Authors: Ronica Black
Henderson is my liaison? Does that mean Patricia Henderson is a lesbian?
*
A hand waved in front of her face. “Hello?” J.R. said. “Earth to Mac.”
Erin shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t expect to see you.” She directed the apology to Henderson.
Smiling, she said, “It’s okay. I thought it might surprise you.”
Erin motioned for them to come inside. “Why didn’t you just tell me today?” she asked, genuinely curious as to why Henderson and Ruiz hadn’t enlightened her earlier.
“I asked Sergeant Ruiz not to—not in front of everyone, that is.”
They entered the house and J.R. was once again J.R. “Holy shit, Mac, you dealin’ drugs on the side?”
Erin laughed at his complete awe. He was such a character, speaking with a Spanish accent and slight lisp. And he proudly told anyone who asked that he and his mother came from Mexico and that his father was the “Wonder Bread.” J.R. was eccentric in every way, dressing worse than a blind man on a good day. This evening’s look was tight, faded jeans and a wildly colorful shirt with traffic signals all over it. The loud shirt was unbuttoned halfway down, revealing sporadic chest hair.
“Seriously,” he continued, completely oblivious to her eyeing his attire, “I know you was working narcotics and all, but I didn’t know you was
working it
.” He bumped hips with her and eyed her playfully. “You go, chica.”
Henderson also seemed to be taken aback at the spectacle of a home. Erin cringed at what her colleagues must be thinking.
“My soon-to-be ex-husband is partner in a law firm,” she said, feeling the need to explain. “That’s the only reason I live in a house like this. I could never afford it on my salary.”
“Man, I was waiting for fuckin’ Lurch to answer the door.” J.R. ran a hand over the Italian silk wallpaper.
“Please come in and make yourselves at home,” Erin offered, trying to get their minds off the extravagant surroundings. She led them into the living room where she’d been watching the lesbian movies. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”
Henderson shook her head politely, but J.R. wasn’t paying attention. Staring past her he said, “Oh man, you got a plasma TV!” and made a beeline for the remote. “I heard the picture is, like, a hundred times better on these things.”
Before Erin could stop him, he hit the power button and the screen came to life just as the two leather-clad women came together in a series of loud orgasmic screams.
Erin felt her face redden all the way up to her ears.
“Mac, you bad bitch!” J.R. was angling his head as if to better examine the sexual position on the screen.
Henderson laughed. “I see you’ve been doing your homework.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, looking a little embarrassed herself.
“Yeah, I don’t think Mac needs you,” J.R. informed Henderson, without looking away from the screen. “She’s learning on her own.”
Erin threw her hands up in the air in defeat. “You got me.” Inwardly she wanted to die, but she stood her ground, hoping against hope that this would not find its way back to the department. Picturing Stewart’s reaction, she winced.
For a moment they all stood in silence and watched as two new women entered the scene.
“Hey. Henderson, you in this one?” J.R. teased.
“Fuck you.” Henderson grabbed the remote from him, amidst loud protests. “Just do your thing and get out of here.” She stuck it in her back pocket. “We have more important things to discuss.”
“Okay, okay.” He moved over to his bag of equipment and pulled out some wires and rolls of tape. “There’s not much to cover. Mac knows the drill from last time we worked together. But I do need to show you guys how to communicate with each other.” He approached them carrying two small pieces.
“Mac, you’ll be wired for voice sound. This one is smaller and safer than what we used last time. It fits right in your bra.” He motioned for Erin to lift up her shirt and fastened a tiny black device to the center of her bra.
She looked up and caught Henderson watching them, red tinting her cheeks. Suddenly she realized Henderson was not studying J.R.’s wiring technique but was looking at her bare torso. Feeling self-conscious she glanced down at her black lace bra and fairly toned abs.
Do I look okay?
Judging by the blush Henderson was sporting, Erin thought she must look pretty good. But then again, she didn’t know what women liked in other women. Mark had always told her she was too muscular for his taste. She wondered what Henderson thought of her and decided to ask her later that evening when they were alone. She had to make sure she was up to par before she went undercover trying to attract a lesbian.
J.R. had turned his attention to Henderson and positioned a tiny earpiece behind her thick hair where it was completely hidden from view. “Go in the other room and see if you can hear us,” he instructed.
As soon as she’d left, he walked over to Erin and said with a smirk, “Mac has a nice rack.”
She laughed and smacked him on the arm.
“Hey, that hurt!” He rubbed his arm. “Seriously though, what are you carrying…a nice pair of Cs?”
“You know it.” She blushed suddenly, remembering that Henderson could hear their conversation.
Apparently J.R. had similar thoughts. “You better be careful being alone here with Henderson tonight. She might try to sleep with you to authenticate your undercover role. This time tomorrow, you could be a butch truck driver wearing horrible flannel shirts.”
He had barely finished the last sentence when Henderson came flying into the living room and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, scooting him over to his equipment. “Out, get out now!” She yanked out her earpiece and tossed it to him. “Your equipment works great, now you can go.”
“Shit, I was just making sure you could hear us.” J.R. straightened his shirt. “Oh man, I think you got some chest hair.”
Henderson visibly composed herself, slowly releasing a breath. “I’ll take that drink now, please,” she told Erin. “Make it strong.”
A few moments later, after getting rid of the tactless sound man, Erin returned to the living room, where Henderson was sitting on the couch massaging her temples. “Can I ask an obvious question? Why aren’t you the one going in undercover?”
Henderson looked up, her blue eyes intense. She opened her mouth to answer, then seemed to reconsider. “I…I would be recognized,” she said after a lengthy pause. “It wouldn’t work.”
Erin waited for her to explain, but the older detective fell silent, her thoughts obviously elsewhere. Wondering why the topic made her uncomfortable, and suspecting it was personal, Erin framed a question:
Are you a regular at the lesbian nightclub?
It sounded too inquisitive. Instead, she asked, “How bad is your headache?”
“Not so bad. I just need to eat. I haven’t had anything since this morning.”
Conscious of her empty fridge, Erin asked, “Could you hold off on passing out until a pizza gets here?”
Henderson laughed, her beautiful eyes lighting up along with her face. Erin was suddenly aware that her colleague seldom smiled. In fact, most of the time it seemed there was a trace of defeat beneath her stoic, professional calm. She should smile more often, Erin thought. She was an incredibly beautiful woman.
“Pizza’s fine,” Henderson said in a lighthearted tone. “And I promise not to pass out.”
“What kind do you want?” Erin picked up the phone and dialed.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s food.”
Erin placed the order for a large pepperoni and hung up. “How’s forty minutes sound? I can get two drinks in you by then.” She headed over to the bar, grabbed a couple of glasses, and clanked in some ice cubes. “I’m betting you’re a scotch drinker.”
Henderson stared at her in awe. “How could you possibly know that?” She rose and walked over to the bar to retrieve her drink.
“Call it a gift.” Erin handed her the tumbler filled with twelve-year-old Macallan and refilled her own vodka.
*
“Thanks, this is just what I need.” Patricia rarely drank, but she needed something to help ease her nerves for what she was about to do. It didn’t make it any easier that Erin was so attractive. She hadn’t been attracted to someone in years. She sipped her scotch. “Those things J.R. said about me…”
Erin looked awkward. “Your private life is none of my business.”
“Actually, it’s important that you know a little about me. I’m going to need you to trust me and listen to me. That might be difficult if you think I’m going to come on to you.”
Erin gulped at her vodka. “I do trust you, Henderson. And I never believe anything that comes out of J.R.’s mouth.”
“Thank you. And, please, call me Patricia.” She sipped some more scotch and took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about some pretty personal issues, and it’s important that you’re completely honest with me. Your life may be at stake. Elizabeth Adams is a predator at the top of the food chain.”
“Okay, shoot.”
Erin picked up her drink and Patricia followed her to the couch where they both sat. She squirmed a moment, wrestling with her own uncertainty. It was her job to prepare the young detective for this dangerous assignment. And if she failed, Elizabeth Adams would eat Erin alive. Yet this was far from simple.
“I need to ask you—have you ever been intimate with a woman?”
“No.” Erin answered quickly.
“Have you ever kissed another woman?”
Erin looked confused. “I thought I just answered that question. To me, kissing is extremely intimate, and the answer is no.”
Patricia sat dumbfounded for a moment. She, too, believed kissing was intimate but so many people did it casually now, like it was nothing more than holding hands. She allowed her eyes to rest on the woman in front of her and tried not to think about how it would feel to kiss her.
“Listen, I’m not Bill Clinton here,” Erin said. “I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Thanks for being honest with me.” Patricia glanced down at her empty tumbler, wishing the liquid courage would kick in. Bracing herself, she asked, “Mac, have you ever been attracted to another woman?”
The question hung in the air between them. Patricia’s blood raced through her temples, but this time her headache was gone. In its place was an excitement and nervousness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Adrenaline. Sheer adrenaline was surging through her like a flame catching to gasoline. Why was she reacting this way to Erin McKenzie?
She watched as Erin stood up and began to pace the room. She watched her well-muscled legs as she walked, and mentally traced the smooth lines of her neck as she tilted her head to drink. She had known it the second she found herself blushing at the sight of Erin’s bare torso. She was attracted to her. But she hadn’t been drawn to anyone in years.
Why now?
Was it that no one had taken the time to notice her feelings in years? Erin had noticed, asking about her headache, paying close attention to how she felt. Was she so desperate that a polite “how are you feeling?” could leave her panting and ready to pounce?
Erin stopped pacing and turned piercing green eyes on her. “I’m not sure what you mean by
attracted
. Do you mean sexually attracted or intellectually attracted or something else altogether?” She began pacing again, flustered and nervous, her emotions obvious in the way she moved.
“Well I, I guess I mean all of those things. Both of those qualities can lead someone to want intimacy with another. Don’t you agree?”
“No, I don’t think I agree. I mean, I’ve had strange and strong attractions to women but they were never sexual.”
Patricia understood the younger woman’s confusion. She was trying to identify the nature of her own attractions, a challenge for anyone. Trying to clarify her meaning, she asked, “Did you ever have fantasies about these women?”
“Nothing sexual, no.”
“They don’t have to be sexual to be intimate, Mac.” She paused a moment to let her statement set in. Very softly, she asked, “There were fantasies, weren’t there?”
Erin sighed and sat back down on the couch as if defeated. “Yes.” She deposited her drink on the coffee table and rubbed her palms on her shorts. “I uh, I would fantasize about being with them in different scenarios, different situations. But never anything sexual, just being with them.”
“Would it be fair to say that you were infatuated with these women?”
Erin reacted as if she had been struck, the blood draining from her face.
Infatuated
was a strong word. Patricia knew she was pushing the younger woman, but there was no other way to do this. If Erin was going to pull off her assignment, she would have to confront this issue and be completely secure in who she was when she walked into La Femme. Obviously Erin had never explored these feelings because she hadn’t had a reason to confront them.
“Mac, it’s okay. It isn’t always about sex.” She slid along the couch and took Erin’s hand to comfort her. “This is why I’m here. I need to make sure you’re ready for Saturday night. If you’ve ever had feelings toward women, no matter how innocent they seemed, there’s a real possibility that this undercover assignment may open emotional floodgates for you.”