A Shoulder to Cry On

"Because of that, I didn't have sex with anyone for nearly ten years. It's part of the reason I became a cop," I say, and she nods in understanding.

"Who else have you told this to besides Shane?" Gianna asks.

"Sierra," I say, and Gianna blinks a few tears out. "She was the first person I told. After she died, Shane was the second."

"Is sharing that with him part of the reason you're so close?" Gianna asks.

"It's all of the reason," I say, and she nods.

After Shane left treatment for his suicidal gestures, he thanked me for helping him. We had never been closer. Not long after his recovery a man hit on me at the bar. He wasn't eager for my rejection, and I really lose my shit. Shane pulls me away from a larger confrontation and takes me home. He asks me why I'm the way I am, and I finally tell him. I tell him I was raped. I cry into his shoulder and wake up the next morning on my couch with my head on his chest.

Perhaps some of it is nature. No matter how I'm wired, part of me has always felt safe around Shane the way straight women are around their men. Being around him, made me want to take control of my body again. To not be scared of intimacy. I was sick and tired of being scared.

I asked Shane to touch me. I timidly lifted off my shirt and dropped it on the ground. Shane was reluctant, but I grabbed his hand and pressed it to my stomach. Slowly, I slid his hand up to my chest and told him to caress me. He did, and I breathed softly and let his hand go. I asked him to press his lips to my nipples. He did and I exhaled audibly. Before I knew it, I pushed him down to my couch and straddled him so he could easily suckle me.

Shane kissed my neck while delicately massaging my breasts. I gripped and pulled at his hair, at first from the tension. Soon it was to pull his head down so I could lower my mouth to his. He tipped me down to my back to kiss my body, asking before he went anywhere new. I then told him to not ask, he'd know.

He peeled my pants off, and I didn't fight it. He kissed up and down my thighs and I groaned. He kissed my pelvis above my panties, and I bit my knuckle. I feel his fingers curl inside of my panties at the hips and I raised my butt to help them slide off. He was about to say something, but all the permission he needed was me shoving his head to my pussy. After I climax, I tell him to follow me to my bed.

After we got to the bed, he resumes where he left off. I squirm in pleasure, and my head rolled to my alarm clock. When it rolled back and I was orgasm drunk, nearly an hour had passed. I finally pulled him back up to me, and we kissed for so long time blurred again. I slept naked next to him with his strong arms wrapped around me.

The next morning, I woke up first, and watched him sleep with my head on his chest. When we woke up our kissing became contagious again. That evolved into more spasming orgasms. Then I wanted to return the favor.

I start with slow strokes and a few licks up his shaft. When I worked up my courage, I lowered my mouth down on him. Shane groans in satisfaction and has me spin around so my pussy is over his face. He buries his tongue down my slit, and I eventually tell him to stop because I can't give pleasure as I'm receiving it. He announces he's close and I jerk it out of him. His hot jizz drizzles over my hand and I kept stroking him, and I use my mouth to suck the cum off.

I tell Gianna all of this. I tell we did this for months, and I got a little braver every time. I told him to warn me and he shot into my mouth. Part of me began to get frustrated when he never tried to go further, and part of that frustration is at myself. I didn't realize it until later that he never did because I never asked or even brought it up. Shane wasn't sure how to talk about it because of what had happened to me. I wanted to have sex with Shane, and I know he wanted to have sex with me. Neither of us knew how to express that properly, so we never did. I can't say with any confidence where my life would be right now if we had.

"It was seamless. One day we were doing this, and the next we weren't. It never felt weird. If I had never met Shane, I wouldn't have been ready to meet you," I say, and Gianna smiles, knowing I'm telling her the truth.

"So, what's this about a baby?" Gianna asks.

I take a deep breath and say, "I want to have one."

"Oh," Gianna says, her voice prolonging the single word response. "You asked him to be a donor?"

"I did," I reply, and she just kind of shrugs.

"That's it?" Gianna asks. "That was hard to tell me?"

"We still need to have a conversation on when, or even if," I say, and she smiles.

"If that's something you want to do, then we'll do it. We'll figure out the rest. I can't sit here and say I think that's weird. I did it three times," Gianna says, and we both laugh a little. "I get it. You want to be a mother."

"That's not all," I say, and look down. "I want to do it for Shane more than myself." I look up and Gianna is confused. "When Sierra died, she was pregnant."

"Oh my god," Gianna says, covering in mouth in genuine shock. "I didn't know that."

"I want to help give him back a little something of what he lost. I know it won't be the same, but Shane will be the baby's father," I say, and Gianna slowly smiling again.

"That kid is going to have a lot of love," Gianna says, and I close our distance and hug her. "I love you."

I kiss her deeply and touch her nose with my own. "I love you too."

Our sex is amazing. So much tension was removed from our conversation and I can finally just enjoy my wife again. The dance to the bedroom is dizzying. Her kiss as we pull off each other's clothes is mesmerizing. My lips on her neck, and her mouth gasping into my ear as I slide the vibrator in and out of her. Once I make her orgasm, I climax next.

Our blissfully intimate sleep is interrupted by my phone ringing on the nightstand. Gianna is strewn out over my body like a comforter, so I try to grab the phone without waking her up. The ringtone is making her twitch, but thankfully it doesn't cause her too much disturbance. From my distance only my fingers can reach the phone, but I get enough of a grip to stick my finger to the screen and slide it over. It's Will.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Someone tried assassinating the Imam," Will says.

I'm awake now.

–

Wednesday– March 11, 2026

It's just after one in the morning when I enter the ICU. I walk through sliding doors and see a reception desk in front of me a few steps to the right. Next to the desk is a hanging rack with brochures for things like quitting smoking and cancer screenings. After the desk the room opens into a waiting room. The seating is similar to an airport with cushioned black chairs all attached to a straight bar in two back to back neat rows. Similar seats are attached to the walls. Every two seats there is a small table littered with magazines.

The only other people here this early is a tired looking mother with her two young children in tow. The toddler in her arms is dead asleep, and the other child who is older is watching a video on her phone to keep him occupied. They're huddled in the back corner, and toward the front is Will in a chair and Chase pacing.

Will stands up when he sees me and extends a coffee he had purchased for me in advance. Best partner ever.

"What happened?" I ask, taking a sip and tasting that it is still hot. It also tastes like it was purchased from a hospital vending machine. I don't have the luxury to be picky right now.

"Passport said he was Wasim Abdul Khan. Same guy the Imam said he was scared of," Will says, and Chase looks like he's been told this part before I got here.

"That's Omar's cousin's bodyguard, right?" I ask to refresh my mind. I'm so tired, things we went over before I left yesterday are foggy.

"Yeah," Will says. The door opens again, and we all turn to see Chief Whitaker enter the room. He's not in his power suit, having only enough time to pull on a pair of jeans and t-shirt. It's weird seeing him look so normal.

"Detectives," Chief says, looking past me and to Will. "Condition?"

"Stable, waiting for him to exit surgery to talk," Will says.

"Sergeant," Chief begins, still talking to Will. He's already referring to him as Sergeant. "You have three detectives here right now. Why?" Will looks at him blankly, trying to think of the right thing to say. After a moment Chief answers for him. "Use your resources more wisely. Who's at the crime scene right now? Has someone debriefed the responding officer? Have neighbors been interviewed?"

"Understood sir," Will says, a little disappointed in himself. Even in jeans and a shirt with baby puke stains on it, Chief is still an intimidating guy.

"It was your judgement call to put a car on him. That saved his life tonight," Chief says to keep his confidence up just enough. "Move your pieces around the board a little bit."

"Yes sir. Why are you here if may ask?" Will inquires.

"A significant religious leader survives an assassination attempt?" Chief asks to answer the question. It makes complete sense why he's here. He's trying to avoid a media interview blind siding him by staying abreast with the information. Will nods and Chief tells him to start issues some orders before checking his phone.

"Mayor," he says to excuse himself then steps to the side to answer the call.

"Chase, stick around here and talk to him when he's out of surgery. I'd think he'd rather see you than me," Will says to Chase who says he's on it. "Midge, we'll head down to the crime scene. I'll do initial walk with CSI. I need you to knock on some doors."

"Can I walk the scene?" I ask, and Will starts to say something, but pauses to think.

"You up for that?" Will asks.

"I'm in homicide now, I gotta get used to that eventually," I say, and he agrees I can take the lead on it.

–

Two additional squad cars are parked at opposite ends of the street to block traffic and control access. It's still dark, the blue and red lights providing more illumination than the streetlamps. Neighbors are already rubbernecking, some out on the street in their pajamas.

Will pulls to the curb and I park behind him. We both exit our vehicles and walk toward the officers who are holding back gawkers. After a flash of our shields we step under the tape line and walk toward the Imam's residence where the responding officer is still sitting on the curb. Another officer is with her, and someone brought her coffee at one point.

"Lauren," Will says, and she looks up at him. Lauren places her coffee on the step she's sitting on and stands up to hug him. "You okay?"

"No. I shot...I killed someone," Lauren says, her voice shaky.

"Did he pull on you?" Will asks, and she nods.

"Yeah, still feels a fuck lot shittier than I thought it would," Lauren says. This must be her first time she had to fire her weapon. I've been lucky enough to not have to do that so far in my career. Will hasn't had to fire yet either.

"You good to give a report? If not, I can wait for later, you get some sleep..." Will starts.

"...I'm not sleeping," Lauren says, so Will pulls out his notebook.

"Midge, walk the scene," Will says. I nod and climb the stairs to the home and enter in the front door. I notice the wood is torn away from the frame and the door has a foot sized hole in it. The would-be assassin kicked his way in.

"Second floor," I hear Lauren shout from outside. I go to the second floor and I see blood spatter on the wall to my right, arching upward with mist on the ceiling. I also see where the through and through bullet impacted near the corner of the hallway inches away from the door frame opposite the stairs. Fired with an upward trajectory, meaning he likely fired from the second or third stair from the top. All of this is marked by CSI with yellow placards with numbers on them.

The room on the right has a light on and I hear movement inside. I peer around the corner and see Jill Whitaker crouched over a dead body.

"Jill?" I ask, and she turns to me and smiles.

"Morning," Jill says, using her left arm to push herself up with her knee. She hands me a pair of gloves that I put on.

"Don't you got people who work for you?" I ask.

"Derek says top priority, he means best player in all positions," she says, and directs me where not to step. "This is pretty clean."

"Clean?" I ask.

"Easy narrative. Evidence and facts add up," she says, and points to the dead body. "He kicks in the door, looking for the Imam with the intent of killing him. The Imam was in his bedroom, hears the noise and is shot when he's perpendicular with this room."

Jill walks me outside to observe the blood spatter in the hallway she already has marked. "Bullet is through and through and impacts high. The two men are similar height. The shooter shot him from the second or third stair from the top, which creates that high angle of trajectory." My thoughts exactly. I'll let her explain this room.

"The Imam retreats into this room and is pursued. The Imam attacks him when he enters to finish the job. They struggle for the gun, at which time Sergeant Hill responds.

"He turns to fire on Sergeant Hill who discharges her weapon first. It impacts his shoulder which makes him miss, his round impacting the door frame. Sergeant Hill ends him with a second round, flat trajectory, dead shot to the heart. He was gone before he hit the ground."

"Clean kill?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, hundred percent," Jill says, looking at the body again. That's good news. Hate to see a cop get hemmed up over self defense.

"Not looking like a whole lot to detect here," I say, and she laughs a little.

"Most crimes are in the moment, so there usually isn't. Hiding evidence comes a close second to getting out of dodge." Jill says. "But I tell you the how. You, figure out the why." I swear she stole that line from Dr. Grant.

"Any identification on him?" I ask. I want to hear it for myself.

"Saudi passport. Wasim Abdul Khan. Diplomatic passport, so I hope you enjoy the State Department visit later in the day because my husband sure as shit won't," Jill says. Shit. "Know anything about him?"

"The Imam said he felt threatened by him," I say, and Jill asks me to elaborate. "Said he was a heretic, preaching a false form of Islam or some shit. Anything on his gun?" I ask.

"Serial number filed off, so I'll assume black market. I wouldn't bother with that rabbit hole" Jill explains. "Dude took an Uber to get here. Who the fuck does that?"

"A guy who doesn't care about getting caught," I say.

"Still think it's the wife who killed your victim?" Jill asks.

"It can be the wife, and this guy is an asshole. Two things can be true at once."

"Hedging your bets, I see," Jill says then steps out of the room. She pulls her gloves off. "You talk to your wife?"

"I did," I say.

"And?"

"She's supportive," I say with a grin.

"I told you, just talk to her," Jill says, smiling back. "It's life changing."

"I don't expect it to be the same," I say, and she nods. This time next year, I very well may be a mother of my own.

"You'll do fine," she says, and motions to touch my arm, and I flinch. "You okay?"

"Yeah, uh, sorry. I got a thing, about, being touched," I say, and her expression softens to understanding.

"Okay, my bad," Jill says, and looks around the room again. "I've collected all I need. About to get the body out, confirm cause of death. But this is looking open and shut."

"Thanks for being here," I say, looking around the crime scene again. Not much to evaluate at all.

–

Wednesday – March 11, 2026

-Chase Kramner-

Imam Masri's injuries were minor, so he is wheeled out of treatment and I can speak with him an hour after I arrive. When I enter the room, he smiles at me. I pull up a chair next to him, and I place my hand on his after I sit.

"Thank your friend for taking the threat seriously," Hamza says.

"I will," I reply. "Same man?"

"Yes," he says.

A man in a suit enters the room, looking conspicuously like a federal agent of some kind. Black suit and tie with a white shirt. Earpiece, and a badge dangling over his chest. Diplomatic Security Service.

"DSS, I need you to leave the room sir," the agent says to me. I unclip my shield from my belt and show him it. "Don't care."

"My victim, my case. My chief is down the hall, you got a problem, get someone with some authority or I'm not moving," I say, and he scowls at me, but doesn't remove me.

"It's fine," I hear another voice say. Another man in a suit, but one who doesn't look like an agent. He speaks accented English, but good English. I also recognize him as Omar's cousin Mohammad.

"Mohammad, good to see you," Hamza says.

"Sir, thank you, but I'll be fine," Mohammad says, the DSS agent nodding and stepping out, but hovering at the door frame just outside.

"How could you say it's good to see me, when my security officer shot you?" Mohammad asks.

"A man is responsible for himself," Hamza explains, and Mohammad lowers his head in shame.

"He was my responsibility. I should have known, should have suspected something," he says, stepping across the room. "I beg your forgiveness."

"My son, there is nothing to forgive," Hamza says, and Mohammad kisses his hand. "You are a prince. Stand tall, be an exemplar."

"Yes," Mohammad says, then looks to me. "Detective?"

"Kramner, your highness," I say, starting to stand but he stops me.

"Nonsense. Mohammad," he says, offering his hand which I shake. "My cousin spoke very highly of you. Have you made any progress on finding who did this to him?"

"I'm afraid, I can't divulge on an active investigation," I reply, and after a moment he nods. "I'm sorry."

"I understand. I trust you to resolve this," he says. I can use this moment to confirm a few things for The Kaiser.

"Is it true, Laurel and Omar were going to adopt your daughter?" I ask, and Mohammad confirms with a simple nod.

"Saudi Arabia is my home. I will use every shred of my influence to make it a better place. Progress is slow, but I have faith. I am however still a realist. Fatima's future is limited there. I love my daughter dearly, and I want her to have a future. Omar was a modern man but carried the faith with him. My cousin was going to help give her a chance," Mohammad says, starting to cry. "Find who did this."

Thankfully I could not tell him Laurel was in The Kaiser's crosshairs, because even if I could, I doubt I had the heart to do so.

–

When I leave the hospital nearly an hour later, Chief Whitaker is still outside on the phone with someone. Likely the Mayor. Chief sees me and gestures for me to stay for a second, so I hang tight and wait for him to finish the conversation. I lean against the side of the building for five minutes before he finally hangs up and looks ready to chuck the phone into the street.

"What a fucking mess. Mayor is jumping up my ass right now, while trying to keep the shit with his Chief of Staff out of the press," Chief says, and closes his eyes to calm himself down. He takes in a deep breath and opens his eyes.

"Not our fault Sergeant Tor busted his guy soliciting prostitutes," I say, and he tells me to stop talking about that immediately. Especially in the open.

"I really hate to play this card, but I know the State Department is going to try and make our lives a living hell later today," Chief starts, and has a long pause before he says, "I know you don't have a, great, relationship with your family, but..."

"...I can make some calls," I say, and he looks down, clearly reluctant to even ask in the first place. Chief Whitaker is not a politician. "I'm on speaking terms with my father again, and my brother Quin was endorsed by the ranking member of the House Committee of Foreign Affairs."