with O’Donnell, his tone slightly impatient. And suddenly she couldn’t figure out why she’d called him. What could he do to help her?
Only she could help herself. She knew that, had always known that.
She was shivering in her bed again, clinging to the sensation of the sheets around her. She wasn’t outside, chased by Glover. She wasn’t buried in a coffin underground. She was in a motel room. She was fine.
She didn’t feel fine. She needed to throw up.
She lunged, trying to untangle herself from the blanket. The sheet clung to her, and she struggled, the vomit rising up her throat. She retched several times as she threw up, gasping, clawing at the pillow. For a while she just coughed and gagged, acid in her mouth. Then she was shaking, spent, her heart pounding.
Something else was pounding. The door.
“Zoe?” Tatum called through the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . fine.” Her voice was shaky. Choked.
Pause. “Open the door.”
“No. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Open the door, Zoe.”
She shut her eyes in desperation, then squirmed out of the sheets, heart still racing. She stumbled to the door, unlocked it, wiping the vomit from her chin quickly. She pulled the door open.
Tatum’s eyes widened as he saw her. She must have looked just as shitty as she felt.
“Just some nightmares,” she croaked. “I’m fine now. Really.” She began shutting the door.
He blocked it with his foot. “Like hell you are.” He pushed the door open, slowly so it wouldn’t hit her. Then he brushed past her and entered the room.
She followed his eyes as he took in the bed, the messy sheets, her own stained shirt, her trembling hands.
He grabbed her and pulled her close, his large arms engulfing her. She struggled, not wanting to get vomit on his clothes, but he just held her tight until she stopped squirming in his hug, becoming limp. The fear was gone, though she could still feel it lingering, waiting. Now, she was mainly mortified.
“I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me,” she mumbled.
“Maybe it was all that hot chocolate,” he suggested, still holding her.
“Yeah. But I’m feeling better now.”
“Go take a shower.”
She did, stumbling to the bathroom, taking off her foul shirt in disgust. The hot water made her feel better. Tatum had probably left. She’d apologize tomorrow for being such a mess. She took the time to brush her teeth, getting rid of the acrid taste of vomit.
He was still there when she got out of the bathroom, wrapped in the motel’s towel. He must have called for clean sheets and was now carefully making the bed, the old sheets crumpled in the corner of the room.
“I can do that,” she said.
“I’m almost done.”
She quickly grabbed underwear, a sweatshirt, and yoga pants from her suitcase and dressed in the bathroom. She could hear Tatum moving around in the other room. She wanted him to leave. But the very idea of him leaving her alone in the room resulted in a stab of icy fear in her gut.
She took a deep breath, and it was so easy to do now that she found it strange she couldn’t possibly do it before. Then she opened the door again. Tatum sat in the chair by her bed.
“Thanks for the help,” she said. “I think I’ll be better once I sleep.”
“I’m sure you will.”
She shuffled to bed, sat on the mattress, suddenly relieved that the sheets were crisp and clean. Tatum had spread them tightly, almost as if someone from the motel’s room service had done it.
“Good night,” she told him.
He didn’t budge. Didn’t say anything.
“I had a panic attack,” she finally said. “I’ve been working too hard. But it’s over now. I’ll go easy for a few days.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“I will!”
“No, you won’t. I’m calling Mancuso tomorrow. I’ll tell her she needs to pull you from the case.”
“No!” She was horrified. Mancuso wouldn’t be able to make Zoe leave Chicago. But she could cut her off. Make sure she wasn’t involved in the investigation. “If you do that . . .” She searched for a threat, some way to intimidate him. She had nothing.
“I need to know what happened to you tonight,” he said. “I’m your partner. I’m worried sick. But if you won’t talk to me—”
“It was just a panic attack.”
“It wasn’t. You’ve been acting strange for days now. I mean, you’re always a bit strange, but you’ve been acting . . . unlike you.”