Page 8 of Grissom
“Hey, Tuesday,” Shane said. “What are you doing here?”
“Shane!” Tuesday shrieked as she launched herself at him.
He let her hold onto him. Let her break down and cry on his shoulder while he patted her back and murmured, “It’s okay, Tuesday. You’re okay. You’re strong, remember? But damned if you don’t show up in the worst places.”
“I’m not okay,” she whined into his neck.
Thank goodness he kept calming her down because Murphy had his hands full. “We all work for Alex Stewart, ma’am,” Murphy explained. “I’m assuming you’ve been in touch with him?” It was possible. Alex tended to keep track of people who helped his agents in the course of them doing their jobs, and Tuesday had been involved in bringing down the infamous Maeve Astor not long ago.
Turning to Murphy with one arm still hooked around Shane’s neck, Tuesday wiped her teary face and nodded. “Yes, Alex gave me his card the day Heston and I left for New York City.”
“For that interview,” Shane interrupted. “That’s the only uppity TV program Everlee and I’ve ever recorded. You did great, by the way.” His eyebrow spiked. “So what happened between you and Heston? Everlee and I kinda thought you two were… you know.”
Pushing out of his arm, she smoothed a hand over her face. “Not Heston, sorry. We were just friends. Like I am with you and Everlee. I’m… I’m still living the dream.” Didn’t sound like that dream was working out for her anymore. “Still working with Robert, and right now, we should be filming the effects of global warming in Antarctica. I was supposed to meet him here, but our plans changed. He was filming the flooding in Peninsula de Osa instead. He might still be there, I don’t know. I’ve been kind of busy.”
Murphy didn’t miss the tender glow that lit her pretty face when her eyes zeroed back to Grissom and his boys, all three still on the floor. At last, they were together again, and Murphy knew Grissom was finally on his way to a complete recovery. He looked at peace, as if his devils had been vanquished. Everyone knew how badly his wife had treated him since day one. Murphy’d met the woman, and the only word that describedPamela McCoy waswitch. He didn’t like to speak or think ill of the dead, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d roofied Grissom the one night they’d been together. Murphy knew her type. Barflies and tag chasers only wanted the military benefits that came with marrying a soldier.
“What’s your name?” Tuesday asked Grissom. “I mean, besides Daddy” —she winked at Luke— “which is actually enough proof for me. But I can’t very well call you that, can I?”
“Grissom McCoy, ma’am,” he answered gruffly, both arms still around his boys like unbreakable steel bands. “Tanner’s six. Luke’s—”
“I free” —Luke held up three fingers to Tuesday— “and I gonna be this many next time.” He upped another digit, making him four on his next birthday. Sweet little guy.
Tuesday walked over to where Grissom had landed and knelt alongside him, in the middle of the open doorway. “I’m so sorry, Mr. McCoy. I knew they were tired, but we’d just gotten back from the beach, and I was going to take them to the market to get something to eat after they showered. Why didn’t you ever answer your phone? I’ve been calling the number your wife gave me, but it goes straight to voicemail every time.”
That answered one of Murphy’s many questions. He didn’t doubt Tuesday Smart for a minute. Not knowing how she and Heston Contreras had taken out Maeve Astor, one of the deadliest black widow killers Murphy had ever encountered. Tuesday and Heston had saved Everlee’s life that night.
At last, Grissom relaxed enough to blow out a sigh. “Sorry, ma’am. My fault. All this is my fault.”
“No, it’s not,” Tuesday said kindly. “It’s that jerk’s fault, the guy your wife’s with. Who is that creep? I’d never let him near my children, if I ever have any.”
Murphy cut in before Grissom could go ape-shit telling Tuesday just who the hell Estes was—err, had been. “Grissom’sbeen in the hospital, ma’am. Dumbass got into a fight with a delivery truck, and the truck won. Probably when he lost his phone.”
Tiny Luke pulled back far enough to put both hands on his father’s bearded cheeks. “Did you get hurt, Daddy? Where’s your owie? Let me see it so I kin kiss it better.”
Grissom leaned forward enough to bump his forehead to Luke’s. Murphy watched the muscles in his throat work as he struggled to tell his boy, “I’m okay, Short Stack. Fact is…” He choked. “I’ve never been better. What say we get out of here and go home?”
Tanner and Luke both declared, “Yeah!” at the same time.
But Murphy caught the narrowed brow Grissom flashed his way. Before Murphy could explain that yes, he had a plan, and that plan included them flying back to the States via commercial air, Tuesday cut in with, “Robert’s private plane is still in San Jose, guys. Let me call it for you. It can land at the Puntarenas airstrip, no problem, and it’ll get all you men home quicker and in more comfort. Okay?”
“Us too?” Tanner asked timidly. “Can we go home with Dad? Please, Miss Tuesday?”
Murphy looked away. Damn it, Tanner was hurting as much as his dad. All three of them had been through hell, and yes, Grissom was just another big kid in Murphy’s opinion. He’d been taking care of young men like him since the guldarned Vietnam War.
“Yes, buddy,” Tuesday replied patiently, her hand gently squeezing Tanner’s shoulder. “You and Luke are the most important men in this room, right, Dad?” she asked pointedly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Grissom replied gruffly, his eyes glistening after that heartbreaking plea from his oldest.
“And because you’ve been so much fun in the short time you’ve been with me, I’ll ask the pilot to let you sit up front withhim for a couple minutes during the flight home. Would you little tigers like that?”
Tanner simply nodded. He hadn’t smiled yet, neither had he loosened the stranglehold he had on Grissom’s neck. It was Luke who asked excitedly, “What’s a pilot?”
Before she could explain, Grissom finally looked up and into Tuesday’s glistening green eyes. “I… I think they like you.”
Poor woman looked close to breaking down. “I kinda like them, too,” she replied softly. “They’ve been perfect gentlemen. You should be proud of them.”
“I am. Yes, ma’am, I sure am. Would you mind if we cleaned up in your bathroom before we head out?”
