Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams (58 page)

Another kind of yummy.

“How you doin’?” he asked softly.

I took in a breath and on the exhale shared, “How I’m doing is, I keep thinking about it and she told me all of it but I still think we didn’t get much.”

“We got more than we had,” Tate replied.

“That’s true but it’s not enough,” I said. “He was wearing a ski mask.”

“Bad luck,” Tate muttered. “He came prepared.”

“She was too scared to notice the color of his eyes and he didn’t barely speak,” I reminded Tate of what he already knew since he’d been listening in with the Feds.

“She’s talkin’ now and they’ll get someone in to work with her, get more. But now we know he’s built, strong, not a wimp, and we know he’s white. We also know it wasn’t opportunity. He’d seen her before.”

“How do we know that?” I asked and, unfortunately, Tate moved away but pulled another chair close to mine and sat down.

“He came prepared,” Tate repeated as he leaned down, wrapped an arm around the backs of my knees and then lifted his legs, feet to the railing, pulling mine up, twisting me in my chair and throwing my legs over his.

“The ski mask,” I guessed.

“Yeah, it’s July,” Tate stated. “He was also wearin’ gloves. Left no prints on her bike, left nothin’.”

“But it’s him, the one who killed Tonia,” I stated.

“It’s the same kind of knife so that’s a good assumption.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Shambles was with her before,” Tate told me. “Tambo talked to him. She’d go out and draw down the sun on her own but not at that spot. At that spot, Shambles was always with her.”

“So this time, alone…”

“He’d seen them together, she was alone this time, he took his shot.”

“So, planned but not planned, exactly.”

“Not planned exactly but planned, yeah.”

I looked to the trees.

“He lives up there Laurie,” Tate muttered and my eyes shot to him.

“What?” I breathed.

“Bet my fuckin’ life on it, he lives up there,” Tate reiterated. “He knows that spot. He knows those woods. Bet my fuckin’ life he lives up there. He hunts up there. That’s his space. It’s his.”

With what he said and the way he said it, I felt my blood run cold.

“Is Tambo going to check?” I asked.

“Runnin’ everyone now.”

“How stupid would that be, that close to home, to –?”

“Pretty fuckin’ stupid,” Tate cut me off.

“But why?”

He shook his head, staring at the conifers at the front of his home, his mind somewhere else.

“It’s jacked,” he whispered. “Can’t get my head around it. Nothin’ fits but it all fits. Eight identical murders and now this, all the same MO, but all wrong.”

We heard the sliding glass door go at the same time I heard Jonas saying, “No, Buster, you stay inside.”

Quickly, I leaned close and whispered to Tate, “She said he said ‘sorry’.”

 His arm slid around my shoulders and pulled me closer so my side dug into the arm of the chair but I didn’t care because the rest of me was resting against him.

“Yeah,” Tate whispered back.

“That’s creepy, Tate.” I was still whispering.

“It’s all creepy, Laurie.” He was also still whispering.

He was right about that.

Jonas made it to us and he handed Tate a bottled water. Then he dragged a chair close to his Dad and sat down with his own glass (not pink, one of Tate’s old ones) of grape Kool-Aid and a handful of cookies which he proceeded to start eating.

“You like grape Kool-Aid, Jonas?” I asked him.

“Cherry’s better,” he muttered, mouth full and then turned to face me and grinned a chocolate chip cookie crumble grin. “But it’ll do.”

“I could do cherry,” I stated and then finished on a mumble to myself, “Or I’ll buy another pitcher. They had green ones too.”

“Dad, Laurie’s fillin’ the house with girlie crap,” Jonas told on me while I was sitting right there.

Tate was staring at the trees and I watched him smile at them while he murmured, “Yeah.”

Clearly Tate didn’t mind me filling the house with “girlie crap”. I gave Jonas a “so there” look and Jonas rolled his eyes.

Then he asked, “We gonna eat hamburgers or what?”

“Soon’s Lauren makes ‘em,” Tate answered.

“I thought you were grilling them,” I said to Tate and he looked down at me.

“Yeah, I’m grillin’ ‘em, not
makin’
‘em.”

“So I have to do the icky, squishy part?” I demanded to know.

Tate smiled at me, “Yeah.”

Before I could protest, Jonas spoke.

“I’ll do the icky, squishy part,” he offered. “I like icky and squishy.”

“It’s all yours,” I muttered.

“Cool!” Jonas cried.

“After a shower, Bub,” Tate stated.

“Right,” Jonas replied, shoved the last cookie in his mouth, jumped up and ran to the house.

Tate looked back at the trees. I rested my head on his shoulder. We sat together silent for awhile before Tate broke the silence.

“He thinks you’re the shit, Ace.”

He meant Jonas.

“That’s good since I feel the same way,” I replied.

We were quiet again, then, for some reason, he asked softly, “You love me?”

My heart skipped and my body got tight.

But again my mouth answered for me, “Yes.”

His arm gave me a squeeze and he muttered, “Good.”

He fell silent and I focused on getting my heart rate normal even as I worried about the fact that he kept asking me that question, and getting his answer, and seeming content with that but not returning the sentiment.

Because I was worried about it, I couldn’t get my heart rate normal and my mouth formed more words.

“Do you… uh…” I got out before my brain shut my mouth down.

His arm squeezed again, differently this time, curling in and my head lifted up to find his had turned and he was looking down at me and, witnessing the look on his face, I found my heart rate accelerating startlingly.

“Never doubt it, Ace,” he declared on a growl.

“Okay,” I whispered then asked, “Why do you keep asking me?”

“‘Cause I like hearin’ you say yes.”

I lifted my hand and placed it on his bearded jaw as his head tipped down and he kissed me. It wasn’t hard and demanding, it was soft, sweet, wet and deliciously long.

After Tate and I made out on the deck, I supervised Jonas’s hamburger making at the same time making my pasta salad and we did this while Tate showered. Then Tate grilled. Then we ate out on the back patio while Jonas and I chattered and Tate infrequently interjected since Jonas and I chattered so much. We had cake after hamburgers. Then Jonas and I did dishes while Tate called Krys to make sure everything was okay. Then we camped out in the living room and watched comedies.

“No blood, no gore, Bub,” Tate commanded when Jonas was picking our viewing fodder.

Tate was laid full out on the couch, his head on the headrest and I was tucked between him and the back of the couch, my head on his chest, his hand playing with my hair. We were on film number two and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Therefore, I sleepily announced I was going to bed, pulled up Tate’s body, kissed his lips, climbed over him and off the couch and went to Jonas where I touched his hair and then I went to bed.

The first time Sunny’s words woke me up, Tate wasn’t there. The second time, his big body was curled into mine. The third through fifth times, I was snuggled into his back.

Which brought me to now, very awake in the dead of night and facing a nightshift the next day. I’d survive it, I had before, but it wouldn’t be fun.

I rolled to my back and when I did, Tate rolled into me.

His hand slid along my belly as his face buried itself in the hair at the side of my head.

“You’re havin’ a rough night.” His voice was scratchy with sleep.

“I’m okay.”

His arm gave me a squeeze.

“Had to send you in there, babe.”

He meant to talk to Sunny.

“I know,” I whispered.

He was silent a moment then he said, “Knew it’d do this to you but had to send you in there.”

“I know, Tate.”

“I did it knowin’ she’d give it to you and it’d mark you.”

“Tate –”

“Also did it knowin’ I’d be here when you dealt with it.”

I rolled into him, wrapped my arm around him and he pulled me close.

“I know,” I repeated then whispered, “It’s okay, Tate.”

He felt guilt, I knew he did. He didn’t like me losing sleep and he didn’t like knowing he did something to exacerbate that.

But he had to do it, and so did I, we both knew it but these were the consequences. He was right, he was here to help me deal with it and I was right too, I had him with me so it would be okay.

“Why didn’t you have kids?” he asked and I blinked at his change of subject before I realized he changed it to take my mind off Sunny.

“Unconscious self-preservation,” I used his words and he chuckled, his hand sliding up my back and into my hair where his fingers started to play with it.

“Knew, deep down, he was a dick,” he guessed.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Didn’t want to bring a kid into that,” he went on.

I sighed then said, “Yeah, but I wanted kids, so did Brad. I put it off, made excuses and he didn’t push it. Then I felt him pull away, he didn’t talk about it anymore and I buried it.”

“Regret it?”

“Not having kids with Brad?”

Tate amended my statement. “Not havin’ kids.”

I thought about it and thinking about it made my stomach hurt.

And that hurt sounded in my word when I said, “Yeah.”

Tate’s hand cupped the back of my head and he tucked my face in his throat while he said, “Baby.”

“It’s okay,” I whispered into his throat.

“Right,” he replied and I knew he didn’t believe me. Then again, he was right not to believe me since I was lying.

I changed the subject. “Tell me about your Dad.”

“Show you,” he offered and I tipped my head back to look at him even though I couldn’t see him in the dark.

“Show me?”

I heard his head move on the pillow as he looked down at me.

“Dad was big on video cameras, huge. Minute they were on the market, he bought one. The thing was mammoth, had to put it on his shoulder. It cost a fuckin’ fortune, but he got one. Traded up every time a new camera came out. He even did edits. Put shit to music. Was always fuckin’ around with it. My games. Parties. Holidays. Barbeques. When Wood and I went out on our bikes. Pop would get hold of the camera, Stella, Neet, Wood, me and we got footage of him. So, I’ll show you.”

“He was a good guy,” I stated.

“The best,” he replied.

“Proud of you.”

I felt his body go solid for a moment before he relaxed.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“He still would be,” I told him.

His body went solid again.

“Babe –”

“He would, Tate. You’re a good man, a good dad.”

He didn’t respond and he kept quiet for so long, I let it go.

Then he relaxed against me and the feel of his hard, big body, his warmth, his scent hit me as his hand lazily travelled the skin of my back.

So my hand lazily travelled the skin of his side, his hip, then between us where my fingers wrapped around his cock and started stroking.

A low, sexy noise came out of his throat and he did the impossible, his teeth found my bottom lip in the dark and nipped it.

My legs moved restlessly as I felt a swell between them.

I kept stroking.

“Funny,” Tate muttered, his lips still so close to mine I could feel his escalating breath.

“What?” I asked when he said no more.

“When I played ball, at Penn State, one thing I liked about it, outside the game, it got me great pussy.”

My fingers squeezed his cock as a startled giggle escaped my throat.

“It got you great –?”

His hips pressed into my hand and I started stroking again.

“High-class college girls,” he said, his voice getting thick, “sorority.”

He moved, his hands on me and his head so his lips were drifting light on the skin of my shoulder, my neck but he didn’t move in a way where I lost purchase on his cock. I knew what this meant so I kept stroking.

“Sorority,” I whispered.

“Oh yeah,” he whispered back, lips at my ear. “Liked that idea. Knew, when I made the pros, that was laid out before me.”

“I might take that part back…” I stated, my hand stopping but not moving from its position, “about you being a good man.”

His head came up and his hips pushed into my hand. “I was early twenties, Ace.”

“Right,” I muttered.

His hips thrust again and my hand started moving.

“Knew I’d find one, though,” he whispered, his lips back to travelling my skin as he spoke. “With that amount of choice, I’d settle on a good one, gorgeous, sweet, high-class pussy in my bed every night, goin’ to my games, watchin’ me play, helpin’ me make babies and I could take care of her.”

I liked what he was saying, my mind liked it and my body liked it so I started stroking faster.

“Tate.”

His mouth came to mine but he didn’t kiss me.

Instead, he said, “Sucked when I lost that. I lost the game and I lost that future and that fucked with my head.”

“Tate,” I breathed against his lips.

“Came home, hooked up with Neet and knew that would be my life, Neet or someone like her and, havin’ that taste of the good life, knowin’ it was gone, that fuckin’ sucked.”

“Honey –”

“Didn’t have any fuckin’ clue, I waited twenty years, here I’d be, a gorgeous, sweet high-class piece in my bed givin’ me a hand job.”

My heart stuttered, my breath caught, my nipples got hard and I felt a rush of wet between my legs.

“I’m not a piece,” I told him, trying to sound offended but not really offended at all.

His hips started moving with my hand.

“Nope, babe, you’re a
high-class
piece.”

I felt another rush between my legs and I pressed against him as I stroked harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he muttered, his voice almost a groan.

“This high-class piece is done giving you a hand job, Captain.”

“No you aren’t,” he growled.