Sweet Dreams
Page 61
The newsreader kept talking. “However, this incident is outside the perpetrator’s usual schedule and police and FBI are concerned these murders, now eight in total with the same modus operandi, are escalating.” The newsreader turned to another camera. “We’ll be back with more…”
I stopped listening because Tate’s body moved and I turned to him to see he was digging his cell out of his back pocket.
“Tate,” I whispered.
“A minute, Ace,” he muttered.
“What?” Carrie asked as she, Mom and Mack got closer.
I turned to them uncertain what to say. They wouldn’t exactly want me flying back home when a serial killer was on the loose.
Tate moved away and he had his cell to his ear.
“What?” Carrie asked again as my family made it to me.
“That’s um…” I started, bit my lip then finished, “the murderer Tate was hunting the last month.”
“Oh my,” Mom breathed, Mack looked over his shoulder at the TV but Carrie’s eyes stayed locked on me.
“Tonia?” she asked and I nodded. “Holy cow,” she finished on a breathy whisper.
I licked my lips.
Tate returned, got in my space and his hand came to my neck where it met my shoulder. His face was serious but his eyes were conflicted.
“Babe –” he began.
I interrupted him. “You have to go.”
He used his hand at my neck to pull me closer and I put mine to his waist.
“Ace –” he said softly.
I leaned closer. “It’s okay, Tate.”
“Your Dad –”
“We’re okay.”
“I wouldn’t –”
I pressed against him, my hands sliding up so my fingers could curl around his shoulders.
“Honey, it’s okay,” I said quietly. “Go.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them what I saw in them made my body automatically move closer.
“Baby,” he muttered as his head dipped then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a Tate kiss that took me out of mind and into my body but it was long and it was definitely sweet (and there was tongue which made it sweeter).
He lifted his head but stayed in my space.
“Text me when you get up, when you get ready to go somewhere tellin’ me where you’re goin’, when you get there, when you leave and when you go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Be smart, Laurie.” He kept ordering.
“Okay.” I kept whispering.
“Locked doors, in cars, houses –”
“Okay.”
“Be aware of where you are, who you’re with –”
“Tate –”
“Don’t open any f**kin’ doors unless you’re sure who’s behind them.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise, Ace.”
“I promise, Captain. I’ll be safe.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he whispered, “Fucker was in my backyard.”
“Go, baby,” I urged softly.
He touched his mouth to mine, his hand at my neck gave me a squeeze then he let me go and turned to Mack.
“Give me a ride to the hotel?” he asked.
“Absolutely, Tate,” Mack replied.
I saw Carrie and Mom looking at me. Mom was smiling still, it was softer, knowing, with a hint of happiness mixed with the anxiety she’d worn the last few days and some confusion too.
Carrie was also smiling but it was in a way I figured she thought maybe me taking the plunge with Tate might not be such a bad thing.
Tate turned to Mom and kissed her cheek.
When he did she patted him on the back and breathed, “Oh my.”
Tate did the same to Carrie and she gave him a hug.
He left the waiting room and Mack followed.
He didn’t turn and look at me. I wanted to see his face but I got it this time.
He was focused.
Chapter Twelve
Sweet Dreams, Baby
I was in bed in my old room which was now the guest bedroom at my family’s farm.
I had my phone in my hand and I was punching out the words on the little keyboard.
Hey honey, going to bed.
I hit send but didn’t put down the phone. I twisted, turned out the light and settled in, all the while I kept the phone in my hand.
Over the past five days I learned Tate wasn’t a big texter. At first, as ordered, I texted him as he asked me to, telling him my every move – to the hotel, farm, hospital, when I woke up, when I went to bed. He rarely texted back and when he did they were one of two words.
Good.
And.
OK.
So on day three I stopped telling him my every move because, in all honesty, he didn’t seem all that interested.
This earned me a phone call to which, when I answered while pushing a cart through the grocery store at approximately ten thirty in the morning, Tate did not greet me.
Instead he said, “What the f**k?”
I was surprised at this opening so I non-greeted back, “What the f**k what?”
“Babe,” was his reply.
I was silent because that wasn’t much of a reply, he sounded slightly put out and I wasn’t certain why.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Where are you?” he asked back.
“The grocery store,” I answered.
“You forget something?”
I looked in the cart. “No, it’s just that Mom and I are at the farm and she hasn’t had a home cooked meal for awhile and I haven’t cooked at all for awhile so tonight I’m going to cook…”
“Ace,” he growled and realized he did that a lot. Growl. He could, with that rough voice he could definitely growl, but he didn’t have to do it so often and especially for reasons unknown.
“What?”
“Last I knew, you were goin’ to sleep,” he informed me.
He might not text but every night, from that first night, minutes after I texted him with the information that I was going to bed, he’d call. Our conversations weren’t long, heartfelt and soul-baring. They were short and informational but I thought they were sweet mainly because they were with Tate.
“Well, I’m awake,” I pointed out the obvious.
“I’m gettin’ that,” he ground out. “We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“You text,” he clipped.
Well there it was, I was wrong, he was interested.
“Oh,” I said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
I stopped listening because Tate’s body moved and I turned to him to see he was digging his cell out of his back pocket.
“Tate,” I whispered.
“A minute, Ace,” he muttered.
“What?” Carrie asked as she, Mom and Mack got closer.
I turned to them uncertain what to say. They wouldn’t exactly want me flying back home when a serial killer was on the loose.
Tate moved away and he had his cell to his ear.
“What?” Carrie asked again as my family made it to me.
“That’s um…” I started, bit my lip then finished, “the murderer Tate was hunting the last month.”
“Oh my,” Mom breathed, Mack looked over his shoulder at the TV but Carrie’s eyes stayed locked on me.
“Tonia?” she asked and I nodded. “Holy cow,” she finished on a breathy whisper.
I licked my lips.
Tate returned, got in my space and his hand came to my neck where it met my shoulder. His face was serious but his eyes were conflicted.
“Babe –” he began.
I interrupted him. “You have to go.”
He used his hand at my neck to pull me closer and I put mine to his waist.
“Ace –” he said softly.
I leaned closer. “It’s okay, Tate.”
“Your Dad –”
“We’re okay.”
“I wouldn’t –”
I pressed against him, my hands sliding up so my fingers could curl around his shoulders.
“Honey, it’s okay,” I said quietly. “Go.”
He closed his eyes and when he opened them what I saw in them made my body automatically move closer.
“Baby,” he muttered as his head dipped then his mouth was on mine.
It wasn’t a Tate kiss that took me out of mind and into my body but it was long and it was definitely sweet (and there was tongue which made it sweeter).
He lifted his head but stayed in my space.
“Text me when you get up, when you get ready to go somewhere tellin’ me where you’re goin’, when you get there, when you leave and when you go to sleep,” he ordered.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Be smart, Laurie.” He kept ordering.
“Okay.” I kept whispering.
“Locked doors, in cars, houses –”
“Okay.”
“Be aware of where you are, who you’re with –”
“Tate –”
“Don’t open any f**kin’ doors unless you’re sure who’s behind them.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise, Ace.”
“I promise, Captain. I’ll be safe.”
Tate stared at me.
Then he whispered, “Fucker was in my backyard.”
“Go, baby,” I urged softly.
He touched his mouth to mine, his hand at my neck gave me a squeeze then he let me go and turned to Mack.
“Give me a ride to the hotel?” he asked.
“Absolutely, Tate,” Mack replied.
I saw Carrie and Mom looking at me. Mom was smiling still, it was softer, knowing, with a hint of happiness mixed with the anxiety she’d worn the last few days and some confusion too.
Carrie was also smiling but it was in a way I figured she thought maybe me taking the plunge with Tate might not be such a bad thing.
Tate turned to Mom and kissed her cheek.
When he did she patted him on the back and breathed, “Oh my.”
Tate did the same to Carrie and she gave him a hug.
He left the waiting room and Mack followed.
He didn’t turn and look at me. I wanted to see his face but I got it this time.
He was focused.
Chapter Twelve
Sweet Dreams, Baby
I was in bed in my old room which was now the guest bedroom at my family’s farm.
I had my phone in my hand and I was punching out the words on the little keyboard.
Hey honey, going to bed.
I hit send but didn’t put down the phone. I twisted, turned out the light and settled in, all the while I kept the phone in my hand.
Over the past five days I learned Tate wasn’t a big texter. At first, as ordered, I texted him as he asked me to, telling him my every move – to the hotel, farm, hospital, when I woke up, when I went to bed. He rarely texted back and when he did they were one of two words.
Good.
And.
OK.
So on day three I stopped telling him my every move because, in all honesty, he didn’t seem all that interested.
This earned me a phone call to which, when I answered while pushing a cart through the grocery store at approximately ten thirty in the morning, Tate did not greet me.
Instead he said, “What the f**k?”
I was surprised at this opening so I non-greeted back, “What the f**k what?”
“Babe,” was his reply.
I was silent because that wasn’t much of a reply, he sounded slightly put out and I wasn’t certain why.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
“Where are you?” he asked back.
“The grocery store,” I answered.
“You forget something?”
I looked in the cart. “No, it’s just that Mom and I are at the farm and she hasn’t had a home cooked meal for awhile and I haven’t cooked at all for awhile so tonight I’m going to cook…”
“Ace,” he growled and realized he did that a lot. Growl. He could, with that rough voice he could definitely growl, but he didn’t have to do it so often and especially for reasons unknown.
“What?”
“Last I knew, you were goin’ to sleep,” he informed me.
He might not text but every night, from that first night, minutes after I texted him with the information that I was going to bed, he’d call. Our conversations weren’t long, heartfelt and soul-baring. They were short and informational but I thought they were sweet mainly because they were with Tate.
“Well, I’m awake,” I pointed out the obvious.
“I’m gettin’ that,” he ground out. “We had a deal.”
“A deal?”
“You text,” he clipped.
Well there it was, I was wrong, he was interested.
“Oh,” I said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
