Sweet Dreams

  Jonas pushed up so he was squatting over the stool, his hands still in the island, his feet on the edge of the stool, panic edging into his fear.

  “I wanna live here,” he repeated.

  Tate scowled at his son, immobile but still somehow hyper-alert and he did this for so long, waiting for him to answer, listening for the words to come out and doing it so intensely, I felt like I was going to faint.

  “You already fuckin’ do,” Tate finally returned, his voice an infuriated growl, then he tagged his phone from the counter, turned on his boot and prowled down the hall to the garage.

  I looked at Jonas to see his face had gone white as a sheet and I watched a tear slide down his cheek.

  Seeing that lone tear, three words sprung to mind.

  That.

  Fucking.

  Bitch!

  “Dad!” Jonas shouted, coming off the stool and my mind jerked into the moment.

  “Stay here,” I ordered.

  “But –”

  “Here!” I said it unintentionally sharply, waited only for him to nod, I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile and then I ran after Tate.

  I caught him at the side of the garage, he was already astride his bike and I knew from his movements the bike was about to roar, he was going to take off and Neeta was going to get what she deserved.

  Even if she deserved it, I couldn’t let it happen.

  “Tate!” I shouted.

  He ignored me.

  “Tate!” I yelled, making it to him, my hands going to his body, one to his back, one to his chest.

  “Back up,” he growled.

  “Come inside,” I urged.

  His eyes came to me and it took everything I had not to turn and flee at the rage I saw in them.

  “Back the fuck up, Ace.”

  “Come inside, baby.”

  “Back up!” he roared.

  In the face of his wrath, I didn’t know how I found the courage but I called it up and moved closer.

  “Don’t, Captain,” I begged. “Don’t make him sorry he told you.”

  “Back up,” he repeated.

  “Lock it down, Tate.”

  “Lauren, not gonna say it again.”

  “Please, please.” I got as close as I could, my hands moving to his bearded cheeks and my face getting into his so I was all he could see. “I know you’re angry. You have a right. If you need to work that out, then be a jerk. Say something mean to me. But don’t make Jonas sorry he told you.”

  “Lauren –”

  “You made this place safe for me. I spent ten years in a place that was unsafe. Jonas has too. Make this place safe for him too, baby. Please.”

  His eyes closed and he jerked his head away, tearing it from my hands.

  I bent my neck so my forehead was resting against the side of his head and I whispered in his ear, “Please, Tate. You can do it, I know you can. You did it for me. Please.”

  He didn’t speak and I wrapped my hands around his neck, keeping my forehead pressed to him.

  Finally, he growled, “She coulda killed him.”

  “She didn’t,” I whispered.

  “She hurt him.”

  My nose stung with the tears but I had too much going on. I needed to get him off the bike, I needed to get back to Jonas and I needed to get him back to Jonas. I didn’t have it in me to hold them back so I let the tears go.

  Feeling them slide down my face, my voice was a croak when I said, “Yes.”

  “Bub,” he whispered, his voice rough.

  My hands tightened. “Yes.”

  “My boy.”

  “Tate, please come inside.”

  He fell silent then his neck moved, not forcefully, and I lifted up as his torso twisted to me. I put my hands on his shoulders and stared down at him.

  “How do I make that right?” he asked, his beautiful eyes bleak and I vowed I’d hate Neeta until the day she died for making my man look that way.

  I swallowed a sob-induced hiccough and shook my head. “I don’t know. I just know you will.”

  It was his turn to shake his head. “You believe that?”

  “I believe you can do anything.”

  The minute I said it his face changed and, I swear to God, he looked just like his son did two nights before. He stared up at me with astonished marvel.

  “Christ, you actually think that,” he whispered, his eyes studying my face.

  “No,” I replied and my fingers gave him a squeeze. “I know it.”

  “Dad.” We heard and we both turned, Tate twisting further to look at Jonas who was standing just outside the side garage door. Jonas rubbed a hand jerkily along his cheek to wipe away tears and I saw that hand was shaking. “Dad,” he repeated like he didn’t know what to say.

  “You get a shower at your Grandpop’s last night?” Tate asked, his voice low and even.

  Jonas blinked, openly surprised at Tate’s even tone delivering a normal, everyday question. I turned to look at Tate and saw him start to swing off the bike.

  And I knew from watching him he’d done it. He’d locked down the fury. He’d found a way to control it even with what caused it and even being justified having it.

  I was right. He could do anything.

  I moved out of his way and Jonas answered as Tate stopped moving at my side.

  “Yeah.”

  I looked back at Jonas and heard Tate order gently, “Then go change your clothes, Bub, while Laurie makes breakfast.”

  Jonas swallowed again but otherwise didn’t move.

  Then he asked, “You mad?”

  “Yeah,” Tate answered instantly.

  “At Mom?” Jonas went on.

  “Yeah,” Tate repeated.

  “She’s –” Jonas started, I knew he was going to defend her, I opened my mouth to speak in order to intervene should that set Tate off again but Tate got there before me.

  “She’s Neeta, Jonas. I know what she is. Go change.”

  “It’s just how she is,” Jonas said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Tate answered. “Change your clothes, Bub.”

  “She can’t help it, it’s just how she is.” Jonas kept at it.

  Tate walked to his son, I held back and watched Jonas brace.

  Tate put his hand on his son’s shoulder.

  “I know. I know it’s how she is. Don’t make it right. That shit isn’t right, Jonas. All I can say now is, it’s over. Yeah?”

  Jonas, his head tipped way back to look up at his father, nodded.

  Then he whispered, “She’ll be alone, without me.”

  He was struggling with his decision.

  I closed my eyes, fresh tears forced themselves out and I clenched my teeth against the whimper gurgling in my throat.

  I opened my eyes when Tate spoke. “Her turn. I get you now.”

  “Blake isn’t –” Jonas started.

  “He was her choice. You’re young, Bub, but I’m tellin’ you this because you gotta know, she coulda had me. I made that clear more times than years you been alive. She chose him. Bein’ free, that means I got to choose Laurie so now she’ll never get another shot at me. You live with your life’s choices. Your Mom, she’s an adult, she’s made choices, she’s gotta live with ‘em. You’re smart, you fuck up, you learn from that. She doesn’t learn. That’s her choice too. I spent years tryin’ to shield her from her choices, didn’t work. I’m not gonna let you do it and I’m not gonna teach you that someone’s gonna shield you from shit. You gotta learn too. You make choices, they’re yours and you gotta take responsibility for them.” He jerked his head to the house and his voice got quiet when he went on. “You made a choice in there, Bub. I know you struggled with it, probably been strugglin’ with it for awhile, but it was the right one.” Tate’s hand gave Jonas’s shoulder a gentle tug. “Trust me, it was the right one.”

  Jonas stared up at his father for several long, agonizing moments before he nodded again.

  “Now, Bub, do what I asked. Go g
et changed. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jonas whispered then continued. “You’re not gonna go –”

  Tate squatted in front of his boy.

  “No. I’m here with you and Laurie. We’re gonna have breakfast. We’re gonna go to the hospital to see Shambles. And, if you’re lucky, we’re gonna talk Laurie into makin’ you chocolate chip cookies like her Gram used to make.”

  “We still have cake,” Jonas said like having chocolate chip cookies and cake in the house was a treasure trove of goodies that was too good to believe was real.

  “I could do with a cookie,” I put in and both Jackson boys turned their eyes to me. “Or two,” I finished.

  “Are they good?” Jonas asked me.

  “She refrigerated the dough before she made them,” I answered like this would make any sense to him, which, from his small, confused grin, it didn’t.

  The confusion left his face and he asked, “Can I have some dough?”

  “No,” I lied and communicated that it was a lie by smiling at him.

  Jonas looked at his Dad who was watching me. Tate’s head slowly turned to his son when Jonas spoke.

  “She’s full of it. She’s so gonna let me eat dough.”

  “Laurie’s full of it a lot,” Tate shared.

  “I am not!” I snapped, only partly annoyed by this blasphemy, mostly I was just glad that the latest drama appeared to be over and I wasn’t crying anymore.

  Tate straightened from the crouch, ignored my snap and commanded, “Babe, get your ass in the house and make breakfast.”

  I crossed my arms on my chest and glared at him. “First, babe, don’t say ‘ass’ in front of Jonas and second, don’t tell me to make breakfast.”

  Tate’s eyebrows went up. “You intend to starve my boy?”

  “No, I’ll make breakfast for me and Jonas. You can make yourself a bowl of cereal.”

  Tate burst out laughing, his hand snaking out to hook his son around the neck and pull him into his side. When he did, Jonas’s arms slid around Tate’s middle and he pressed himself to his Dad’s frame.

  Tate was still chuckling when he looked down at Jonas and stated, “See? Full of it.”

  I glared at them both but gave up glaring because this had no effect whatsoever on either of them and they looked sweet standing like that. As sweet as it was, I still stomped toward them, then by them, then into the house.

  Then I made French toast.

  Yes, for Tate too.

  But I also made certain that, after I plonked Tate’s plate in front of him, he was clear I did it under protest.

  This made both of them burst out laughing.

  Tate was bossy and that was annoying but, after that scene, both my boys were laughing.

  Therefore, my job was done.

  * * * * *

  “She ain’t talkin’,” Special Agent Garth Tambo said to Tate in the hall just down from Sunny’s hospital room.

  I looked down the hall to see Shambles in a crouch in front of Jonas, Jonas was speaking and Shambles, looking like he had exactly three seconds of sleep, was nodding.

  Tate, myself, FBI Special Agent Tambo and Arnie Fuller, Carnal Chief of Police, father to Tate’s crazy ex-girlfriend and Tate’s mortal enemy (and a man I did not like because he had beady eyes, a serious beer gut which was wrong in his uniform and a penchant for glowering ferociously at Tate) were standing about ten feet from Shambles and Jonas.

  “Not talkin’?” Tate asked Tambo and Tambo shook his head.

  “Not a peep.” He jerked his head at Shambles. “Not even to her man.”

  “Man, right, that’s what he is,” Chief Fuller muttered with disdain and I caught both Tate and Special Agent Tambo’s eyes cutting to him before mine went to him. I noted Tate’s gaze was annoyed, Tambo’s was frustrated.

  As for myself, I was angry.

  “They’ve been together for six years,” I said to Chief Fuller. “And in those six years they spent two nights apart. One of those nights Sunny spent naked in the forest oozing blood from stab wounds while Shambles nearly lost his mind with worry looking for her and the other she was in a hospital bed. Six years together, six years of every night but two sleeping in the same bed. If I was Sunny, that’d be the definition of Shambles being my man. Knowing what he went through and how he feels about her, that’s my definition of Shambles being a man.”

  Chief Fuller turned his glower to me but Tate spoke.

  “Ace –”

  I lifted a hand, palm up in Tate’s direction and kept my eyes on Fuller.

  “They live in your town. You don’t like hippies, that’s your choice. But that personal choice gets put in a box the minute you put on that uniform.”

  “Don’t need you to tell me my job, Miz Grahame,” Fuller said to me.

  “I don’t know, I’m new to these parts but, word around town, someone needs to do it,” I shot back, Tate’s arm curved around my shoulders and he pulled and twisted me so my front was against his side.

  “That’s right, Jackson, rein her in,” Fuller warned.

  “Arnie,” Tate replied, “she’s close to the two of ‘em. Cut her some slack.”

  “I’ll cut her some slack when she ain’t mouthin’ off at me,” Fuller returned.

  “You’ll earn some slack when you aren’t confronted by a friend of a victim after you got a report of a missing person, a female, a report you didn’t act on when you know you got a monster huntin’ your patch and you don’t mutter slurs,” Tambo put in. “Oh, and, I’ll add that you might wanna leash that shit about the partner. Miss Grahame is right, he’s your citizen. You’re wearin’ that uniform, you don’t get to pick which ones you protect.”

  Fuller was now glowering at Tambo then he switched it to me then it moved to Tate and I braced because he looked ready to spit. Then he moved away, thankfully leaving us and doing it without another word.

  “That guy’s a jackass,” Tambo muttered.

  Tate didn’t respond to his comment, instead, shockingly, he said, “Wire up Lauren and send her in.”

  “What?” Tambo asked, his eyebrows going up.

  “What?” I cried, my body going tight.

  Tate talked to Tambo. “Wire up Lauren, send her in, she’ll get Sunny talking.”

  I stared at Tate in horrified disbelief.

  I decided to take this opportunity to remind Tate I wasn’t good in a crisis. This wasn’t a crisis, as such, but I still knew I’d be no good at it.

  Therefore, I started, “Tate –”

  Tate looked down at me. “She’ll talk to you.”

  “No she won’t. If she won’t talk to Shambles –”

  “Ace, the woman at the home store gives you relationship advice. Sunny’ll talk to you,” Tate replied.

  “Wanda is nosy, Tate. Sunny’s different. She’s been attacked.”

  “Stood in that line awhile, babe, saw three customers cash through. She was nice enough but she didn’t babble at any of ‘em like she was their best friend.”

  I wasn’t there but I reckoned this was true. People talked to me, it had always been the way.

  Then again, I talked to people, it had always been my way.

  Tate kept speaking. “Jonas trusted you within hours of meetin’ you. He sized you up and gave you his burden. She’ll talk to you,” Tate went on.

  This was definitely true.

  Still.

  “It’s not the same,” I stated.

  “It was today,” Tate replied.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  Tate turned so we were front to front and both his arms were around me. “Babe, he didn’t wait until he and I were alone. He didn’t ask you to leave. And he didn’t wait for you to leave when you were offerin’ it. He said what he had to say when you were there because you were there. Don’t you get that?”

  “No,” I said.

  “He trusted you to deal with the consequences he created.”

  “But, he –”

  “And you did, you dealt with
me.”

  “I don’t think he thought it out that much, Tate. He’s just ten,” I pointed out.

  “You don’t think he hasn’t learned to scheme the best way to do shit livin’ on eggshells with a coupla drunks, Ace, you’re wrong. That shit with Neet? It’s been goin’ on awhile and he didn’t tell me until you were there.”

  This was probably true too.

  Tate kept pushing. “She’ll trust you.”

  “I don’t know,” I whispered.

  “Can’t know, unless you try.”

  I bit my lip. His arms gave me a squeeze.

  Then his face got close to mine and he whispered, “Babe, we need this.”

  I stared into his face knowing he was right. We needed this. For Tonia and those seven other girls and the girls who were out there, marked by this lunatic and unsafe. We needed this, even for Sunny.

  I just didn’t want it to be me who got this.

  So I asked softly, “Do I have to be wired?”

  Tate’s arms gave me another squeeze, this one reassuring and maybe a little proud (yes, I could read that in an arm squeeze). “They’ll need to hear everything she said and, she won’t even talk to Shambles, I reckon they can’t be in there.”

  “But, a wire?”

  “You need to be you. You need to pose no threat. You can tell her you’re wired but you need to look like you. Not holding a recorder. Not with someone with a notepad at your back. She’s gonna talk, it’s gotta be just you.”

  I wasn’t sure Tate was right about Sunny talking to me and, even if he was, I still wasn’t sure I wanted to do it.

  What I was sure of was someone killed Tonia and seven other women and the same someone may have attacked Sunny. Even if it wasn’t the same someone, still, someone attacked Sunny.

  And whoever it was, they had to be stopped.

  I looked at Tambo standing silently at our side then I looked at Tate.

  “Can we ask Shambles first if it’s okay?” I whispered.

  Tambo turned immediately and walked toward another agent while Tate’s arms gave me yet another squeeze.

  Then he answered, “Yeah.”

  * * * * *

  I thought I’d not be able to take my mind off the microphone taped to my chest but the minute I walked into Sunny’s hospital room that thought flew away.