Page 50 of Grissom
“Almost,” Tanner answered evenly, snuggling deeper into Tuesday’s arm. “But I got what I wanted most. I got Tuesday.”
“No, I got Tuesday,” Luke grumped, digging his elbow into Tanner.
“Yeah, Luke, you got Tuesday, too,” Tanner replied easily, not arguing. “We’re both really lucky, huh?”
That did the trick. Luke stopped shoving and instead, grabbed Tanner’s arm and pulled him in close again. “Yeah. We’re lucky bastards, huh, Daddy?”
Grissom sputtered, “Luke! We don’t say things like that.”
Tuesday grinned. Yup, these boys were definitely his.
“Butyousay bastard all the time,” Luke replied without guile.
“Yeah, Dad. You even say the F-word a lot, and it ain’t fart,” Tanner added.
“Boy! Boys! Okay. Enough already.” Tuesday could tell Grissom was laughing inside. “And you’re right. I’ve got a pottymouth, but that doesn’t mean you should. How about we all clean up our acts? I’ll stop dropping F-bombs—”
“And saying shit and gawddamn and all that other stuff,” Tanner murmured.
“And yelling,” Luke shrieked, his voice loud enough to wake the dead.
“What will you boys do?” Tuesday asked quietly.
“Well, I won’t never say bastard again,” Luke declared, crossing his heart with his index finger as he added, “unless I’m really, really pissed.”
Tuesday looked up at the ceiling, fighting hard not to laugh out loud. These boys. “While you guys decide on family rules, I’ll take the garbage bag out. Where are your trash cans?”
Grissom looked up at her from where he sat with one boy straddling each thigh, both facing him like they were prepared for high-stakes bargaining. “Leave it. I’ll take it out later.”
“It’s no big deal. Meet you in the breakfast nook, guys.” She breezed out, the over-sized garbage bag filled with paper and bows over her shoulder.
“You’ll need the code or you’ll set off the alarm,” Grissom called after her.
“So what is it?”
“Texting you right now. Got your phone?”
“Nope,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Give me a hint.”
That brought him to the stairway, and Grissom told her the code to silence his alarm. “Don’t be long.”
“Don’t eat breakfast without me.”
“Then hurry,” he ordered.
So Tuesday did. He hadn’t told her where the cans were, but how hard could they be to find? She ran downstairs and into the garage, planning to be back in time to hear Grissom tell his boys about their beds. That was why he’d kept asking if they’d gotteneverything they wanted. Wouldn’t they be tickled when they saw those bunk beds?
Tuesday couldn’t help whistling a corny Christmas jingle from some commercial, as she walked through the garage to the outside door. She’d be back inside before those handsome guys made it downstairs. She wished she hadn’t left her cell phone charging in her bedroom, though. That wasn’t like her. Living alone most of her adult life had made her very aware of how important that one link could be.
But again, no big deal. Tuesday didn’t plan to stay outside long enough to need it. She stepped into a crisp, cloudy day that smelled like winter. There was snow inside those fluffy, dark gray clouds barreling in from the east.Brrr.
Tossing the bag into the industrial-size green trash receptacle next to the garage door, she turned on her heel, ready to get back inside where it was warm, as quickly as she could. Until—
She ran face-first into a brick. The sharp-edged blow dropped her to her knees. For one blinding, head-throbbing moment, she saw stars whirling over the tips of two round-toed boots. She shook the hit off, ready to get back on her feet, at least on her knees. But the hit was too hard. Too mean. The world shook, turning her around and around until she wanted to vomit. Vicious buzzing swarmed up her spine. Her head turned into a noisy beehive. The last thing she heard before everything went dark was, “You bitch!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grissom cocked his head, watching for Tuesday through the stairway that had taken her down to the garage. The one she’d walked through just a few moments earlier with trash slung over her shoulder like she was one of Santa’s helpers. Tiny hairs prickled up the back of his neck. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He could taste it. She’d only been gone minutes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching over his shoulder. That time was not on his side.
