“She’ll be lucky to survive,” he whispered back.
“Tate,” I kept whispering, calling him by his name for the first time ever.
I watched with some fascination as his eyes closed and something weird rushed into his features. It was weird because it appeared both warm and painful.
He opened them and said quietly, “I cut her loose last night.”
My hand moved to wrap my fingers around his forearm. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I cut her loose,” he repeated.
“Tate, don’t,” I whispered.
“I wasn’t nice about it,” he went on.
“Don’t –”
“Last thing she heard from my mouth was me callin’ her a bitch.”
“Tate –”
“She was on shift –”
My fingers squeezed and I leaned closer, “Honey, don’t.”
He was silent and we stared into each other’s eyes for awhile.
Then he ordered, “No more nighttime swimmin’, babe.”
“Okay,” I replied softly.
He pushed away and walked to the door, saying to Betty, “She may need some aloe vera.”
“Right, Tate,” Betty replied to no one because he was out the door.
Betty turned to me and grinned in a way that, if I wasn’t strung out on a variety of emotions, I would have thought, especially considering the circumstances, was bizarrely, happily hopeful.
But all I could say or think was, “How did he know about me swimming?”
“Why he was a good cop, why he’s a good bounty hunter, Tate Jackson knows all,” Betty answered.
I didn’t think that was good news, not for me.
I just hoped it was equally bad news for the man who hurt Tonia.
Chapter Five
Exhausted You
The next day, it was just passed two in the afternoon and it was another slow day at Bubba’s when he came in.
I was on and Dalton was behind the bar.
My body ached from boot camp, all over, and I spent some time that morning trying to figure out if it was my leg muscles, arm muscles, ab muscles or butt muscles that hurt the most but I couldn’t decide since they all hurt equally bad.
When Jim-Billy came in, Dalton and Jim-Billy spent time discussing Tonia. Dalton looked slightly strung out, like he had no sleep, looking this way probably because he was freaked about Tonia. They talked about Tonia until they saw it was distressing me, Jim-Billy gave Dalton a look and they’d both shut up about it.
I ran out to get Dalton, Jim-Billy and myself sandwiches from the deli, popping by La-La Land to buy us all brownies with peanut butter morsels in them.
“Peanut butter’s the theme this week, babeeee,” Shambles had shouted upon my entry that morning to get my coffee and breakfast so I had to go back for treats for the boys if peanut butter was the theme. I loved peanut butter.
I was spending the day finishing up the stock take I hadn’t quite finished two days before, running back and forth to the front to make sure Dalton was good. I had just finished my task and was mentally designing the spreadsheet I was going to create on my laptop that night and present to Krystal. I was walking up the hall when I saw the front door open and Tate walked in.
I took one look at his face and tripped over my feet.
“Hey Tate, got news?” I heard Dalton ask almost the instant Tate arrived.
“Ace,” Tate called, his eyes on me, not answering Dalton’s question. “Turn around. Office,” he ordered.
I didn’t protest. I nodded, turned, hurried down the hall and waited for him outside the office door. When he arrived, he unlocked it with his keys and pushed it open, holding it so I could precede him. I flipped on the light switch as I entered, took several steps in and turned. Tate closed the door and put his back to it.
I opened my mouth to speak.
“She died this mornin’,” Tate announced.
I closed my eyes and mouth then opened my eyes and started to him.
“Don’t,” he gritted and I jerked to a halt. “Don’t come near me, babe.”
“Captain –”
He cut me off. “Called me my name yesterday, Ace.”
I swallowed then mumbled, “Um… Tate –”
“Talked to Betty and Ned,” he interrupted again. “They’re movin’ you to a room closer to their place. Don’t want you on the end. Too far away.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“You walk to work today?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’ll be here at seven, take you home,” he told me.
“I’ll ask Jim-Billy –”
“I’ll be here, Lauren.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
He stopped speaking and we stared at each other.
Finally, I got brave enough to say, “You aren’t responsible, Tate.”
He didn’t answer.
I took a step toward him and stopped when his hard face got harder.
“You aren’t,” I whispered.
“Why do you swim at night?” he asked and my head tilted to the side at his change in topic.
“Why do I swim at night?”
“Yeah.”
“I have insomnia,” I answered. “Always have, even when I was a kid.”