Talia groaned. “Oh, no! I woke her, too? Did I wake Jesse? Is he okay?”
“Mama needs someone to baby, honey. Let her do her thing. As for Jesse, he sleeps through just about everything.”
Talia went limp against him, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal.
A couple of minutes later Leigh was back, carrying a small towel and a steaming cup of hot chocolate. “I put marshmallows in it,” she said.
“That’s what Mother used to do,” Talia said, and burst into tears.
“Bless your heart,” Leigh said, as she sat the cup aside and pulled a blanket from the bed for Bowie to cover Talia with. Then she leaned over the both of them, gave each one a kiss on the cheek and left the room.
Talia cried until her eyes were swollen and the chocolate had cooled. She drank it lukewarm, sharing some with Bowie until the cup was empty and the hollow feeling in her belly was gone.
“Do you feel like you’re ready to lie back down?” Bowie asked.
“I want to go to the bathroom first,” she said.
“I’ll get you there, then you call out when you want me to come get you.”
“I think maybe I can walk,” she said, but when she stood, her knees were so stiff and painful that the few steps she took were more than Bowie could stand to witness.
He carried her across the darkened hall and into the bathroom, waited until she was steady enough on her feet to get to the toilet, and then slipped out the door. A couple of minutes later he heard the toilet flush and then water running in the sink. He was waiting for her to call him when she opened the door.
“I’m ready,” she said softly.
He carried her back to bed, turned off the lights and stretched out beside her once more. There were a few moments of silence, and then he heard her sigh.
“I love you, Bowie.”
He smiled. “I love you, too,” he said.
“When we get married, I don’t care where we go or what our house looks like. As long as you’re there, I’ll be happy.”
“Sounds perfect to me,” he said.
“I want babies,” she said.
His heart skipped a beat at the thought of his child in her belly.
“So do I... Pretty little girls with curly hair and sassy smiles like their mama.”
“I’ve lost my sass,” Talia said.
“You’ll get it back,” he promised.
She didn’t say anything more, and when he heard her breathing change to a slow and steady pace, he knew she’d fallen asleep.
The next time he woke it was morning and Talia was lying on her side watching him sleep.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
He managed a sleepy grin.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
She touched his face, then ran her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of the silky strands sliding between her fingers.
“You have sexy hair,” she said.
He chuckled. “The hell you say.”
She nodded.
“And you have a sexy body,” he said.
She made a face. “I have a skinny body,” she muttered.
He frowned.
“No, you don’t. You’re perfect—like a gorgeous car that just needs a tune-up.”
She laughed.
“I’d almost forgotten what man-speak sounded like.”
He grinned. “Want me to see if anyone is in the bathroom?”
She nodded.
He brushed a quick kiss across her lips and rolled out of bed, and so their day began.
*
Andrew chose his clothes carefully that morning. Good gabardine slacks, a pale blue shirt and a beige linen sport coat. He chose a pair of brown alligator shoes to add a little flash and made sure his short curly hair was moussed into place. On a good day his reputation was questionable, but being connected in any way whatsoever with the now infamous Waynes was dicey, and the thought of presenting himself at the police station with his information was unnerving. By the time he felt presentable it was almost 9:00 a.m., and his belly was churning. If only he could get this done without any ensuing notoriety he would be grateful.
He checked out of the motel, intent on leaving Eden after he got the video into the proper hands, and headed for downtown. He knew where the police station was located and arrived there without an issue. He grabbed his laptop, patted his pocket to make sure the disc was there and got out of the car.
It appeared to be the beginning of another sunny summer day, although it had yet to get hot. A stray cat ran across his path as he headed toward the station. He made the sign of the cross and whispered a quiet prayer of thanksgiving that the damn thing wasn’t black, then hastened his stride.
Once inside, he walked up to the receptionist at the front desk, a thirty-something woman with gray roots and red hair. He wanted to suggest another color to offset the reddish cast of her skin and tried not to stare.
“Good morning,” the woman said. “How can I help you?”
“I need to speak to Chief Clayton.”
“Your name?” she asked.
“Andrew Bingham.”
“Is he expecting you?” she asked.
“No. Just tell him it’s about Stanton Youngblood’s murder.”