Christmas in His Bed Page 15

  Lucy and Tatum were in pajamas, sliding around the kitchen floor in fuzzy socks. Tatum’s kitten-covered pink thermal pajamas and pigtails had him shaking his head. She looked gorgeous, swinging a large wooden spoon around as she belted out Mariah Carey Christmas carols at the top of her lungs.

  Lucy joined in, adding sprinkles to some of the stacks and stacks of cookies that covered the kitchen countertops. Among the tubes of icing and bottles of sprinkles, a gigantic gingerbread house was being built.

  He leaned against the door, smiling. When they finished their performance, he clapped.

  They both jumped.

  Lucy burst out laughing. “Good to see you’re alive and well. I was beginning to worry Tatum might have killed you.”

  Tatum glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow but not saying a word. Instead, the tip of her tongue licked a dollop of pink frosting from her spoon.

  “She tried,” he said, as he cleared his throat. Apparently they weren’t keeping things a secret from Lucy.

  Tatum frowned at him, dropping the spoon in the sink. “We made cookies.”

  “I see that.” His brows rose. “I can eat a lot but—”

  “They’re for you to take to work,” Tatum said. “It’s Christmas.”

  As if that explained everything. She’d made cookies for him to take to work because it was Christmas. His smile grew.

  “Her idea,” Lucy said. “I just wanted to eat some cookie dough.”

  “They’ll be appreciated.” He winked at Lucy, content to watch Tatum fill a large storage container with festively decorated cookies.

  “We’re having a sleepover,” Tatum said.

  “Aren’t you two a little old for sleepovers?” he asked, smiling.

  “You’re never too old for a sleepover,” Lucy said, smiling sweetly at him.

  “What’s your schedule?” Lucy asked. “I know Juan’s trying to get as many people to cover as possible—since the baby came early.”

  He nodded. “Not sure.” But he hoped like hell he could avoid more overtime. His and Tatum’s time was running out, and he wanted to make every second count. “It’s been pretty slow.”

  “Spencer is sort of a hero right now. Did he tell you that?” Lucy asked Tatum. “Not that he brags on himself.”

  Tatum’s eyes met his. “What did you do?”

  He glared at Lucy. “Really?”

  “Come on, Spencer, it’s sweet.” Lucy perched on the kitchen counter. “He was at the high school, doing some sort of don’t-do-drugs thing when these boys got into a fight. He got in the middle of it, broke it up and saved one of the kids from choking to death.”

  Tatum looked horrified. “The other kid was trying to kill him?”

  “No.” Spencer sighed. “The dumb kid was sucking on a piece of candy. The fight broke out. He got punched. I guess he inhaled it when he got the wind knocked out of him.”

  Tatum smiled. “So you broke up a fight and did the Heimlich maneuver? I bet you made quite an impression.”

  “He made the front page of the paper. Aunt Imogene is framing it,” Lucy said.

  “What happened to the kids?” Tatum asked.

  “I guess seeing his buddy turn blue made the other guy cool off real fast. They were all hugging and saying ‘I’m sorry, man.’” Spencer laughed. “You couldn’t pay me to be a teenage boy again. Too volatile.”

  Tatum giggled, staring pointedly at his injuries. “Hey, what’s that on your face?”

  He frowned.

  “Y’all are fun.” Lucy laughed.

  “Pizza?” Tatum pulled a plate from the oven. “Sit, if you have time? It’s veggie.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll eat it in the truck. I should be heading out.”

  She wrapped the pizza in foil and set it on the container full of cookies. “Well...be careful.”

  He crossed the room, taking the container from her. “I will.” He set the container on the counter, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. He liked the startled look on her face, the perfect O her mouth made right before his lips met hers. She was so soft, so sweet. He broke away with a sigh. He pulled her close, sliding his hands up and down her back. “I promise,” he whispered in her ear.

  He grabbed his cookies and left, knowing a smart man would call in sick and crash their sleepover. He could decorate cookies with the best of them. Since his mother had no daughters, her boys all had basic cooking, cleaning and dancing skills. She considered all three of equal importance when it came to being a good spouse. As it was, he knew he was needed on the job—and hoped she’d let him make up for lost time later.

  He drove to the station with the windshield wipers on high. After a sun-filled day, the sudden dip in the temperature and steady rain promised slick roadway conditions.

  “Looks like tonight’s going to be fun,” he murmured, munching his pizza on the way to the station. Veggie or not, it was good.

  He carried the cookies, nodding at his team as he headed toward his desk. After hanging his coat on the hook by his workstation, he shifted a stack of papers and put the container on the edge of his desk.

  “I know you didn’t make them,” Patton said, pulling a cookie out.

  “Nope.” Spencer smiled. “Tatum did.”

  Patton grinned.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be off?” Spencer asked.

  Patton shrugged, biting into the cookie. “Wrapping up a few loose ends.”

  “Patton, you could spend a month on loose ends.” He pulled out the file he’d been working on. “Anything you need to catch me up on?”

  “Where do I start?” Patton shook his head, sitting in the chair by Spencer’s desk.

  Spencer listened as Patton listed off what had rolled in since he’d left. There was a missing child linked to a known drug transporter—top priority. A neighborhood had over a dozen cars vandalized the night before, leaving a path of empty aerosol cans they were fingerprinting.

  “Kids huffing?” Spencer asked. “Guess I’ll check hospitals later, see if anyone turns up.”

  Patton nodded. “A twenty-four-year-old woman was found in the parking lot next to The Grind. Her blood work tested positive for Rohypnol, so they’re doing a rape kit.”

  Spencer ran a hand over his face.

  “And, last but not least, we have a van-load of teens in custody. They were coming back from a Dallas concert, smoke pouring out of their windows. Nothing like a moving hotbox to grab Highway Patrol’s interest.”

  Spencer laughed. “People never fail to amaze me. They’re damn lucky no one got killed.”

  “I don’t remember what we were doing at that age, but I’d like to think we weren’t that careless with other people’s lives.”

  Spencer nodded. “We weren’t. I can remember Zach trying to ski off the roof the year of the big blizzard. And I believe you—”

  “Stopped you from breaking your neck more than once.”

  Spencer nodded, smiling. “Great. So I can expect a bunch of pissed-off parents who know it’s not their kids’ pot anytime?” Spencer asked, scanning over his notes. “The roofie thing, that’s the third one this month.”

  Patton nodded, frowning.

  “Any MO?” Spencer asked. “Same victim profile?”

  Patton shook his head. “Doesn’t appear so. Here.” He handed him the file. “Feel free.”

  “What about the kid?” Spencer asked, looking at the whiteboard the clerk kept up as new information rolled in.

  “It’s a 1984 blue Dodge minivan with a gray bumper. We’ve had a few calls. Seems to be heading in our general direction.” Patton sighed, staring at the abducted four-year-old girl’s picture. “Sure would love to get her home safe.”

  Spencer nodded. “Custody thing?”

  Patton nodde
d. “Dad lost rights because of his dealing. No one knows if he’s using or not. And no violent record, just drugs. I’m hoping he’s just a desperate dad doing a very stupid thing.”

  Spencer didn’t say anything. Abduction cases were nasty, no matter what.

  “Let me know if you hear something?” Patton asked.

  Spencer nodded. “No news on Taggart?”

  Patton shook his head, taking another cookie. “These are good.”

  “Are they?” He reached for one, popping it in his mouth. They were good. Not that he was surprised. Tatum had always liked to bake. Thinking of Tatum in her pink cat pajamas, pigtails bouncing, had him grinning from ear to ear.

  “I take it she forgave you?” Patton asked, gathering his things up.

  Spencer shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”

  The intercom on his desk buzzed. “Got a call for backup. Immediate assistance requested to Cliffs Point and Jones Avenue.”

  “We’re shorthanded, Spencer,” Captain Ramirez yelled out.

  “On it,” Spencer answered, jumping up and tugging on his coat. “Go home to your fiancée, Patton. Take her a cookie.” He winked as he sprinted out into the darkness.

  12

  “HELLO?” LUCY ANSWERED the phone while Tatum hunted for the remote control. “What’s wrong, Aunt Imogene?”

  A chill settled in Tatum’s stomach. She flipped off the television and stood, suddenly too antsy to sit still.

  “Which hospital? Glenn Oaks? Okay.” Lucy’s gaze met Tatum’s. There was a long pause. “I’ll come get you...Yes, she’s here...What?...I’ll tell her.” She hung up her phone.

  “Spencer?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  Lucy took her hands. “He’s okay.”

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Don’t freak out, okay? He was stabbed—”

  “Don’t freak out?” she repeated. He’d been stabbed.

  “It could be nothing, Tatum, really. He’s in stable condition.” Lucy stood, hurrying to the door.

  “Nothing?” she asked. “You said he was stabbed.”

  “I’ll let you know...” She paused. “He...he said for you not to come.”

  Tatum frowned. “Oh.”

  “I need to take Aunt Imogene. She can’t drive on the ice, too jumpy,” she said, hugging her. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know more.”

  Tatum nodded, feeling numb. “Okay.”

  Tatum stared out the front window, watching as Lucy and Mrs. Ryan piled into her car and drove off.

  He was hurt. In a hospital. But he was in stable condition. Stable enough to tell her not to come. She hugged herself, hating how cold she felt.

  If he didn’t want her there she shouldn’t go. He had a good reason.

  She started cleaning up the mess she and Lucy had made in the kitchen. But once the kitchen was sparkling, there was still no word on Spencer. She texted Lucy, asking for an update, but she didn’t get an answer.

  Lucy would call her if it was bad. She’d call, period, wouldn’t she? She’d know Tatum was worried.

  But since Lucy wasn’t texting her, she did a load of laundry and straightened the living room.

  An hour and a half ticked by before she couldn’t take it anymore. She put on her thick black coat, tugged on mittens and a hat, and climbed into the SUV. She plugged Glenn Oaks Hospital into her navigation system and drove, slipping along the icy roads. The closer she got, the more she shook. Which didn’t help with driving on the icy roads.

  When she rounded a corner, her tires locked and her SUV slid. But she relaxed, stayed calm and kept control. She recovered and came to a stop at the red light. As she rested her head on her steering wheel, terrified of what could have happened, she heard the screeching of brakes and looked up.

  A truck slid across the intersection and plowed into her passenger side.

  She barely had time to register what was happening as her SUV was forced across the road and slammed into a lamppost. Her head smacked the driver side window, cracking the glass and making her see stars. A horn was honking, but she didn’t know if it was hers or the truck’s. All she knew was it wouldn’t stop.

  She sat there, stunned, a warm stickiness running down the side of her face.

  Her phone vibrated then, but she was too dazed to reach for it.

  Someone knocked on the window. “You okay?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Just...hit my head.”

  “We called 9-1-1,” the person said, trying to open her door. “Door’s smashed in.”

  “I’m okay,” she said again. She tried the door handle, but the door wouldn’t move. “I’ll climb over.” But then she realized her passenger side was crumpled in on itself, the hood of the truck firmly embedded.

  A young man tried to open her door. “You might want to stay put. In case you hurt your neck.”

  “I really think I’m okay,” she said, trying to unbuckle her seat belt. She pressed the button but nothing happened. “My belt’s stuck.”

  “Must be connected to the car’s computer,” the man said.

  There were sirens.

  “Just sit tight.”

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” she said, laughing softly. She reached up, feeling along her hairline. She winced, pulling back blood-covered fingers.

  What an idiot. Spencer had told her not to come—probably for this very reason. Lucy had told her he was stable. But no, she just had to see for herself. And now this. She rested her head against the seat back.

  Her phone vibrated again and this time she reached for it. Lucy.

  Spencer’s fine. Stitched at the scene and back at work. See, no worries. Want to finish the movie?

  She laughed then, which made her head hurt.

  “You okay?” the man asked.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, though she doubted he could hear her over the blare of the sirens.

  What was she doing? She’d dropped everything to get to Spencer—after he’d told her not to come. She was doing exactly what she didn’t want to do. Getting too involved, too attached. And now she was bleeding and trapped in a car because of it. I’m an idiot. An idiot whose head was throbbing.

  The paramedics managed to pry open the back door to reach her. One assessed her injuries, strapping a large foam brace around her neck before they helped her out of the passenger side. The firefighters had to cut through her seat belt and force her seat back to get her out. By then, her head was definitely hurting.

  “How do you feel?” the paramedic asked.

  Embarrassed. I sort of hate myself right now. Pathetic. “My head hurts.”

  He nodded. “You knocked your head pretty good,” he said. “Might need a few stitches.”

  Stitches? She closed her eyes.

  “I need you to stay awake for me,” he said. “Just in case you have a concussion.”

  And a concussion? “Okay,” she said.

  “Can we call anyone?” he asked. “Next of kin?”

  She swallowed. “Nope.”

  He blinked. “You sure?”

  She tried not to glare at the man. “Believe me. I’m sure,” she said. She had no one.

  The ride in the ambulance was short—she’d almost been there when she’d had her accident. When they arrived in the emergency room, she answered the same questions over and over, had ten different people shine penlights in her eyes, made her touch her nose, walk a straight line and had her head x-rayed.

  She had a concussion. And needed eight stitches behind her ear, which was swollen and sore.

  “I’m going to have an elf ear for Christmas,” she said to the ER nurse. “How festive.”

  “You’d look pretty no matter what,”
the woman said, smiling. “I’m Aileen. If you need anything, just holler. I’m your nurse. Okay?” She handed her the remote control. “You’ll be staying with us for a while so might as well find something to entertain you.” Aileen pulled the curtain back. “So I can keep an eye on you. No sleeping, okay?”

  “Okay,” Tatum said. She flipped channels. She couldn’t feel her incision; it was numb. But the rest of her wasn’t. Now that she wasn’t trapped in a vehicle, in immediate peril, her brain decided to replay all the times she’d been hurt. Not stitches or concussion hurt, but brokenhearted and defeated hurt. Her father’s desertion, her mother, Spencer, Brent... How many times did she have to fall flat to learn to stay on her guard?

  Her divorce should have liberated her.

  Sleeping with Spencer should have empowered her.

  She was in control now. And somehow she’d forgotten that.

  No matter what truths had come to light about Spencer and their past, she was still antirelationships. She didn’t have the strongest evidence that loving someone was a good thing. The crisscross cuts and angry coloring of her right arm was example enough.

  No more pretending things hadn’t gotten way out of hand with Spencer. She only hoped she was strong enough to end it.

  She aimlessly flipped the channels, unease and nausea setting her stomach on edge. News. Sports. Travel shows. It’s a Wonderful Life. She stopped, knowing George Bailey’s tale would cheer her up. With any luck, she’d be able to go home by the time the movie was over. If she was really lucky, she’d look into getting an earlier flight to California.

  * * *

  “SPENCER,” HE ANSWERED his phone, eating another of Tatum’s cookies. He’d been back at work for an hour, closing out two files, and four cookies. And every time he took a bite, his mind drifted to Tatum. Her smile. Her laugh. Her tongue licking icing off the spoon. It was a good damn thing he was at his desk tonight, because he’d be shit in the field.

  “It’s Jared.” It was hard to hear his cousin over the background noise. “I just heard. Is she okay?”