Taken by Tuesday

His eyes were crossing and he looked up to find Judy sound asleep. Her soft pink lips were parted slightly with the steady rise and fall of her chest.

What a resilient woman she turned out to be. His memory flashed to her beaten face from the ER and he flinched. He would find the man who touched her, and then the police would have cause to arrest him.

He powered down the computer and removed the tablet from Judy’s lap. She twisted into a ball and rolled on her side. Instead of waking her, he scooped his hands under her and picked her up.

“Time for bed?” she mumbled as she snuggled closer.

“Shh.”

She said something he didn’t quite understand and he carried her to bed.

It took some time for his head to turn off. He lay there with Judy curled up beside him and simply cherished holding her.

When he’d returned to the States with Neil and what remained of their team, Rick wasn’t sure he’d ever sleep an entire night through again. He learned quickly that he managed much better with a woman in his bed, but he still didn’t turn off completely. Until Judy. Even thinking about her in the past year helped his brain find some form of hibernation at night. Now, as his eyes were drifting closed and the fresh scent of spring curled even closer, he realized what made Judy stand out from all the rest.

Judy wasn’t some passing attraction, some easy fix for a lonely night . . . she was the real deal. The woman you took home to meet your parents, the woman you wanted to have your children.

Somewhere between Utah, Washington, and California, he’d fallen in love.

He held her even closer, kissed her sleeping head, and drifted off.

“I told them I’d come in for half a day and be back to work tomorrow. I’ve got to go,” Judy argued while she towel-dried her hair and walked between the bathroom and the closet. “They’ve been really understanding but I can’t keep disappearing. It’s not like they have to keep me there.”

She could tell by the scowl on Rick’s face he wasn’t happy with the thought of her going to work. “If it makes you any happier, we’ll be taking the Ferrari.” She knew how much he enjoyed driving Mike’s car, and in light of the fact that Rick’s constant need for an alibi was in question, everyone thought it was best he drive the flashiest car in Mike’s garage. The Ferrari won.

Rick grumbled. “I don’t like it.”

“You’re dropping me off after lunch and picking me up at five. I won’t even leave the office.”

His grumble now sounded like a growl.

“I can’t hide.” She walked back into the bathroom and talked through the door. “I’m no more or less safe than I was last week when you dropped me off and picked me up every day.” Though she knew eventually she’d have to hike on her big-girl panties and make the trip solo. “Putting my head into my work will help clear it up . . . make it easier for me to consider who might be doing all this.”

“You said you felt he was coming back for you.” Rick had left his perch from the side of the bed and now stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

“I do. One of the many things I looked up while you were away was the mindset of a psychopath. It isn’t often they actually give up the object of their obsession. This guy isn’t going to corner me in a garage, or catch me taking the stairs at work.” She brushed out her hair, put a handful of mousse into the locks. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and some of the pictures you and Neil will be looking over this afternoon will point someone out.”

“Maybe.”

“If he’s after me, he’ll get frustrated not getting close and eventually screw up.”

Rick’s lips twisted to the side. “You’ve been watching crime TV again, haven’t you?”

She applied a layer of mascara and pointed the tip of the brush at him through the mirror. “First, those shows aren’t completely based on fiction, but no. Actually, Meg and I have been burning up the Internet. We’ve been professional students for the last four years. Everything you ever wanted to know about anything is on the Internet, all you have to do is know where to look.”

Rick walked up behind her and slid both hands around her waist before nuzzling her wet hair. “I still don’t want you to go.”

“C’mon. Aren’t you the one who said it would get easier every day?”

“That was before someone was murdered.”

She didn’t like that either. “I’m not going into the dark basement alone, Rick. I’m going to work. Lots of pencil-pushing geeks who draw for a living. I’ll be fine.”

“We just got married.” He ran a hand down her arm and feathered his thumb over her ring finger. “You don’t even have a ring.”

She twisted around and offered a smile. “Then that’s what you do today . . . go find me a ring.” They hadn’t yet consummated the marriage either, but she wasn’t about to point that out or he’d never let her leave.

“Trying to get rid of me?”

She pushed him toward the bathroom door. “What was your first clue?”

The rest of her bathroom ritual went without complaint. Rick drove the Ferrari, keeping a constant eye on the road behind him.

The eyes on them had doubled since the last time they walked into the office. Most of the staff of Benson & Miller had yet to return from lunch, but there were a few people milling about the office when she walked in.

“See, safe and sound.”

Rick conceded and dropped a kiss to her lips. “You need anything—”

“I’ll call. Go.”

He turned to leave, and she called out to him. “And cubic zirconia looks just as good as the real thing. No need to do anything crazy.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Judy dropped her purse in her desk and left the plans for the Santa Barbara project in the corner of her cubicle before working her way toward a cup of coffee. The lack of sleep the night before didn’t have a chance of being made up by sleeping in.

By the time she made it back to her desk, the office was filling with employees.

“It’s the lady in red,” she heard José say with laughter in his voice.

“It’s been a very crazy weekend.”

“Tell me about it. Ever since you’ve been here, we’ve had nothing but excitement. Every day my wife asks me what’s new.”

She knew José wasn’t referring to the actual attack, but the media, the famous brother . . . the parts she could smile and laugh at.