Her eyes narrowed, her face twisted, she leaned forward and the shutters flew up on her eyes, exposing her pain.
“Told you,” she said quietly, her voice trembling, “you had her in your hands and I told you, you weren’t careful, you’d destroy her. I’m not wrong often and again, I… was… not… wrong.”
There it was again. That thing piercing his chest. More pain. More damage.
Ty Walker stood at the bottom of a stoop of a tiny, tidy house in a not great, not bad area of Dallas and engaged in a stare down with a protective, loyal, loving black woman, a stare down he had no hope in fuck of winning.
“Ty, let’s go,” Jackson said quietly from his side.
“You do her no favors, keepin’ me from her,” Walker said softly.
“Way I see it, ain’t no single body on this earth ever did Alexa Berry no favors,” Ella returned.
“Walker,” Walker corrected and Ella’s back shot straight.
“Not anymore,” she aimed and fired her kill shot, it penetrated its target, leaving devastation in its wake then she turned and slammed into her house without looking back.
Walker turned on his boot and prowled down the walk to Tate’s SUV. Tate bleeped the locks before he made it and he didn’t hesitate to swing in.
Tate swung behind the wheel. Then he turned to Walker.
“What now?” he asked.
“We find a place to sleep, we sleep, we go home,” Walker answered the windshield.
“Home?” The word was low, angry and unbelieving and, slowly, Walker turned his eyes to his friend.
“Home. Where your computer is. Where your database is. Where you start to do what you do. They’ll leave a trail or they’ll surface, you’ll find them, you’ll tell me where the fuck they are and then I’ll fucking go get my fucking wife.”
Tate stared at him a second.
Then he grinned.
Then he turned to face forward, switched the ignition and guided the SUV to the nearest hotel.
*
Lexie
Two weeks later…
Panama City Beach, Florida
I liked this time of night at the beach. Dinnertime. When most everyone was eating, a breeze came off the Gulf, the air was still warm but cool and the beach was nearly deserted.
There were a couple of kids playing Frisbee some ways a way. A man running with his yellow lab at the water’s edge, this taking awhile because the dog kept bouncing into the waves and he’d have to turn around, jog backward, call, the dog would ignore him, he’d run forward, the dog would leap out of the water in great bounds then the guy would turn back around and run some more only for the dog to bounce right back into the surf. A bit down the beach there were combers walking with heads bowed, toeing things in the sand, bending sometimes to pick them up, getting close to the water’s edge to wait for a wave to clean the sand off what they found so they could get a better look.
But that was it. Mostly just me sitting on my ass, the sand and the waves, all I could see, all I could hear.
It didn’t make me feel at peace but, these days, it was the best I got.
I sighed and dropped my chin to my jeans clad knees that were bent to my chest, my arms around them and I watched the waves.
I could do this for hours and I did.
I heard the footsteps in the sand behind me but didn’t turn. Someone coming from our motel. Definitely a motel. The Beacon. I suspected it was built during the late fifties, early sixties and since then they’d changed not one thing. Not even the curtains or the bedspreads.
It was clean, it was seriously freaking cheap, they gave you a discount if you bought a week in advance and it was right on the beach. But those were all it had going for it.
It was certainly nowhere near what Ty gave me in Vegas.
Not even close.
But it was on the beach so people stayed there. Like Bessie and me.
And whoever was making their way to the water.
I put the footsteps out of my mind and stared at the sea.
Then it hit me the footsteps stopped.
Then I felt him behind me.
Then I tensed as I felt him move.
Then I closed my eyes tight when all that was him, and damn, there was a lot of him, surrounded me.
He sat behind me, right at my back, his long legs on either side, knees bent, insides pressed to the outsides of mine. His long arms circling me. His massive front pressing into my back. His jaw pressing into the side of my hair.
And there he whispered, “Mama.”
That one word tore through me like a blade.
I opened my eyes and saw sea.
“How did you find me?” I asked the waves and the minute I started speaking, his arms convulsed.
“Tate,” he answered.
Right. Of course. His bounty hunter friend.
Scratch Tate off my Christmas list.
“We gotta talk,” he said gently.
“Nothing to talk about,” I replied.
“You know there is, baby.” He was still talking gently. It was nice. I’d heard him be gentle. I’d heard him be soft. I’d heard him be sweet. I’d heard him be quiet. But none of them were as gentle, soft, sweet and quiet as the way he was now.
But it didn’t matter.