Grissom (In the Company of Snipers #26)

Chapter Sixteen

Grissom stood half-in, half outside the kitchen door, like a stalker, listening to the wives discuss destiny. His boys were on his bedroom floor, happily playing Minecraft with Harley’s boys. Grissom had split the game into four windows on the big screen. Kyrie and Luke were teamed up, hunting frogs, pigs, and sheep, while Little A was studiously building a mancave to survive the monsters that came out at night. Tanner and Georgie were going after the Sculk Shriekers, in order to summon and fight the Warden, or die, which was what usually happened. Each kid had a plate of pizza and a bottled water—with the lids loosened, not off. Grissom had just peeked in and left a barrel of popcorn for when the pizza ran out.

Now, he’d just overheard what Tuesday said about destiny: “Not after the life I’ve had. If that’s destiny, you can keep it.”

He agreed with her. Believing in destiny was, at best, a fool’s gambit, a dangerous risk, and a dare. It was nothing more than believing in predetermination, that the gods or fates—or some other omniscient being—had set mankind on a course over which he had no say or control. Made a guy sound like a brainless marionette, stupidly dancing his heart out, at the end of someone else’s string. Not Grissom.

He made his own decisions, damn it, and to prove it, he strode into his kitchen, snagged Tuesday by her waist, dipped her over his arm, and planted his lips on hers. Not passionately or rudely, like a sloppy jerk in a bar might, but softly and sweetly, which she deserved. Tuesday’s history was as bad as his, and he refused to add to her feeling like she didn’t belong anywhere. She did belong, by hell. With him. To him. And he wanted the world to know and the TEAM wives to see. Because these women would talk to their husbands, who’d talk among themselves, and before you know it, everyone at TEAM HQ would understand where Tuesday belonged. Did that make him a caveman? Grissom didn’t care. He’d cared about the wrong shit for too long. Not anymore.

This chaste kiss was the start of something he and she could work on and work out. No one could ever treat her as good as he and his sons would, and he intended to prove it. This was the beginning of their life together. He’d been duped into a loveless marriage, and she’d been battered by the wicked hands of fate or destiny or, shit, whatever. Grissom didn’t need destiny—or density —to tell him what to do. The self-demeaning crap that had defined his entire life stopped now. He wanted Tuesday, and together, they’d make their own way in this messed-up world, and it’d be good. Make that great. Damned great.

But this kiss… Her sigh… The feel of her delicate body laid back in his arm. It took Grissom a helluva lot longer to pull back from Tuesday’s sweet mouth than he’d planned. He swore he could smell roses even as he tasted strawberries. Plush, juicy strawberries he wanted to bite into and savor. His tongue pressed the seam of her lips, asking for entry. Daring to at least try, to coax her into giving in to him. Just enough to let him know she was feeling the same electrical current he was.

The wives were still out there somewhere, watching and whispering, but he couldn’t bear to end the sweetest kiss of his life. Not as limp as Tuesday had gone in his arm. Not as easily as she’d just sighed. The taste of her was temptation defined. A man could get addicted to the delectable, slippery sensation of her tongue tentatively tasting his bottom lip. Was she asking permission to explore?

Oh, yes, ma’am, permission granted. He opened his mouth and was instantly lost in the timid inquisition of the tip of her tongue tasting his. Of her trembling. Of her heart pounding so hard he could hear it. Of his bigger, stronger muscles flexing to reassure her that she could trust him, that he’d never let her fall.

“Ahem,” someone behind him murmured.

Tuesday gasped into his mouth, and Grissom couldn’t help but grin, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He’d finally done it, found the only woman he wanted to let into his life. Into his boys’ lives. Barely pulling back, he refused the slippery panic inching up his spine. He didn’t care if he’d made the wives uncomfortable. He couldn’t release Tuesday, wouldn’t dream of it. Not now. Damned if the confounded relentless panic pounding in his head didn’t cease the moment he whispered into her awe-struck face, “No worries, love. I’ve got you. Trust me, I won’t ever let you fall.”

It hadn’t been a no-holds-barred kiss. If anything, it’d been damned tame. Yet she lay there dazed, quiet as a mouse, blinking up at him through hooded eyes, her lips glistening from his mouth, and the prettiest pink glow on her face.

“Grissom,” she answered breathily—softly, almost reverently—making it sound like a prayer. Not that she was praying to him, oh, hell no. He could never compete with the Man Upstairs, but maybe her prayer had been about him? For him? Maybe because she wanted him to kiss her again? That much was written on her face, and the light shining out of her startled green eyes made him want to beat his chest like Tarzan.

The noose his mother had been strangling him with for years fell away. His diaphragm expanded, then contracted. His lungs finally had enough room to breathe. As they filled again, Grissom knew—he just knew—he would marry this woman someday soon. This time, he wouldn’t need to be drunk to do it. Now was not the time to ask, but—fuck! How many times in one day could he fall for this woman? Didn’t matter. He’d keep falling as long as Tuesday kept catching him. What they had was a two-way thing called trust. He’d never let her fall, and if he messed up, she’d catch him. They’d survive. Somehow. Together.

Manfully, and with great care, he settled Tuesday onto her feet, then pulled her under his arm before she could get away. Not that she tried. No way she could fall now. Tuesday was breathing hard, and he knew he’d embarrassed her. He might’ve ruined his chance with her, but—

“Oh, my,” purred out of her pretty mouth. “Let’s do that again.”

Not a nasty word. Not a hint of the crushing disgust that would’ve poured out of his wife’s ugly mouth. But that word— wife —would soon apply to Tuesday. Until this claiming kiss, it’d been nothing but an anchor around his neck. A curse. But now? Grissom knew he’d never mean it the way he’d meant it with the witch who would forevermore be known as What’s-Her-Name . Or—better yet— What’s-Her-Fuckin’ Name. Yeah. That fit better.

“You liked that?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she breathed, her fingertips on her swollen lips. “I did.”

When he finally pulled his gaze from Tuesday, Grissom found China, Judy, and Persia blocking the doorway to the kitchen, as if keeping others from intruding. China and Judy were smiling, but Persia’s eyes glistened. “That was beautiful, Grissom,” she whispered, her fingers fluttering over her heart. “There’s nothing sexier than a man who isn’t afraid to show how much he loves his woman.”

“You have no idea,” Grissom muttered, his voice gravelly and his eyes as misty as hers.

“Yes, I do, and I’m glad I was here to see it. Walker’s been so worried about you. Do you have any idea how much you mean to us? To all of us? How important you are?”

“Well, ahh, err…” He didn’t want to make this moment about him, not after he’d just admitted he loved Tuesday—before he’d told her. “No.”

“Well, you are, you big dumb ox,” China grouched. “It’s about time you pulled your head out of your ass and realized how much everyone cares about you. And if you ever try that stunt again—”

“What stunt?”

“Driving drunk and slamming into the rear end of a truck!” China had a soft touch for her horses. Not so much with people. “How do you think you got that knot on your head?”

He ran his free hand up the back of his neck, to the ever-present bump on the back of his skull. He knew he’d hit a FedEx truck when he’d crashed. Also knew the bump wasn’t as big or as tender today as it had been weeks ago. His skull was slowly healing, but Doc said the knot on that bone might never disappear completely. Come to think of it, he vaguely recalled being tasered by a cop that same night. Also knew the shock-and-awe of getting stunned hadn’t slowed him down, which was telling. The only people who didn’t go down when hit with a modulated electrical current designed to incapacitate a person’s neuromuscular reflexes, were meth heads. Idiots who were so wired, they were out of their minds.

“You don’t remember anything about the night you wrecked, do you?” China’s voice softened.

“No, but that’s why my bike’s in the shop,” he replied. Walker had told him that much during a quiet come-to-Jesus moment on the flight home from Central America. If he played this right, China might tell him everything else that happened that night. Like why he’d been drunk in the first place. What had kicked off the night of mayhem that ended with him incarcerated in Shady Hell Sanitarium, or whatever the place was called. And why hadn’t that taser knocked him flat on his ass? Or out?

“But we’re working on getting those memories back, aren’t we, Grissom?” Tuesday interrupted his nefarious plan to bait China, her palm soft and sweet on his jaw. It felt like an angel had reached from heaven and was touching him.

Grissom looked down at the prettiest woman in the world. Tuesday didn’t seem to care who was watching, just kept stroking his jaw, as if she knew how much he needed her hand on him. He pressed her other hand to his mouth and kissed the middle of her palm. He didn’t need any answers from China. Not anymore.

“Knock, knock,” Walker announced from behind the ladies. “This a private party or can anyone join?”

Persia turned into him, and the moment Walker looked at his wife, a colder-than-shit threat arrowed across the room at Grissom. “What did you do?” he hissed.

“Grissom didn’t do anything,” Persia murmured. “He and Tuesday just had a moment, honey, and I… I’m…” She stalled. Her chin tilted up to Walker. “I’m pregnant,” she stage-whispered.

He wrapped her inside his well-muscled arms. “I know, sweetheart.”

“Well, I didn’t!” Judy snapped. “You are? Really, Persia? No wine for you.”

“Finally!” China declared triumphantly. “That’s why you’re so quiet tonight.”

Which made Tuesday laugh, and damned if her plump breasts mashing against Grissom’s ribs didn’t turn him hard. It was good everyone’s attention was now focused on someone else. It gave him time to adjust the spike in his pants. Just that fast, his brain threw out a picture of Tuesday with her belly big and round with his child—their child—up on the flat screen inside his head. Was he crazy? Definitely. But the image of a possible future with her was incentive enough. His swimmers were powerful. He could knock her up in no time.

Shaking that crazy notion off, Grissom closed the short distance to Walker and Persia with Tuesday still under his arm. He stuck out his hand and declared, “Congrats, brother. I’m happy for you.”

“ We’re happy for both of you,” Tuesday corrected, her hand outstretched to Persia.

We’re . Grissom loved the way that dripped off Tuesday’s tongue.

“You should’ve been sitting down instead of standing at the sink,” she scolded Persia. “I could’ve sliced those apples. Are you feeling okay? Does your back hurt?”

Persia grinned as she squeezed Tuesday’s fingers. “I’m fine, really. I’m just three months along, but we figured tonight I could safely spill the beans.”

Grumbling like the over-attentive watchdog he was, Walker splayed his fingers over her barely-there belly. “No spilling beans, babe. Baby Bean needs to stay where he is for two more trimesters. At least.”

Chuckling, Persia leaned into Tuesday and said, “Morning sickness isn’t for the weak of heart. If I’d known how much vomiting I’d be doing, all day, every day, I would’ve—”

“It’s a boy!” Walker interrupted. “We’re having a boy!”

“A baby boy,” Tuesday whispered. The tremor of want inside those three words had Grissom pulling her in tighter. He knew how to make boys. What if—?

No. Impossible. No. Just no.

By then, Maverick and Harley were at the counter nibbling veggie sticks and fruit slices. Maverick pointed a carrot stick at his wife. “Don’t you have something to share with these women, also known as your sisters by other mothers?”

China turned into a red-faced teenager with G U I L T Y stamped across her forehead. Her shoulders lifted with an I-don’t-care, it’s-not-important shrug. Until she said, “Me, too, Persia. And Judy. And Tuesday. Only two months, but yeah—”

“You’re both prego and neither of you told me?” Judy shrieked. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

“No, babe, you’re prime rib, all the way,” Harley spouted, as if calling his wife a cut of beef was in any way romantic.

Tuesday giggled.

Judy told Harley to, “Shut up! These are my girlfriends, Harley. Do not objectify—!”

Just that fast, he was off the stool and kissing his wife, too. She melted into him the same way Persia had with Walker.

Grissom turned to Walker, grinning while the Mortimers mugged each other. “Sorry I’ve been an ass.”

“You’ve been through a ton of shit, I get it. I’m sorry we couldn’t find your boys sooner. That would’ve been a better way for you to come to, after the hit you took.”

“Yeah, about that, why was I drunk that night?” Grissom asked, needing to know.

Walker’s entire body flexed with a huge sigh. His chin sank into his petite wife’s shoulder, whose eyes were on Grissom when Walker finally answered, “You were always drunk between operations. Guess that’s how you coped with the disaster your life used to be. I’m not supposed to tell you what happened. None of us are. Doc Windhall would rather you figure it out yourself, but what the hell. The night you hit that FedEx truck, you were drunk as shit. You’d just been in a fight at Junior’s and were running from Metro PDs’ finest. They’d tasered your ass at the pub, but you were out of control and didn’t go down. Instead, you ran out the door, grabbed your bike, and hauled ass down the GW Parkway. That’s where you hit the delivery truck. Its taillights weren’t working, so no wonder. But, yeah. You piled into its rear end, and your bike slid under the rear bumper. Probably would’ve killed you if your bike had been a piece-of-shit import. One of the arresting officers knew Murphy so he contacted him. Once Murph arrived, he decided to put you someplace where you’d be medically treated, as well as protected from yourself. You agreed.”

Grissom grunted. “So that’s how I ended up at Shady… umm…” He could never recall the name of that asylum. “So I committed myself?”

“Shady Creek Asylum, and yes, with Murphy’s advice, you committed yourself,” Persia finished for him. “They handle high-risk trauma cases there, and Doctor Windhall is the best. Which is why you’re seeing a family counselor, instead of a warden. Doctor Windhall went to bat for you the night you arrived. So did Murphy and Alex. I have no idea what was in your system. You’ll have to ask Doc Windhall about that. But once he spoke with the arresting officers, they said they’d talk to some judge and get back to him. They never did. That alone should tell you what you mean to The TEAM.”

“They wanted to arrest Grissom?” Tuesday asked indignantly, one hand possessively gripping the nape of his neck, her fingernails dug in like tiny grappling hooks.

He leaned his head into hers, loving that she defended him. No one had ever done that.

Walker nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He tore up Junior’s Pub, assaulted two DC police officers, evaded arrest, and a shit ton of other offenses.”

“Well, that’s only because he’s been dealing with a shit ton of, well, shit,” she declared, with a cocky head swagger. Her other hand was now flat in the center of Grissom’s chest, as if telling him to keep quiet, that she was in charge and would fight this battle for him. Which was just plain crazy. Walker was former Navy, a damned SEAL, and more than capable of knocking Tuesday on her ass. Yet, there she stood, her shoulders squared, and sassing back as if she could take him.

Grissom knew he should’ve been paying better attention to what Walker and Persia were telling Tuesday, but damn. Her tiny, delicate hands on him and her snarky words on his behalf were like honey to a dehydrated baby bee. He was basking—simply—utterly—basking in the radiant light of this woman defending him. Of finally being good enough to maybe even be loved. She didn’t have to say it. Tuesday Smart loved him, that was what the warm light beaming out of her was. It was love. Her love. This bright, intelligent, generous woman loved him as much as she loved his boys, and she was fighting for him like no one else ever had. Just like she’d squared off with Estes. She hadn’t stood a chance then, either.

He could hardly see through the blur in his eyes. What was it about Tuesday that turned him into just another unwanted little boy?

“Relax, ma’am,” Maverick said quietly, from behind where Grissom stood with Tuesday. “Murphy straightened everything out. Your man isn’t going anywhere.”

There was the confirmation Grissom craved. Your man. She hadn’t said it yet, but Maverick did. That helped. Maverick knew Grissom belonged to Tuesday, and he was her man . Her only man. Damned if the threat of tears weren’t turning him to mush. It was too soon, way too soon to speak the word he’d never once uttered during his entire marriage, surely not during his childhood. The L word was a precious, delicate thing. A sacred promise and a lifetime commitment. He used it with his boys every day, but for the first time in all of his years, he wanted to say it to a woman. To this woman. Tuesday.

Instead, he asked his team members, “Did I really agree to commit myself?”

Walker nodded. “Yeah, man, you did. But you hadn’t yet known the scope of your wife’s treachery then. None of us did, not until Murphy tried to notify Pam and couldn’t reach her. He asked Leisha to check with your neighbors to see if they knew where she was. That’s how we found out she’d destroyed your house and left with Estes, and… that he stayed at your house whenever you went OCONUS. Leisha dug into your wife’s financials like a badger after that, and discovered Pam took your boys out of the country.”

“And Estes, too,” Harley added, from the barstool where he sat with Judy on his lap. “She paid for that bastard’s ticket, too.”

“On your dime,” Maverick growled. China had one arm around his waist, and the cowboy looked as mellow as Grissom had ever seen him.

“Y’all know how Alex is,” Harley drawled. “He knows people. Once Murphy told him what went down and what the police were gonna charge you with, he made a few calls.”

“It’s not like this was his first time dealing with a drug addict,” Judy added.

“Grissom’s not a drug addict,” Tuesday snapped.

And once again Grissom was falling, so damned hard in love, with the sexy woman who still had her hands on him. He couldn’t concentrate on what the guys were saying, until Walker slugged his arm and ordered, “Talk to Doc Windhall. If you have any regrets about what happened off the coast of Costa Rica, you won’t after you check with him.”

“What happened?” Tuesday growled, apparently ready to take on everyone in the room.

“Karma bitch-slapped that bitch, that’s what happened,” Judy replied testily.

China shot Judy a high five. “Yeah, you could say her three-hour tour ended with a bang.”

Tuesday looked up at Grissom, the question burning bright in her green eyes.

He tightened his hold on her, loving how easily she molded her tiny frame against his bulk. “You don’t know?”

Her brows furrowed into the cutest V. She shook her head, sending her chestnut hair tumbling over her shoulder. “I guess not. Is she okay? What happened?”

“No, ma’am, Pamela McCoy is not okay, not that she ever was to begin with,” Walker drawled from where he stood behind Persia with both arms around her waist. “Turned out Mikey owned a couple planes. The day you rescued Grissom’s sons is the same day he and Pam flew several tourists out over the Pacific.”

A tiny “No” escaped Tuesday’s lips.

“The plane went down,” Grissom told her as gently as possible, which was difficult since he harbored no pain or regret at Pam’s death. She deserved what she got. “I thought you knew.”

“No, I… Oh, my God.” The tip of Tuesday’s tongue slicked over her bottom lip. Her chest heaved as if she were going to be sick. “Grissom,” she whispered, her fingers fluttering over both sides of his face, and her green eyes bright. “If I hadn’t been there… If she’d taken Tanner and Luke with her… Grissom, oh, God, they would’ve been… They could’ve been…” A set of ragged hiccups cut her short.

“Breathe,” Grissom ordered, tugging her under his arm. “She didn’t take them to her watery grave, and you were there, and my boys are safe and sound, and…” Shit. He was tearing up again. “She got exactly what she deserved, and you know it.”

“But Grissom. She must’ve been scared, and the ocean’s so cold, and what if—? What if I hadn’t been there? Grissom!” Tuesday broke, just shattered there in front of everyone. “You could have lost everything. Your boys could’ve died! You could’ve—”

“See?” Persia interrupted quietly. “Destiny is real.”

All at once, Grissom was surrounded by three pushy TEAM wives, wrapping their arms and bodies around Tuesday and, by default, him, because he was in their way.

“That’s because you didn’t go to Costa Rica just to take pictures, sweetheart,” Persia, the wife who’d gotten in closest and now had both arms around Tuesday, crooned. “Destiny sent you to rescue Grissom’s boys from that awful witch of a mother. Don’t you get it? Destiny sent you to keep them safe for Grissom until he could get there.”

“Which means you saved me, too,” he murmured into Tuesday’s temple.

She whimpered, and, one by one, the wives stepped back from the huddle and left them alone with her face buried in his shirt. It was pretty wet, but he didn’t mind. He’d been peed on by the best. A few salty tears wouldn’t hurt. Grissom had finally found the reason behind all he’d endured in his life, and he wasn’t letting Tuesday Smart go.

Overcome with humility for the gift in his arms, he buried his nose in her fragrant hair and breathed in the loveliness that was Tuesday. “Destiny might be real after all,” he murmured. “Because something put you in Costa Rica, on that exact beach, in that specific hotel in Puntarenas, on the precise day my kids needed you.”

“Not destiny, Grissom. God,” Harley cut in with certainty. “He knew what you needed, so He sent the best person for the job. He sent someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up against polar bears, bullies, or black widow spiders. He sent Tuesday Smart.”

Leave it to Harley to bring God into the picture. The only recovering alcoholic slash drug addict on The TEAM, he’d gone through his own personal hell back when Alex had first hung out The TEAM’s shingle. Harley was still known to gift one of his dog-eared, scribbled-in Bibles to other struggling agents. Like Beau Villanueva. Like Renner Graves. And yeah, like Grissom. That was what they’d been talking about on the porch earlier. Harley’d handed over a well-worn Bible and the offer of one of his comfort dogs. Grissom accepted the Bible, but the dog was a discussion for another day. Not like that’d stop Harley. The guy was generous with his pedigreed pups, all of them trained service dogs. Which meant most agents now owned at least one, sometimes two.

“Okay, yeah, God,” Grissom agreed. Believing in God made more sense than believing in destiny. He was, after all, the best, most loving Father in the universe. Destiny, on the other hand, sounded like a capricious wind that might blow in your favor, but not always, and never when you needed a good stiff breeze. But God? Grissom chose to be like Harley—a believer.

“Doc Windhall’s on your side, Grissom,” Walker said quietly. “We all are.”

“Amen, brother,” Harley added somberly.

“Ditto,” Maverick declared.

“Me, too,” Tuesday breathed against his heart.

Grissom followed those confidence builders up with, “Thanks, guys. I’ll stop in and talk to him.”

But whatever Doc Windhall might say, and even knowing these men still valued him as a competent operator, couldn’t compare with what Tuesday whispered. Her honest, ‘me, too,’ told him she’d never back stab or cheat on him. She wasn’t made that way. Tuesday Smart was the warm, nurturing ray of sunlight he’d lived without most of his life. She loved him, and right then, her love was brightening the darkest hidden corners in his gnarly heart. Her love was lighting the place where he’d buried his soul a long time ago.

“Daddy!” Luke shrieked from the faraway master bedroom. “Georgie’s cheating!”

“Again?” Judy whispered. “That boy is going to be the death of me.”

“Figures it’d be Georgie,” Harley grumbled as she slid off his lap.

“Kyrie’s with them,” Maverick said. “Give her a minute to get things under control and—”

“He’s squishing Tanner!” Luke screamed. “Daddy, help!”

While Harley and Judy hurried to rescue Tanner, Grissom stayed put. “You know what I finally figured out?” he asked Tuesday, as the hubbub in his bedroom died down.

Sniffling, she gave her head a shake. “What?”

He slid his palms up her back and beneath her hair, cradling her head and so damned much in love. “That even messed-up guys deserve a happily-ever-after.”

“Of course they do. Everyone does.”

“Not everyone, but you and me sure do. Stay and talk once everyone leaves?”

“Okay, sure, but would you mind taking me back to get my car first?”

“Love, I’ll do anything you ask. Anything at all.”