CHAPTER ELEVEN
Spencer’s headlights flash over my large front window as he pulls into the driveway. I drop the curtain before the glare catches on my face. Frankie barks, probably startled by the first bit of movement I've done for the last hour.
"Yes, yes, your daddy is home." I step away from the large bay window I’ve used as a perch tonight. Frankie doesn't follow until I stop and slap my knee twice. "Well, come on. We can't let him know how crazy we are."
Hudson refused to leave until Spencer gave him the okay, and he called me ridiculous for spending our evening waiting for Spencer’s return. But he was sitting here watching me watch a window, so which one of us is worse?
As a woman concerned about her guy going out to fight some unknown criminal element, I think I had every right to spend three hours staring out my front window, waiting for him to return.
It's perfectly normal in my opinion.
Expected even.
But I'm not sure how the big, strong, tough guy I was waiting up for would feel about it. Some men these days have a problem not being seen as macho. I’ve witnessed more than one new dad pass out while watching the delivery process, but no one will admit it. If they’re not falling on the floor, then they turn into big, blubbering messes the first time they get to hold their newborn child. I’ve spent more time reassuring men it’s okay to cry than I have comforting women post-delivery.
And while Spencer has shown me his romantic side more than once in the last few weeks, he also spent over six minutes struggling to open a pickle jar yesterday. He refused to use the specialized gripper I purchased for just that need. While fighting with it, he also had a lot of thoughts on whether or not he was the type of man who needed help opening a jar.
Since he's been in active combat as a SEAL, I don’t see him as someone to pass out from a bit of blood. But the criers come in all shapes and sizes.
He's probably a crier.
A car door shuts, and I slap my leg two more times to get Frankie moving faster. "Let's go, let's go."
She runs and jumps on the bed at the same time I pull the covers over my lap, the box springs squeaking. I grab a book off my nightstand and open it to a random page. A receipt from the hardware store that I’d been using as a bookmark falls to the bed. I quickly stuff it between two pages in the back. It's been so long since I've been home and able to read I’ll have to start this book over again, anyway.
The front door opens and closes quietly. Spencer’s obviously trying to not wake me up. I made Hudson lie and say I was in bed.
I fluff the surrounding covers. They need to look the right amount of ruffled, not like I arranged them this way, even though that's exactly what I'm doing.
A shadow falls across the floor from my bedroom door. Frankie stands and growls, acting as the world's worst guard dog. Not only does she not recognize her owner, but she let him get this far into the house.
"Oh, you're back. Hudson said it would be late." I look up from my book and silently appraise Spencer without giving away what I'm doing. Years of work as a nurse help me give him a quick once-over. There are no open wounds or large bandages poking out of his clothes. He still has all his arms and legs and doesn't appear to be limping. He passes.
Spencer leans against the doorjamb. "It's after midnight. Were you waiting up for me?"
"Of course not. Frankie and I were doing some late-night reading."
Spencer smiles. "Is that so?"
"Yup." I close the book and set it on top of my lap.
"That's funny because I could've sworn I saw you and Frankie sitting in front of the window when I pulled up. Plus, the book you’re reading is upside down."
"What? It is n…" Dammit, he's right. From the way the book is laying on my lap, it was definitely upside down. "Oh, all right. I was waiting up for you."
Spencer chuckles, walking a few feet into the room.
"You don't have to be so smug about it. Frankie was worried."
He sits on the edge of the bed, displacing all my nicely fluffed covers. "I've never had anyone wait up for me before. I kind of like it."
"Are you trying to tell me you never left your mother pacing the living room at night?"
Spencer shakes his head. “I was the last of five kids. By the time I got around to staying out late at night, she’d seen it all.”
"Oh. Well, next time, I'll make sure to wait up."
Spencer smirks, the left side of his mouth freezing slightly higher than the other. "Yeah, you make sure and do that… Next time."
"Confidentiality aside, did you catch the guys Ridge was looking for?" I lean forward in the bed to get closer to him.
“We’ve been after Frank Zanetti, a suspected mobster out of New York, for months now. He uses crews of different guys, never getting his hands dirty. Ridge thinks we can link a few of them to the latest crime spike.”
I’m pretty sure that’s Spencer’s watered-down way of referencing Kevin, the dead body. No way in hell am I going to ask him to confirm that, though. “Can you link them to Frank, too?”
He sighs. “Not sure yet. These guys are new. No one from his inner circle.” Spencer crawls higher in the bed and lies on the side, not getting under the covers with his regular clothes on. “But we grabbed most of them, at least.”
"What do you mean, ‘most of them’?"
He releases a breath against his lips. "Ridge's best estimates place this particular group at about fifteen members. Tonight, we rounded up nine. That should be enough to break up their ranks, but not enough that they won't come back at some point in time."
I shrug. I watch enough CSI to know there is always a bad guy waiting somewhere. "Did you get the guy who came to my door?”
Spencer smiles, but it's a weird one. Half his face is raised up in a happy expression, yet the other side is pinched in concentration. "Maybe."
Not an overly helpful answer, either.
He pulls out his wallet. "Is this the guy?" From an inside pocket, he produces a mini Polaroid picture.
I didn't think they still made that type of camera. Let alone film for it.
Spencer flaps the picture a few times and passes it over to me. The angle is weird, like the picture was taken while standing above. The lighting is darker, and the person sits slumped in a gray steel chair that matches the cinderblocks of the room. His hands hang down beside him, but not in a relaxed pose. The guy’s head is slightly turned, but I’m a nurse and have seen enough domestic violence to figure out half of his face is swollen.
"I don’t know. It's hard to tell from this angle. Why is he all beat-up?"
Spencer's face loses the half smile. "We forgot to take the picture before we started the process."
"What process?"
He pauses and his eyes circle the room, obviously debating how much to tell me. "The interrogation process."
"Interrogation? You can’t beat up people in interrogations.” Did he forget he’s talking to a nurse? I help people, not let others beat them up.
"Joslin, these aren’t two-bit criminals who tried to rob the 7-Eleven. The guy in the chair is Tony Mendez. ‘Hardened criminal’ isn’t a tough enough adjective to describe his lifestyle. Saying please isn’t effective with this group.”
He has good points, but it's not my nature to see someone in distress and not want to help them.
"Is Tony the guy who was at your door?"
I hold the picture closer to my face, turn my head to the right, turn my head to the left, then squint, closing one eye completely. "I don’t know."
"You sure?"
I hand the picture back. "Sorry. The angle is different, and I didn’t pay that much attention. I was freaked out. But the hair looks similar…maybe.”
Spencer sighs, throwing the picture and his wallet on the empty nightstand. "‘Maybe’ isn’t good enough, so it looks like you're stuck with me for a few more days. At least until we can bust his group open."
The idea there are more guys like Tony Mendez around Pelican Bay isn't a settling one, but I find myself smiling anyway. A few more days with Spencer by my side isn't the worst thing that can happen to a girl. Hopefully, my boss at the hospital feels the same.
A moment of silence stretches between us, and I wait for Spencer to make his next move. I don’t know what you do after a hard day of surveillance. Eat? Read a book? Go to sleep? Watch a movie?
"You know what else I've never had happen?" he asks, leaning back with his arms behind his head.
"What?"
"I've never come home from a long day at work and had a topless woman waiting up for me."
I openly laugh. "Is that so?"
"Yup. I wonder what that's like."
"Maybe next time, Big Guy."
"We could practice it now. To make sure it will work."
"You want to practice?” I lift the hem of the T-shirt I’d planned to sleep in, then stop. “Wait a minute. What about all the time you were in the military?”
Spencer has had a lot of years of coming home and should have had a beautiful girl waiting for him—that whole guy-in-a-uniform thing. Isn’t that why most guys join the military in the first place?
He shakes his head. "Not even then. I spent my time in a SEAL team. We were mostly overseas, and when we were here, it was training, drills, and hanging with the guys. We weren’t exactly relationship people,” Spencer answers, using air quotes around the world relationship.
“All right, but if we’re going to do this, we have to do it right.”
Spencer’s face lights up. “Whatever you say, babe. Tell me what to do.”
He starts to unbutton his shirt until I shoo him away with a hand. “You have to walk out of the room then back again.” Duh.
Not a second wasted on questioning my requirements, he jumps out of bed and saunters out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I tear the shirt over my head and then slip out of my shorts under the covers.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door, and I whip the clothes in the open closet right as Spencer opens it and peeks in.