Joke’s on You by Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,56

That time it actually got into my mouth. And that was when I realized that I’m a reactionary vomiter. If he throws up, and I have to touch it, I’m going to throw up.”

“In your mouth?” Hayes looked grossed out as well. “That sounds awful.”

“It was awful. And, let me tell you, vomit doesn’t taste good. Especially when it’s not yours.” I looked down at my paperwork.

“I hate you,” Dax said.

“Just wait until you see my baby gift to you.” I grinned. “It comes with a video of me using it.”

“When is that, by the way?” Hayes asked.

I looked at my watch for the date. “Next Wednesday. We’re doing that instead of our usual team bonding exercise.”

“Yay,” Dax said.

I grinned. “No ladies allowed at this one, remember?”

Dax rolled his eyes.

“I don’t know why,” he muttered. “I don’t like her being that far away from me these days. It’d make my blood pressure better if I had her in sight.”

Amen to that.

This morning when I’d woken up, the light beside the bed had been on, and at first I’d been confused.

Then I’d remembered why I’d had to leave it on.

Dillan had been scared.

Not that she would ever admit it or anything, but the moment that the room had been plunged into darkness, I’d felt her stiffen.

At first, I’d given it some time to see if she’d loosen up, to see if my touch would calm her down enough that she could sleep.

Though it’d helped, and I’d tried to talk her through it, in the end I’d decided that maybe the first few nights we should take it slow.

So I’d turned the light back on.

The moment that she could see, her entire body had gone from a tightwire to a relaxed noodle in the blink of an eye.

This morning, when I’d woken up, the light had illuminated everything.

The stark features on Dillan’s sleep-slackened face. The dark circles underneath her eyes. The bruises in the shape of two hands that were wrapped around her throat.

She had bruises all up and down the length of her arm, too.

Needless to say, this morning had been eye-opening.

I was scared.

For her.

Kerrie may be in jail now—on attempted murder charges at that—but something still didn’t feel right.

Her out of my sight? That wasn’t sitting well with me, either.

And it was the day.

Meaning when the time came to go to Dax’s baby shower at our usual meeting spot, I wasn’t going to want to leave her at home alone when I didn’t have to.

Maybe I could call my mom and dad and have them go over to keep her company…

“When’s your brother coming back?” That had come not from the original two men in the room with me, but Malachi, the quiet, stoic man that rarely ever talked.

I looked up at him in surprise.

“He’s due home tonight,” I admitted. “But…”

Malachi’s eyebrows raised at me.

“But what?” Malachi wondered, getting a good look at the mirth on my face.

“But, Malachi…” I grinned. “Bourne is finally with Delanie. I don’t see him rushing home.”

“They should just fuck and get it over with.” I blinked at Saint, who I hadn’t realized was even in the room.

When I glanced in the direction that I’d heard his voice, I saw him in the dark shadows of the room.

I wondered how long he’d been there, but he’d probably been there the entire time, watching and listening to our conversation.

Saint, the quiet one that I never quite knew what to expect from, rarely joined in on our conversations.

It was honestly a surprise that he joined in on this one.

I signed off on my last report and started to gather up the papers.

“I think that they did,” I admitted. “Or, if they didn’t, they are damn well close to doing that. With the way he was evading the questions I lobbed his way this morning, he definitely did something.”

“Yo, Pena.”

I looked up to find a uniformed officer, a rookie that I didn’t know the name of, staring at me.

“Yeah?” I asked coolly.

I didn’t like that he was talking to me like that.

I’d seen him all of two times, and each time that I saw him, he made sure to act like he was better than me.

The first time that I’d had the pleasure of his presence had been when I’d gone to have lunch with my dad. My dad was the rookie teacher. We called him the toddler wrangler.

When I’d arrived at lunch with my dad, since he was helping the rookie through his first few weeks of