Survival Clause: A Savannah Martin Novel (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 20), стр. 15
“She did it,” Rafe said. His voice was flat.
I nodded. “No going back now.”
He leaned his head against the back of the sofa and groaned. Over on the pillow, Pearl raised her head and gave him an inquiring look.
“It’s OK,” I told her. “He’s just being dramatic.”
Rafe rolled his head in my direction and grinned. “No stopping time, I guess.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. We brought her into the world. Now we’ve got to deal with bringing her up.”
“I suppose there are worse things,” Rafe said.
“Much worse. Besides, we both made it to adulthood.” Him at considerable odds. “She’ll be all right.”
“She ain’t the one I’m worried about,” Rafe said.
Five
He was up bright and early the next morning. That was usual. What wasn’t, was that I was right behind him. When he got out of the shower, I got in, and by the time I dripped my way out of the bathroom, he was dressed and on his way down the stairs.
“Don’t leave without me,” I told him.
He glanced at me—wet hair wound up in a towel, a second towel wrapped around my dripping body—and grinned. “Is it Bring Your Wife to Work Day?”
“Not as far as I know. Just don’t leave.” I dashed into the bedroom and started throwing on clothes. Five minutes later—and any woman out there will appreciate what a sacrifice this was—I was dressed and had picked up the baby, changed her diaper, and carried her downstairs. My hair was still wet, now bundled into a messy topknot, and I had no makeup on.
“Good.” I dropped onto one of the stools. “You’re still here.”
My husband, who was making himself toast on the other side of the island, arched a brow. “What’s going on, darlin’?”
“I just don’t want you to leave before I’ve had time to feed the baby,” I said.
“’Cause?”
“I’m following you to work.”
“Some reason you think I can’t get there on my own?” He leaned against the counter and folded his arms.
“Of course not,” I said, hitching my shirt up for the baby.
“Thinking I’m stopping off somewhere on the way?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I glanced up at him and saw that his lips were curved. “You’re not serious. Good.”
“Why’d I wanna stop off anywhere when I got you at home?” He wandered over and dropped a kiss on my mouth, and then wandered back to catch the toast as it popped out of the toaster.
“No reason at all,” I told him. “I’m not driving in with you. I’m taking my own car.”
“I figured. You wanna see Tammy or something?” He reached for a butter knife to smear some of the yellow stuff across the piece of bread.
“Not today. I mean… I’m always happy to see Grimaldi. But today I’d rather see the person who’s skulking around filming videos of you.”
“Ah.” He bit into the toast. It crunched, and crumbs dropped. He caught them in his hand and flung them into the sink. “You think you’re gonna catch somebody in the act.”
“Somebody’s doing it,” I said, “and probably not from the building across the street. Most likely whoever it is, is in plain sight, outside or maybe in a car. And if so, I should be able to see him or her.”
Most likely her, but you never know. Rafe’s been known to set the pulses fluttering on gay guys from time to time, too.
“This something you’re worried about, darlin’?”
“Enough to look into it,” I said. “Neither of us wants a repeat of Elspeth Caulfield.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Better if Grimaldi could give you a bodyguard, I suppose—”
He looked deeply offended at the idea that he couldn’t take care of himself, or that anyone else could take care of him better than he could, “—but she probably doesn’t have anyone to spare. Not if all this person is using to shoot, is a camera. A gun would be worse.”
“No kidding,” Rafe said. “No reason to worry about that, though.”
No more reason than usual, anyway. He’d been shot just a few weeks ago. Or grazed, at least. And while it didn’t seem to bother him much, I remembered every time I got him naked and noticed the—still pink, still healing—scar.
Not the first one on his body, either. He had plenty. And I’d like it a lot if he could refrain from getting any more. Although there’s a big difference between getting injured in the line of duty, when you’re someone who has signed on for a job where you run toward trouble when everyone else runs away, and getting shot by some fruitcake who has seen you on social media and decided you look good.
“Just let me finish with Carrie, and we can go. I’ll just follow you there, and hang back a little. Park around the corner or something, and take a look around.”
“Better if you head out first,” Rafe said, “so you can park and get into position before I get out of the car.”
Good idea. And nice of him to enter into the plotting with so much gusto, especially when he probably figured it was nothing to worry about, and mostly a big joke.
“I’ll do that,” I said, as I moved Carrie from one arm to the other. “What’s going on with you today?”
“Just more digging. Tammy’s determined to find this guy.”
“How does she plan to do that? He’s probably not even from around here.”
He didn’t answer, and I added, “Right?”
He shook his head. “Prob’ly not. No.”
“He could be from anywhere between Mobile and… where?”
“Gary, Indiana,” Rafe said. “And there’s no saying he’s from somewhere along the I-65 corridor. He could be from somewhere else and just drive up and down the interstate.”
“Why would he do that?”
He shrugged. “Job?”
“Sure. But doesn’t it make more sense that he’s from somewhere