window. Not too loud, but enough so that he'll hear me.

He spins in his seat, like a startled animal. He looks back at the woman and then at me. I make the sign for rolling down the window. For some reason, he complies with my request.

I'm glad, it saves me the trouble of smashing it in. He doesn't leave me a lot of room to manoeuvre, but just enough to shoot a fist through the opening and knock him cold. I lean down to look through the window. "Are you alright?" I ask the stunned and disheveled vision staring at me, mouth agape.

"Who are you?" She asks, her voice still rough from the shouting and what must be shock from witnessing such an awesome physical display. I do deliver a spectacular jab.

I pull my wallet from my pocket and show my badge, "Officer Susan Little, ma'am. People call me Little. Are you okay?"

She shakes her head as if trying to regain her senses. I've overwhelmed her with my rescue no doubt. "Mac?" She asks. But she doesn't seem to be talking to me or the guy slumped in his seat. Her voice has a no nonsense tone to it, kinda edgy. "Are you getting any of this?"

Then she looks at me with anything but thanks or gratitude in her eyes. She keeps shaking her head. "Well Little, I'm Sandy Kline. People call me Agent Sandy Kline and you've just fucked up my drop. Mac!" She yells. "What are we going to do with Supercop here? How do we fix this? Boris is out cold. He looks dead."

She pauses as if she were listening to something and places two fingers at Boris' neck. "No, he's not, just unconscious. I need some help here, any ideas?"

A van comes screeching around the corner and stops next to the car. The large door at the side opens and two big guys drag me from where I stand backward into the van. It's a tidy manoeuvre. They throw me in a seat and the van takes off again.

There's yelling and a lot of shushing as they talk with the agent in the car. Sandy, her name is Sandy. I dunno, I would have thought Alexandra, or Penelope, something more fanfare-like, maybe Gabrielle. Sandy's a fine name, but kind of dull when you're thinking trumpets, you know?

I've been told to zip it and not move a muscle unless I want to be audited through the next millennium. I can't help my nerves from jangling, thinking about her out there all alone with Boris. He was a big guy. But I shouldn't doubt her, she's obviously a woman of substance. And we're not all that far away... This is a small consolation when my beloved is in danger.

We've moved to another parking lot. Down a couple of blocks, behind the grocery store. Sandy has had to do some fast talking, but seems to have convinced Boris that she was able to fend off the attacker sent by a mutual enemy and get him to safety. How could anyone doubt a word that comes out of that mouth? Apparently, Boris does, but is somehow mollified by the contents of the briefcase he's given. The drop goes down and out.

Several minutes later, the door to the van is flung open. A voice I recognize harkens to me, perhaps louder than necessary in the intimate confines of the van. "Where is she?!"

Everyone in the van turns and looks in my direction. They look as though they feel sorry for me. They have no idea how lucky I really am. I stand, in as much as that's possible, and walk to the door. "You're okay!" I say as I step down and take her into a hug. She's a petite thing, barely comes up to my shoulder. She gets miffed and pushes me away.

"What's wrong with you? You nearly got me killed, you ape! What kind of dumbass goes around smacking people in the head she doesn't even know? Do you have a history of brutality on the job Officer Little? You showed absolute disregard for any procedure I've ever come across in any manual of law enforcement. Mac, run her badge." She puts out a hand indicating that I should give it to her. I do, with a smile.

I've been known to act before asking questions on the job, but I've never acted out physically like I did this morning. Something in me had called strongly for the direct approach. "Did he hurt you?" I ask.

"Are you sane Officer Little? I'm curious to know this because since our acquaintance you haven't exhibited the kind of behavior that gives me confidence in your ability to carry a loaded weapon."

Mac returns. "Seems like Little here..." He eyes me the way a lot of people do when they hear my nickname. It's not exactly an accurate description. I'm just over six feet. "Is a supercop. Highly decorated."

Sandy starts shaking her short, mussed tresses and she grumbles. "Small town incompetence."

"Actually boss. Little's from the city."

Sandy squints at me. "What precinct?"

"Sixty-eighth."

She gives up, recognizing that she's obviously mistaken my abilities. It also looks like the adrenaline surge she's been riding is leveling out. I can see her pulse has slowed and her eyes look more normal. I smile a dazzling smile at her, "Sorry I got in the way."

"Oh forget it. We managed." She huffs and turns to go.

I smile again. "Least I can do is buy you all breakfast. There's a great place a few blocks from here."

She turns back and gives me that exasperated look again. "Do you work? Some people are on a job here." She gestures at the rest of her team. When she spares a glance at them she sees as clearly as I do that the idea of actual food, not crap out of containers, isn't something they think should be passed up.

"Come on Sandy, let's do it." Mac says. "Besides, the way you eat, you could even the score by making her broke."

I decide, without hesitation, that Mac and I are true friends.

"Oh alright. But you people are not putting this on your time cards, that much I can tell you."

Breakfast at Murphy's is always good, but this morning it's divine. I'm sure the company is helping to improve the food. Sandy hasn't said another word to me, she's busy talking to the redheaded guy who looks about twelve but obviously has a handle on all of the toys in the van. Their team is out here in the burbs helping the local law enforcement with a drug cartel who's decided that white flight isn't just for the middle class.

Mac seems interested in me and has asked a lot of questions. Guys generally do, until I make it clear that I'm batting for the other team. I don't think anyone at this table could mistake who I'm batting for now. I can't stop looking at her. Not that I've ever been accused of being a cool customer with the ladies. I have a string of girlfriends longer than my arm who'll claim just that.

As a matter of fact, I lose a lot of them because they sign on expecting the cool attitude and are disappointed when I don't dress up in leather and boss them around. One girlfriend said she couldn't understand how it was that a woman who had to carry a gun and wear those boots for a living had all of the sophisticated cool of a boiled egg. And the ones that sign on for the big loveable lug find that I'm lacking in that department as well. They also find it difficult to deal with the stress of having a girlfriend who might not come home at night. They're not worried about infidelity, but a hole in my head.

All of my musing gets me no closer to Sandy Kline. She and her crew of high tech spies are from the city too. My heart soars at that news. When I'm back in town after visiting with my cousin Fred and hanging out with my brother, I may have to look into this outfit. In the meantime, we've finished our fine repast and I have to return to my now empty and lacking life. Oh, and I have to get my laundry.

We all stand to go. Everyone says goodbye and it was real and stuff like that. They're a pretty fun group. Sandy looks irritated that they seem to like me. She walks over and looks up at me. "I hope you're through playing knight in shining armor Susan."

"Call me Little, everybody does."

"It doesn't really matter what I call you, because we're leaving. I doubt we'll have an opportunity to make use of nicknames. Stay out of trouble and try not to barge in on anyone's ops in the meantime. Okay?"

I smile, but my heart has broken. Who knew all of this could happen to a person so fast? "Sure."

Sandy turns and walks out the door. Mac lags behind and approaches me. What if he's fallen in love with me the way I've fallen in love with Sandy? Fate can be so cruel.

"Hey! Little!" He's waving his hand in front of my eyes. It's making it hard to see Sandy as she walks out of sight. When she's passed the window, I turn to look at him. He hands me a business card. "I don't have much time, but this is Sandy's card. Why don't you call her?"

I must look confused, because he hastens to explain. "She likes you. I can tell. She also hasn't been on a date in years and you can probably guess why. She's not always so abrasive. She's had a tough time of it. But she's a special lady, and I think you might have a chance."

He smiles and dashes off. My heart soars yet again.

It takes me two days to get up the guts to call my beloved at work. She pretends not to remember me, then she says she wishes she didn't, but I can tell that she doesn't mean it that way. She also tells me that she's booked solid until the end of the year and I should look elsewhere. I feel that she might be exaggerating, it's seven months to the new year, but I get the point. I apologize for taking up her time and hang up the phone, once again a broken woman.

I am so tired of fast food, take out food and any other food I find myself eating while standing or walking. I'm too tired and or busy to do anything about it so here I am again walking out of Jimmie's Sub and Sandwich Shop stuffing my face. I'm also trying to tell June what we need for this afternoon's meeting. She's trying to follow me, take notes and not spill the latte thing she got next door.

We get to the corner and I stop, only because the traffic is going, and turn to look at June as I tell her not to forget something. I don't know what, because that's when I see her. My stomach drops briefly at the sight of her in her patrol car staring at the light waiting for it to change. I hop backward, putting June between us.

"Don't move." I tell her.

"What, Sandy? Why?" June looks at me with interest and scans the area. But she's moving while she does it.

"Stop moving!" I move to stay behind her until she finally gets a clue and stops.

"Who is it?" She asks.

"No one." I tell her and hope, hope the ever observant public servant Little has not seen me.

The light changes, the traffic moves forward, no one has jumped from a car and belted anyone, so I must be safe. For reasons I do not wish to contemplate, I'm slightly disappointed. Someone ought to tell Little that if she wants to be in the white knight business, she ought to be more on the ball. Right now for instance, I'd give anything not to have to be eating this sandwich. She could do her hero thing and swoop down with a poached trout and a nice bottle of wine. I'd settle for a simple salad. Why do our offices have to be in the middle of her precinct?

We're a block from work. I dread going back in. I know I won't see the light of day again. That's why I'm out here now. June and I cut across the street while the traffic is light and make our way past our favorite stationery shop. There's always a great window display. I can't calculate the amount of money I've blown in this place. June is gesturing at the window when we hear it. Someone is making a "tsk, tsk" noise behind us. I turn to see her standing there with a pad of tickets. She smiles a perfunctory smile and says, "Ladies." as she writes something on the pad.

June looks at me. I look at Officer Little. All of her, from her polished boots to her immaculate cap. I'm distressed to see that she's wearing mirrored aviator glasses. I hate those things. Though I admit, they probably come in handy in her line of work. Now for instance, I can barely get a read off of her. By way of greeting I say, "Officer."

"You do know, don't you, that it's illegal to jay walk in the downtown area?"

June looks as though she's going to laugh. I jab her in the side. I don't want to give Little ammunition. She could be a jilted psycho for all I know. "Yes, we did. We're very sorry and we won't do it again."

June looks at me in shock. It wasn't the reply she was expecting.

Little continues to write in her pad, though at this point she's got to have the damn thing written out. Not a whole lot to a walking violation. Poor thing has a great body, but I fear she's not all there in the brain department.

"Well okay then." She says, but keeps writing in the pad.

"Aren't you going to give us a ticket?" I ask. My finite patience showing it's edges.

She looks up from her pad. "If you want, sure. But for now I'm trying to figure out a seven letter word for 'also anthropomorphic'. Any ideas?"

"Hominid." June answers in a heartbeat. She can do those things in her sleep. Acrostics too.

I reach over and pull the pad down where I can see it and there's a neatly folded crossword puzzle tucked in there. "So that's what my hard earned tax dollars are paying for?"

She shrugs, "No more than mine are going to pay for that." I may not be able to see her eyes, but I have no problem seeing her sneer as she points at the remains of my sandwich with her pen.

"You're on lunch?" I ask.

She nods, then, looking as if she's just remembered something, she takes off her glasses and smiles. She has a lovely smile. I'm guessing she knows that.

"Hi Sandy." She says, once again reminding me of the guiless puppy who jumped from a van and squeezed the air out of my lungs three weeks ago.

"Hi Little." I say and introduce her to June. June's all fascination at this point. I can hear the wheels in her head turning from where I stand.

"I thought I'd come over and tell you, you didn't have to hide on the rare occasion you see me here in your neighborhood. This is my beat."

I'm thoroughly embarrassed and not sure what to say. I smile what I hope is an apologetic, smile and say, "Okay."

She smiles again and says it was nice to meet June, goodbye and she'd see us around. June turns to me as she goes and raises her eyebrows in question. I'm feeling like a complete ass. Against my better judgement I tell June to go on to the office and I go after Little.

It takes me a minute to catch up. The woman has long legs. "Susan, I'm sorry."

She looks surprised when she turns around.

"Look," I begin to explain. "I'm, well, I'm sorry that I was rude. It's not that I didn't want... I didn't mean... Oh, hell, I was being a jerk."

She smiles again. "Don't sweat it. But thanks."

I can tell from her voice that I'd hurt her feelings, and I hope that she finds the apology sincere. "Can I buy you a coffee or something to make it up to you?"

The wattage in her smile increases exponentially. "No, I'm back on shift in a minute. But I appreciate the offer."

I don't know what's come over me, but I press on. "How about after shift?"

She blinks at me thoroughly unprepared for this turn of events. "I get off at 9:00, that's kind of late. I don't want to put you out."

"I probably won't be done here until 8:30 or 9:00. Sometimes I catch a late dinner at The Bughatti over on 65th. We could meet there."

"Sure."

----

It hadn't occurred to me that after hours attire for cops wasn't the same as for the agents, lawyers and the other professionals that infest The Bughatti on a weekday night. Little has shown up looking under dressed for the occasion. Even if the occasion is only coffee or a late meal.

I, for one, am not complaining. The woman fills out jeans and a t-shirt to great effect. She looks a hell of lot better than I do in my tired suit.

She spots me at my table and makes her way through the noisy and crowded room. A lot of heads turn as she walks past. I don't think her lack of professional attire is worrying anyone much.

I'm assailed by a feeling of stupidity as I realize that I more or less forced her to meet me here. She's probably busy dating half of the metro region by now and thinks I'm trying to get another chance with her. For the record, I tell myself, I'm not. I'm trying to make amends for being such an ass.

My palms are sweating. I can see her sitting there at the table and I can barely believe that I'm going to get to sit with her. I keep trying to tell myself that she's just feeling sorry for me and is meeting me to assuage her guilt. I know that's the case, but when you're in love like this it's hard to keep yourself in check.

I'm smiling at her like an idiot before I even reach the table. So much for trying to play it cool. I know there's no way I'll pull that off anyway, so I may as well give it up.

She says "Hi" and I sit. I order some food though I'm not hungry. She apologizes for having started her dinner then explains she hasn't had anything since that sandwich this afternoon that she didn't get to finish anyway. I tell her it's not a problem, then I spot something moving toward us that is.

"Well, well, if it isn't two of my favorite people." Brett smiles at me, but leans on the table and looks at Sandy. That look speaks volumes. I remember the first time Brett looked at me like that. Back when I thought she was a nice person. Though why I would have thought that a prosecutor for the most corrupt DA on the planet was a nice person I can't remember. I think my brain may have been preoccupied by the assets Brett is busy displaying in Sandy's direction. I admit, that if Sandy's interested in Brett, I haven't got a snowball's chance in hell. Brett's all the smooth, cool, sophistication I'll never be. She's also not very nice.

"You two know each other?" Sandy inquires.

"Susan and I have made an acquaintance, yes. She testified in a case a while back." Brett smiles.

I nod. That's part of the story.

"Of course." Sandy smiles a polite smile. "I'm sorry we didn't get back to you Brett, but I can't seem to find that file anywhere. Call June tomorrow, I'm sure we've got it."

"Thanks, are we on for Friday?"

I'm beginning to itch at Brett's intimate tone. And she's doing her damnedest to cut me out of the conversation. I hate pissing contests, so I don't bother getting into them. I sit back and let them finish.

"Sure, I'll double check with June tomorrow."

Brett slithers off the table, makes her goodbyes to Sandy and gives me a half-hearted smile. I guess she finds it hard to work up real enthusiasm for someone she can't impress with her Mercedes or buy off with thick envelopes.

Sandy squirms in her seat a little, pushes her dish away, then looks over at me. "Is she someone you know well?"

I shrug. That's not an easy question to answer. Does having sex with someone qualify as knowing them well? Does refusing a bribe from someone give you insight into their character? "We've had dealings."

Sandy nods and purses her lips. I'm not sure what she's made of the tone of my voice. I can't see my angelic Sandy being taken in by the likes of Brett. I can see she's not the sort. I add, by way of clarification. "We're not the best of friends, so I'm not sure why she referred to me as one of her favorite people."

"Ah." Is all Sandy says. But I can see that we've communicated something else. Moved a fraction of an inch closer in the way two people can when a third neither likes shows up. I'm relieved that Sandy doesn't like Brett. Brett's assets may look appealing, but they're not all real and she hasn't got a clue what to do with them. Sandy deserves better. Besides all of that, Brett's as crooked as sin.

"Tell me Little, why are you a cop?"

After talking law enforcement for a while, we decide to call it a night. It's gotten late faster than I had imagined it could. I don't want to bother her and make her uncomfortable by hanging around, so I say good night and that I'll see her at the traffic lights and if I catch her jaywalking again there'll be no second warning, but a ticket.

That's when she asks me if I'm ever serious. I smile and say that there are occasions that I am and I could pencil her in for one if she wanted.

She looks like she's thinking it over. "If I were to tell you that my schedule may have opened for a night, would you be interested in taking me up on it?"

I'm trying not to hug her. I know that if I concentrate really hard I can keep myself from reaching out and doing it. She doesn't look like she's asking for a hug. She's asking if I want to go on a date. Now I'm trying not to faint.

"Little? Are you okay?"

"Oh, sure, must have stood up too quickly." I try to cover, but it's lame, so very lame. "I'd be thrilled." I tell her. And it's the truth.

I've had a day from hell. Not only has it been my ill fortune to have had to deal with Brett Danforth for the entire week, it was also my duty to help bust her this afternoon. I guess I've been in the process of busting her for a while, slowly. But today was the wrap up. Nothing pisses me off more than a slimeball like Brett. So oily you can feel the grease blocking your pores as she's walking by.

All of this and I still have to go out with Little tonight. I've been dreading it for days now. I can't figure out what moved me to ask her. The smile? No, her smile's nice, but kind of irritating. I keep thinking she's some kind of frisky puppy when she smiles. I like serious women with brains. What am I doing going on a date with Rambo Cop? Could it be her body? I can't find much fault with what I've seen so far. Except that generally I prefer smaller women. Women who don't make me feel like a dwarf when I stand next to them. Her eyes? I've always liked brown eyes, but hers are light brown. And her nose is a shade too large. And she dresses like a jock. And I'm spending a lot of time thinking about her when I need to finish this report so that I can go figure out what the hell I'm going to wear tonight.

It takes me longer than it should to get home. I'm going to be late if I can't get ready quickly.

"This is driving me nuts Jen!" I shout as I fall onto the bed that's covered with clothes. I can't figure out what I'm wearing and I don't have a clue why. I sit up and look at her picture on the dresser. "What am I doing? Why am I doing this Sweetie?" I ask her, but she doesn't answer. She hasn't since she had the nerve to die on me three years ago. You're younger partner is not supposed to die when she's twenty-eight. I'm still pissed about it. My therapist says that my anger may be hampering the grieving process. I don't care, it's what I've got left and I'm hanging onto it for all I'm worth.

"Christ, it's just dinner at LoHye's. That crappy pan-asian place with the snotty waiters. You loved it. I didn't. So why do you think I said it was okay if we went there? What am I doing? I'm leading her on. I have no intention of seeing her again. If she wants to ticket me that's fine, but this is it. At least she's not into macho crap. Or she doesn't seem to be. How could she not be? Did I tell you she wears mirrored glasses?" I start laughing so hard that I cry. I pull something from the bed to wipe my tears and see it's a fairly new silk blouse that goes perfectly with the slacks I've got on.

I can't see that Sandy's the flower type. Women always complain that I'm not romantic enough. I think I'm plenty romantic, I just don't get why they think I ought to show up with flowers. No one ever brings me flowers. Is it because of the gun, do you think? Maybe the night stick says I'm the one who should bring the flowers. The handcuffs? Do they say, "Hey! I'm bringing the flowers in this relationship." I sigh, I know the answer. It's the boots. It always comes back to the damn boots. If the uniform came with sneakers, or maybe I was a bike cop, I might not have the flower problem.

Hell, I'm not bringing her flowers. We're meeting at the restaurant anyway. And I'm guessing that Sandy is the kind of woman who's not into the trappings of dating. She seems kind of geeky for an agent. Like she's a bookworm on the sly or something. I'd like to see what my beloved looks like in glasses.

I was prepared for Dockers, torn Levi's even. But I wasn't prepared for that body in a dress. I can't sit here calling her Little all night. It's just too weird. I'm sitting across from a vision in black, who bears an uncanny resemblance to a regrettably eager cop I've met a couple of times.

As we talk, it's woefully clear that it's Little in that dress. All of that enthusiasm and energy, she must burn up calories like an incinerator.

I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress. I'm sending the wrong signal here. I can tell she likes it, or what she can see is in it. It's the first time Sandy has shown what I'd describe as an unbridled enthusiasm in my company and I'm not exactly sure how I feel about that. On the one hand I'd like to go kiss my brother Larry for getting married last fall and daring me to buy and wear this to be his best man in. On the other hand, I'd like to kick his ass for suggesting that I wear it tonight if I was so damned set on making an impression on this woman that I never manage to shut up about for ten freaking seconds. I've got her attention alright.

Still, she couldn't mistake who's in the dress. Not for long or so I gather because she's settling down after oohing and aahing over the 'transformation'. We talk about her day which lightens my mood no end. She tells me about busting Brett and I'm all praise and wonderment at the tale. I knew Sandy could see through Brett. I don't fall for just anybody. I fall for the woman with x-ray vision, who I think is trying not to stare at my neckline.

She looks like she might hyperventilate. What's the big deal? It's a good night kiss. She's got to have done this once or twice. Could she be nervous at our semi public setting? But it's a secluded and quiet corner of the park.

Could I have Little all wrong? Is this walking advertisement for lesbianism a shy wallflower? I'm intrigued. I move forward and she doesn't move a muscle. I place my hand on her abdomen and she jumps slightly. I smile. She's doesn't. She's staring at my mouth though, from what I can remember about this kind of thing, that's a good sign. I tilt my head back and she doesn't move to meet me. She's too big and I'm not climbing up there so I reach up a hand and draw her down.

I kiss her gently on the lips and can tell that it's true, she's nervous, or in shock, because she barely responds. "Are you okay?" I whisper as I brush my cheek against hers.

She nods and I can hear her breathing heavily. I kiss her lips again, gently. She responds more, but not much. She's begun to move her hands though and has wrapped them around my back. I kiss her cheek and am thinking she may be calm enough for me to kiss her mouth again when I feel her hold tighten and she kisses me full on the lips, hard. It's a glorious feeling, but I'm startled by the change in pace. I also feel as though I've lost the control that was giving me a sense of security. I'm not sure how much I care and the rest of my body certainly doesn't because it's responding enthusiastically to her taste, lips and hands.

I'm hyper aware of her hands exploring my body. I don't know when we decided to go from zero to sixty, but I'm not arguing at the moment. The moment I start arguing is when I feel her right hand touch bare skin under my shirt. It feels like a shock. I move down and redirect her attentions to the outside of my apparel. But her other hand has found the same entry point. I stop responding automatically and grasp both of her wrists. "Stop."

She freezes as well. I can hear her breathing as she gathers her thoughts. "I'm sorry." She backs away. "I got carried away."

"I noticed." Is all I can manage to say. Given the circumstance and my involvement, I shouldn't feel as angry as I do. I had, after all, been grasping at the hem of her dress. She's looking at me confused that she didn't read my mind correctly. I guess I should tell her that it's okay, I don't even know what I want right now. Well, I think I know, I'm just not clear on how to get it. She looks so vulnerable and I have to admit that's turning me on no end. This is getting weird. But I can't resist the urge to approach her and kiss her again. If she was confused before, she's confounded now. So am I, but when she reaches out to touch me I take both of her wrists and hold them away from my body. Not in a harsh way, just to illustrate that that's not what I want. She goes with it. Little is an easy going kind of person, maybe she's what I need right now.

A few minutes later I'm certain that she is. While kissing her, she's let me touch her skin in the way I denied her moments ago. She's soft and hard and aroused and for the first time in a long time I'm feeling like a human being. Not a shell. I want to feel more human with Little in a horizontal position. But I'm too scared.

She's trying to say something but I can't make out what it is because I won't give her the opportunity to finish. I keep interrupting her with my tongue to taste her mouth. I love the way it's making her tremble and moan. I'm addicted to the electric current that's zinging through my body. I know that Little's the source.

"Sandy, you have to stop." She finally rasps out as I'm kissing her neck and moving back to her chest, which is conveniently located for my height. I grab her and pull her close as I begin to attend to her. I feel her hands gently, but firmly pushing me away. "Unless you think you can hold me up, I need to sit down."

I'm reminded that we're in a public park, albeit a quiet corner. I've never gotten this carried away with anyone before. She smiles and leans down to kiss me, and as I reach for her she breaks away and steps back. "I mean it, I'll fall over if you keep that up. And I doubt you'd find the ground as comfortable as my bed."

We pause and look at each other across the silence. It's a small word with a large impact given my present state of arousal. And I think to myself, isn't this what I wanted all along? In the back of my mind haven't I wanted this since I asked her for coffee? She's not my type, but is so willing and accommodating. She can't expect anything to come of it. "You're right."

We've made it to her apartment and my mind's still spinning. There's a part of me that's insisting that this is wrong and I'm using her for my own convenience. There's a part of me that insists that she's doing the same. The woman has dated half the city, or so I've been told from people who've made her acquaintance. I stop thinking when she leads me into her bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed. She's reading my mind fine now. I lean down to kiss her. She tries to touch me again and I take her hands and hold them away. I look into her eyes and she smiles. I have no clue how this works, but it does and she allows me to touch her again and that's pretty much how it goes throughout.

At no time in the evening do I allow her to remove my clothes, but I do let her hold me. She's tremendously strong and it's ironic that I'm controlling her every move. I couldn't do this any other way. She seems to sense that and accept it. I can feel her straining to resist the impulse to grab me. Her body is a thing of beauty, toned and strong. Her full breasts are a divine revelation and I've taken great pleasure in getting acquainted with them. The length of her is an exquisite escape. Her skin is no longer tight along her muscles as it must have been at one time, but it's wonderfully soft. And she's keenly responsive to my touch.

She's climaxed three times and I want to keep pushing her but she pulls my hands away. I could do this all night. I feel as though I've been starved.

I look out my office window at the rain. It's been raining for days. Officer Jones sticks his head in my door, "Detective Little? Lieutenant Peters is out here, do you have a minute?"

"Sure John. In a sec." I close the document I wasn't paying any attention to on my computer. I find it difficult to concentrate on rainy afternoons. They remind me of Sandy. Don't know why really. We never hung out in the rain. We never hung out period. If you count me lying in my bed with her driving me slowly crazy, yeah, then we hung out some for a while. But I couldn't take it for very long. The devil couldn't have thought up a worse hell for me. And all that time I thought she was an angel. I guess I still do. But I can't see her, not if I want to maintain my sanity.

Sandy's in love with a dead woman. I've been told that you can't compete with the dead. They're infallible. They don't leave a mess, they're always agreeable and they understand everything. Only problem, they don't have bodies. That's where I came in, or so I began to think. I was reasonably sure that Sandy wasn't into S/M, I've met women who are and she was after something else. Something less appealing to my mind. So I called it off after a month of slow torture.

I've dated since then, but not much. My heart's never in it and I begin to feel like I'm using women the way Sandy used me. I've heard that she's been dating - ironic twist. Lawyers, professors and the like. Women of a more suitable station than a cop. I know I've got a chip on my shoulder about it and John says that's what I get for playing outside of my league. He says that since I made Detective six months ago I can start dating further up the food chain without as many repercussions. I wanted to hit him because I know that Sandy may have some problems, but she's not a classist snob. She'd have a problem with my taste in books before she had a problem with my job.

I drift through the day on autopilot. I can't stop thinking about her today. It hits me this way sometimes. It's been a year since we stopped doing whatever it was that we were doing.

Being on a stakeout is never much fun. Unless you have a good partner. Sanchez is pretty good. She brings pictures of her kids and likes to get her coffee from the same place I do. We're trying to figure out what kind of business the small Italian joint across from the train station is really doing. It's part of the Mayor's fun idea for cleaning up the neighborhoods.

I get out of the car and go in. I've been going in to order once in a while and look the place over. As I clear the doorway, shouting begins. The place erupts in a hail of bullets and bodies are falling to the floor. A guy next to me pulls a gun and on instinct I knock it out of his hand. He's small and as I turn I see he's not a he but a she and my body's in action before my brain registers a thing. I tackle her to the floor. The ear splitting sound of automatic weapon fire at close range makes my head ring. We're covered in a spray of splinters and glass.

She pushes me away and pulls another gun from her shirt, takes aim and starts blasting. There's one guy standing near us who is about to fire and she yells, "Freeze, FBI! Drop your weapon!" I don't remember my angel having such a loud voice but I don't care. The last bad guy standing drops his gun.

"Would you get off of me?" She shouts. I do.

She huffs, shouting orders and pushing people around. I wait out her adrenaline rush. Thrilled that she's alive to spare me the odd shout and insult. I can tell that what's troubling her most, besides the fact that I'm here at all, interrupting another of her operations, is the fact that I've saved her life.

Being the idiot that I am, I'm letting myself watch her and feel what I did the first time I set eyes on her. Mac walks over. "Hey Little, long time no fuck up our op. Where ya been?"

"Around." I tell him. Mac's a good guy and one of Sandy's best friends.

"Hear you made Detective, congrats. The boss is almost off her adrenaline kick, you going to hang around?"

"Thanks. I think I'll let her yell at me again, then I'll be off."

"You should yell back at her, you just saved her life."

"She did not. She knocked my gun out of my hand before I could nail the bastard."

Mac looked at Sandy and shook his head. "'Fraid not boss. Lenny shot the oozie. You were aiming at Squiggy. You were almost holes and air."

Sandy paled, but continued on. "Well, someone would have shot him. And that seems to be the problem here. So the one thing I do have to thank you for Little is keeping at least one of them alive."

She turned and started shouting again.

I heard two weeks later that Sandy quit the bureau and took a job at the University teaching ethics. It turned out that her department was being used in a cover up scheme. She found a curious trail of information and followed it, thanks to the remaining bad guy left from the shootout in the Italian joint. She unraveled the cover up involving the bureau, the mob, it's informants, payoffs and several of her superiors. She busted the thing wide open. That's her professional style.

I remember her saying that the lines between good and bad were blurry enough without law enforcement making them worse.

I can see why she'd be sore. I never went in for any of the federal agencies because the departments I'd worked locally seemed screwed up enough. I couldn't imagine what that would be like on a larger scale.

I'm sitting in front of the TV and I can't work up the energy to turn it on. I think I need a pet or something. I could teach it to fetch the remote. The phone starts ringing and I decide that answering it is less painful than listening to the ring.

"Little?"

"Sandy?"

"Hi, I thought I'd call and say thanks for saving my life."

"Oh. Sure, no problem." I'm guessing her adrenaline rush has worn off. We're quiet for a beat. I'm still getting over the fact that she called.

"I'd like to talk to you. Can you meet me sometime?"

Was I supposed to say no? I guess I was, but I didn't, so I'm here sitting across from her at her place. It's nice and light, lots of books everywhere. I've never been in her place before.

I keep looking at my hands and wondering what it is she wants to say. She's been offering me drinks and food and showing me around. I even saw 'her' picture and I'll admit that for a dead woman she's not bad looking.

"I want to apologize..." Sandy starts, and trails off.

"You already did and it's okay." I finish up for her. Was that all? I wouldn't have thought that would be so difficult. I'm ready to bolt now because I'm all uncomfortable.

"No, I meant about before. I want to explain. Will you stay? Just for a minute?"

I'm having a hard time disguising my agitation. I should have asked if we could meet in a park or coffee shop or something. It being just her is difficult and her house is making me uncomfortable. But I nod and try to stop tearing up the napkin she gave me with my drink.

"I've tried to think of a way to explain hundreds of times, but I couldn't. It's too difficult, and embarrassing. But I owe you an explanation at least."

"You don't owe me anything. What we had didn't work out. End of story. It's a sad ending and not the one I would have preferred, but that's life."

"But it did work out, that's just it. It worked out for me. Which is what makes me feel even more guilty. I don't know if I would have ever been able to be with someone else again if it weren't for you. I don't think I'd ever have been able to let someone into my life again. Much less have a life again in the fuller sense. You made that possible for me. And I gave you nothing but pain in return. Even if I was just another notch on your dating post, you were nothing but kind to me and I was hurtful and selfish. That's what I'm apologizing for Little."

Notch in my dating post? Who does this woman think I am, the Fonze? Am I supposed to sit here and glow with satisfaction at the fact that I restored her to life so that she can enjoy it with someone else? Perhaps I should, but I won't. I can't sit anymore so I stand up. "You weren't a notch. I fell in love with you the moment I set eyes on you in the laundromat. The first time you spoke to me I thought I might die happy. The first time you glared at me I felt alive. The first time you shouted at me I was sure I was in heaven. Does that even sound sane? Does that sound like I was sizing you up for a notch? When you kissed me I swooned. When you touched me I thought I'd explode. I haven't been myself since the first time I crashed one of your ops and I never will be again. Do you have any idea how difficult it is doing my job while feeling the way I do about you half the time? I was a pretty hard assed cop until you came along. I'm supposed to be a hard assed detective. But I have a tough time managing it."

For some ungodly reason she's smiling at me. "When were you ever a hard ass at anything? Little, you're a big pushover."

"For you obviously, but there are a lot of people who feel differently when they hear my name. How do you think I've succeeded in my job?" I know I'm not as much of a hard ass personally as I can be professionally, but my ego's taken enough of a beating from this woman.

She shrugs. "Because you're gentle and kind and I thought slightly nuts."

"No, that crazy thing was you all of the way."

"I'm so sorry."

"Yeah, well, so am I. I've never felt this... that, I mean, for anyone. I have to go now."

"You do?" She seems sad about it, but I can't take anymore.

"Yeah. Good luck with your girlfriend. And I'll see you around."

"What girlfriend?"

I pause before starting for the door. "The one you're able to share your life with, yadda yadda. That one."

"I was speaking metaphorically, I'm not seeing anyone right now. I'm just thankful that I can. That I'm at a place where I don't feel like I'm betraying Jen. Or myself. That's what I meant. I don't feel like dating to tell you the truth, I feel like I worked through something and I'm here on the other side of it and here you are and I wanted to thank you."

And like an idiot I let her hug me. But she's looking happy and I can't resist her. I can't touch her either because I know it freaks her out so I stand there until she backs away. She must see something in my expression because she tilts her head and looks into my eyes. She smiles, steps forward and hugs me again, but this time she takes my arms and wraps them around herself. We stand like that for a while. I think I'm in heaven again which is a good sign I should be leaving because if she asks me to stay there's no way I could refuse. She's right, I'm a pushover. A stupid one.

"Little?" She asks as we break apart. "If I had a free night in my schedule. One that I could dedicate to making up to you. Would you be interested?"

"I can't Sandy, not unless..."

"Oh, you can, I'd insist."

"You would?"

She nods. And I know that insanity will be my closest companion for life if I don't get what I need from her. So I stay. And it's a good thing I do because Sandy has the softest skin of any woman I've ever touched. She's older than I am by several years, but it doesn't matter. At first we're awkward with each other. She's more shy this time around. And I note that though she's careful and deliberate, her memory for my body is excellent. I've spent a good deal of time getting to know every bare inch of her in return. She's exhausted and spent and insists that she can't move another muscle. I tell her to catch her breath, she's going to need it.