by ANDREA SMITH
“So, I take it you’re no longer. Uhm......”
Don’t say it, Mom. Please don’t say it.
“A virgin?”
Damn! She said it.
“That’s correct, Mom.”
My cheeks were flushing, I could tell. Why was this so uncomfortable? I never got why mothers and daughters couldn’t simply be open about sexual things?
My mother had done her part in explaining the facts of life to me, there’d even been an illustrated book that was age appropriate when we had “the talk.” Afterwards, she had asked me if I had any questions. Of course, I didn’t, but I would and did later.
I had never gone to her with them. I got my information the same way as my friends got theirs: Cosmo magazine and the internet.
“Lindsey, I don’t know what to say, honey. I know you’re an adult and can make your own choices and decisions, but somehow I think this might be one you’ll regret.”
“Why do you say that, Mom?”
“First of all, there is a substantial age difference, and the fact that you are - or were - so inexperienced, might have caused you to feel something you felt you needed to feel because of the physical act.”
She was clearly not comfortable in the direct approach.
“Let me see if I understand what you’re trying to say, Mom. Taz is older so therefore, he may not be interested in anything other than a sexual relationship with someone like me? Given the fact that Taz was my first, you suspect any feelings I have for him are a result of the fact that we’ve fucked, and I’ve turned it into a romantic fantasy, is that about right?”
“Lindsey,” she said, now clearly upset with me, “that is not what I’m saying. I’m simply suggesting that you examine the facts. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Mom,” I replied, sitting on the edge of her bed, “there are no guarantees in any new relationship as to whether someone will be hurt before it’s over. I guess I’m willing to take that risk. I care about Trace.”
“I care about you, Lindsey, and I just don’t see this working out. I’m sorry, I want to be supportive, but I can’t.”
Now I was getting pissed at her close-mindedness. It surprised me; after all of the years she had stayed in a clearly loveless and unrewarding marriage, that she would still be judgmental about people, particularly having done her stint as a pole-dancer and having an affair with a biker-boy named Slate. It was really hypocrisy, plain and simple.
“You know, Mom, I’m really disappointed in you. How is it that you were able to fall in love with Slate when clearly you have some major snobbery going on?”
“No, just a minute, Lindsey. We are not talking about Eric here, we are talking about Taz. There are major differences.”
“I don’t know about that,” I replied. “I see a lot of the same characteristics in them. How can you be so judgmental about Taz, yet with Slate, you think he hung the moon?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Lindsey, I like Taz, I really do. He’s Eric’s best friend. He’s a good agent, I trust that he will always have my husband’s back when they’re out in the field, but he isn’t as grounded as Slate. He’s been with a lot of women, honey.”
“You know what, Mom? I think you have selective blinders. Don’t you think Slate went through his share of women, too? I bet for every story Slate has told about Taz, there is one Taz could tell about Slate.”
I heard Bryce up in his room. He was whining to get out of his crib. It was good timing because the argument Mom and I were having was going to get ugly if I stuck around.
“I need to go get Bryce. I’m sorry that you feel the way you do, Mom, but for now, Taz is in my life so you’ll just have to accept that.”
I left the room, feeling bad for arguing with her, but strong in my resolve that I would manage my relationships without parental interference. If she had done that, perhaps she wouldn’t have wasted nineteen years on a marriage that had been a façade.
I bathed, dressed and fed Bryce. I then took him into Mom’s room and asked her if she wanted him to play in there for a while.
“That’s fine,” she replied, not looking at me. I got him situated on the floor with his play blanket and toys, telling her I had the intercom on if she needed anything.
So, I guess things were going to be a bit strained for a while. It was Saturday, so I phoned Darcy to see if she had made it home for the weekend.
“What’s going on?” she said when she answered.
“Nothing. Everything. Are you in D.C. this weekend?”
“Absolutely. I was going to give you a call. I have plans with Darin today and tonight, but want to meet for lunch tomorrow afternoon and catch up?”
“Sounds great,” I replied. “Slate will be back this afternoon so I get a breather for a while.”
“Perfect,” she replied. “Listen, I’m with Darin now, so I’ll call you around noon tomorrow to set up the time and place, okay?”
“Yep,” I said. “Talk to you then.”
CHAPTER 37
I could tell by the way Slate looked at me that Taz had filled him in on our relationship. Although, the fact that Taz hadn’t bothered to phone me now that this field operation seemed to be over, had left me wondering if there really was a relationship.
I had changed out of his FBI hoodie before Slate arrived home. There was no need to rub salt into the wound, as far as Mom was concerned. We had barely spoken since the argument this morning.
Slate hadn’t been in the house for a full ten minutes when he picked up on it. I had just put Bryce down for a nap after Slate had greeted him, when I heard their voices from the master suite.
“So, you knew about this fling then?” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation. “How long were you planning on keeping me in the dark?”
“Hey, Sammie, it’s really none of our business, now is it?”
“I don’t want to see my daughter hurt or treated like, like one of his whores,” she said, getting emotional.
“Sweetie,” Slate said to her, soothingly, “Taz is a good guy. You know I sowed my share of wild oats before I met you, right? It just takes a good woman to see how empty that kind of life can be. Maybe Taz is at the point.”
“And what if he’s not, Eric? I don’t want her hurt.”
“Babe, no one goes through life without getting hurt. I can tell you this; Taz is not playing a game with her. He would never do that. So whatever happens with those two happens legitimately and without our interference, okay?”
Thank you, Slate!
“I didn’t plan on interfering, but I sure as hell don’t have to like it.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, placating her. “Now, we need to talk about this key.”
I felt weird continuing to eavesdrop. Whatever Slate or the lab had uncovered on the key didn’t interest me. It had to be about my father and I didn’t want to know the particulars. It hurt too much.
I left the nursery and went to the kitchen. I had phoned Donna earlier, letting her know she could take the weekend off since Slate was back. I decided I would busy myself with making something for dinner.
I had taken some pork chops out to thaw when Slate came into the kitchen.
“Lindsey, the key that was hidden in your stuffed dog had both your mother and father’s prints lifted from it. Your mom thinks it is the key to a metal lockbox that your father kept his personal papers, family bible, and school memorabilia - things like that in. She thinks it may still be packed upstairs in one of the closets from the move. Would you mind checking? It’s kind of important.”
“Sure, no problem,” I replied. “There are a few cardboard boxes and wardrobes that haven’t been unpacked upstairs. That’s where I found Robespierre as a matter of fact.”
“It may be nothing,” Slate remarked, “but if we can at least find the box and open it, we’ll know for sure.”
I nodded, starting to leave but then stopped to look at Slate.
“Thanks for handling it with Mom.”
I said to him. “I know she’s not happy about me and Taz.”
“It’ll just take her a little getting used to,” he said, smiling.
“Is Taz back yet, Slate?”
“No, Lindsey. Taz had to follow some leads on a developing case we came across while we were in Baltimore. I expect he’ll be gone for a couple more days. He’s doing some preliminary investigation on the leads with Hatfield.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I knew that was all of the information I was going to get from Slate. Taz was not doing very well with the whole keeping- in-touch stuff.
I went upstairs and dug through the closet in my room and the one in the guest room. I actually uncovered two metal lockboxes. One was larger than the other and was labeled, “Jack’s Records.” Both of them were locked.
I took the boxes downstairs. Slate must have returned to Mom in the master suite. I wasn’t about to interrupt their time together, so I set the metal boxes on the kitchen counter and continued with dinner preparations.
I was peeling potatoes when Slate returned to the kitchen. He spotted the metal boxes on the counter.
“Two of them?”
“Yep,” I replied, “both are locked so I figured you’d want to see which one your key unlocks.”
Slate dug the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the one that was labeled with my father’s name. I knew that he would try that one first. The key fit. He unlocked the box and opened the lid, letting it fall back on its hinges.
“Would you rather go through his things, Lindsey?”
I looked up at Slate and I knew he had compassion. It hadn’t felt right having Slate rifle through his things.
I nodded. “What am I looking for?”
“I haven’t a clue,” he replied, honestly. “Something that doesn’t fit would be my guess.”
I emptied the contents of the metal box piece by piece, setting each item on the counter for Slate to see.
There were newspaper clippings from when my dad had played high school sports, blue ribbons from the county fair when he was in 4-H as a kid, his high school diploma, his varsity letter, photos, report cards, his birth certificate, and a leather-bound family bible. Nothing contained in the metal box looked as if it didn’t belong.
I looked at Slate and shrugged.
“Nothing strikes me as being odd in this stuff,” I commented.
I picked the bible up and leafed through it. A piece of paper fell out of it, onto the floor. I picked it up, immediately recognizing the “BP” logo of Banion Pharmaceuticals at the top of the paper.
Slate took it from me scanning it, his brow furrowed in confusion. I knew that it would.
“What the fuck is all of this?”
I recognized what it was from interning at Banion and dealing with the R & D chemists while there.
“It’s some sort of a chemical equation or formula,” I replied, looking at the various symbols and lettering.
“I need to find out specifically what type of formula this is. I’m going to scan this and send this to Quantico for interpretation.”
I let Slate do his thing with the scanning of the paper and electronically sending it to Quantico with a STAT request for the results.
I was slightly amused that it hadn’t dawned on him that the lab in Quantico wasn’t going to be able to tell him everything he needed to know.
When he returned to the kitchen I asked to see the paper again. I looked at the bottom right-hand corner to see the ID stamp on it. There it was.
“You know, Slate,” I said, “You may get more information from the chemist who wrote this. There’s his identification stamp down there in the corner.”
“It is stamped with a ‘31’,” he observed.
“Yep. That’s John Davey’s I.D. stamp,” I replied.
“The chemist we busted at Banion?”
“One and the same,” I answered.
“You’re very astute, Lindsey. Thanks.”
I finished getting dinner ready and took a tray into Mom.
Slate had been on the phone with prison officials at Deep Meadow Correctional Center where John Davey was currently incarcerated for his participation manufacturing the unstamped narcotics. He was apparently going to drive there tomorrow to meet with Davey.
Mom was awake when I carried her tray in, watching television. She looked up when I set her tray down, I smiled at her. My smile was not returned.
Okay. This is not going well.
“Can I get you anything else, Mom?”
“Is Bryce awake?” she asked. “I think I’d like to spend some time with my son.”
That kinda hurt.
“Let me check,” I said, trying not to let the sting of her statement affect me.
I went through the bathroom that adjoined both rooms and peeked into the nursery. He was sitting up in bed, playing with the stuffed turtle I had bought him. I went in and changed his diaper, taking him back into the master suite.
“There’s my boy,” she cooed to him sweetly. “Lindsey, will you bring some animal crackers in for him to snack on while I eat my dinner?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Slate was on yet another phone call when I returned to the kitchen to get the animal crackers.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Uh oh.
“Who posted his bond?”
There was a pause as the information was provided.
“Holy Fuck, Taz. Do the locals have anything on the shooter?”
My ears perked up.
“Yeah, that figures. So, an attorney bonds him out, and then he’s dead in less than two hours? Fuck me. Someone didn’t want him talking, that’s for damn sure.”
Who? What? Where?
“Yeah, come by as soon as you get back so we can debrief. Okay. Later, bro.”
I’m definitely shaving my legs.
I took the animal crackers in for Bryce.
“Mom, if you’re good here, I’m going to pop upstairs and take a shower, okay?”
“That’s fine, Lindsey. Is Slate busy?”
“He’s been on the phone. I’ll let him know you’re asking about him.”
I told Slate dinner was in the oven and that Mom had asked about him. He said he would eat with her and feed Bryce.
Perfect.
I hurried upstairs and took a shower, making sure to shave and wax. I applied make-up; blew my hair dry, brushed my teeth and then went to my closet.
I selected a pair of skinny jeans. I went through my dresser and selected a low-cut, black sweater to wear with the jeans. I pulled my black, heeled boots on and surveyed myself in the mirror.
I changed purses to a larger black shoulder bag, tossing a clean pair of panties, a short, silk nightie and my toothbrush in the side pocket. Hopefully, I would have need of those items at Taz’s.
I spritzed a hint of cologne between my cleavage, put earrings in all of the piercings and I was finished.
The timing couldn’t have been better. Just as I finished up, I heard Slate bellow from downstairs.
“Yo, Lindsey! Need your help down here, please.”
“Be right there,” I called down, running my fingers through my hair.
Be still butterflies.
I traipsed down the steps and did a pretty good job of acting surprised when I saw Taz standing in the living room with Slate.
His eyes were immediately on me, perusing me from top to bottom as if it had been weeks instead of days. I felt the same.
“Hey, Linds,” he greeted softly, giving me his wicked smile.
“Oh, hey, Taz,” I said, smiling, my hands clasped behind my back as if I was hiding something. Maybe I was - my true feelings.
“Oh, Christ,” Slate said, shifting Bryce in his arms.
Or maybe not.
“Here, Slate, I’ll take him,” I said.
“Naw, even I can’t be that much of a prick. I knew the little guy shit himself before I called you down here, Lindsey. I’ll go ahead and clean him up
and change him. After that, can you keep him entertained while Taz and I de-brief?”
“Sure, no problem, Slate.”
Slate disappeared down the hall to the nursery.
In two steps, Taz had me lifted up in his strong arms, perched above him. I was giggling like a kid, as he spun me around.
“Taz, stop, please,” I begged. He stopped and released his hold on me enough that I slid down against him, feeling every part of him as I did.
His hands gathered my hair at the nape of my neck, pulling my face to his as our lips met. I laced my arms around his neck and kissed him with matching fervor. I felt his hands on my breasts, massaging them as his lips moved to my ear.
“Are we good to go, babe? You been taking your pill like a good girl?”
“Mmm, yes,” I replied, my lips teasing his. “We still have to use condoms for another week.”
“Really?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You’re staying with me tonight after Slate and I finish up, here.”
“Okay, Taz,” I replied, molding myself to him. We were still kissing when Slate returned and cleared his throat.
“Ready, Taz?”
I took Bryce from him and got him settled with some of his toys in the kitchen while I cleaned up the dinner dishes and loaded the dishwasher.
Slate was questioning Taz about someone named “Calvin” who apparently had been randomly shot a couple of hours after he had bonded out of jail.
As soon as I finished in the kitchen, I took Bryce into the bathroom and ran a bath for him, putting his tub toys in that he loved playing with. He splashed around for a while and then we got down to business with the bath. He absolutely hated having his hair washed, but we got through it.
I put a clean diaper on him and got him in his pajamas. I took him by the hand and led him into the master suite so that he could say good-night to Mom. She was still up, watching a movie on television.
“Want some company, Mom?”
“Sure,” she replied, patting the bed beside her so Bryce would crawl up on it. He did and settled in next to her.
“He’ll be fine here until Slate comes in,” she said. “You can go about whatever it is you wanted to do this evening,” she said, noticing the fact that I had changed and made myself up since she saw me earlier.