Depends on Who's Asking

by Vale, Lani Lynn

  “I was going to bring those to you last night, but you’d said that you were having a long night, and you were super busy, so I was going to wait until this morning,” I whispered quietly. “Happy Birthday, Saint.”

  He stood up, getting slowly to his feet.

  “What do these donuts have to do with that guy?” He pointed at the person.

  Booth reached into the box and plucked out the ‘B’ in birthday before taking a bite.

  Hayes came up second and got himself one, too.

  Then my dad was there, pulling me into his arms.

  Saint took the box of donuts that my father had thrust into his arms, and then my dad squeezed the shit out of me.

  “Tell us what happened with him,” Dad ordered.

  I then went on to tell him about parking in the lot and getting the donuts.

  “Well, it started out with me running inside and getting these donuts. While I was there, Dillan saw this jerk-off park in her parking lot, so I went and said something to him as I was going out to my car. He was a dick about it and left his car there to go into the bar. So, I called my dad,” I answered.

  “That’s where I come in,” Dad said. “I didn’t see the guy. I just followed up on the complaint. One of the new rookies made the man move his car while I shut down the bar for over-occupancy with the fire marshal.”

  Saint started to take off his Kevlar vest, being careful of the piece of wood sticking out of his back, and I walked over to him and held out my hands for him to hand it to me.

  He gave it to me, and I grunted in surprise at the weight.

  “Why does this feel heavier than my dad’s?” I asked curiously.

  “It’s loaded down with enough magazines for my Glock that I could fight my way out of a third world country,” he explained as he turned his back to face the others. “Can someone help me rip this tee so I can see what we’re working with?”

  “Hey, buddy,” Malachi joked. “Did you know you have a splinter?”

  The others chuckled as my dad reached forward and ripped the shirt at the seam, exposing Saint’s back to the entire room.

  “Nice tattoo,” Clayton said. “How long that take you?”

  “Four sessions at about eight hours a piece,” Saint answered. “How fucked-up is it?”

  I walked over and peered at his back, as well as the sliver of wood, about eight inches long and an inch in diameter, sticking out of it.

  “None of your tattoo,” I said, running my fingers around the edges. “It’s…”

  I yanked it out before he could tense up.

  Saint cursed, long and loud. My dad stepped back, laughing. And my brothers, who were expecting it, had their phones out to take a photo.

  “What the fuck?” Saint asked, a glare in his eyes. “I thought you couldn’t get it out?”

  “I didn’t say that I couldn’t get it out,” I said. “I said that the tee wouldn’t allow me to get it out.”

  I held up the sliver of wood that’d been inserted about six inches in his back. “Do you want to keep this?”

  Saint took it and rotated his shoulder.

  “That’s probably going to need stitches.” Booth walked up to peer at it.

  I looked at my stained floor again.

  “Daddy,” I said softly. “Just how much sealer did you put on my floors?”

  Dad looked back at the blood. “Hopefully enough. The last fuckin’ thing I want to do is deal with those floors again.”

  “We’ll get a professional cleaner in here once the crime scene techs get done,” Saint suggested as he walked toward the front door. “Come on, Caro. I need you to hold my hand while I get this looked at.”

  “I’m telling you.” Booth came back in. “Stitches.”

  “Fuck off,” Saint grumbled.

  I squeezed his hand a little bit tighter with my own.

  He returned the squeeze and didn’t stop until we were next to the ambulance.

  “Hey, man,” Saint said to the medic, his eyes on the piece of wood. “This need stitches?”

  The medic was standing around looking bored until Saint walked up. His hands were crossed in front of him with his foot tapping impatiently.

  His eyes were hidden behind a pair of those blue light glasses that were meant to help when staring at a computer screen or whatever.

  But still, there was something about the man’s eyes when he saw Saint.

  The medic went all business and pulled on some gloves before making a twirling motion with his finger.

  “Turn around,” the man whispered.

  Saint turned around and presented the medic with his back, his eyes still on the wood.

  “Gonna need to wipe it down,” still the medic was whispering.

  I tensed.

  I wasn’t sure why.

  But the way the guy’s eyes looked as he reached into his bag had me paying attention.

  I expected the man to come out of the bag with some alcohol wipes or something.

  Not something black.

  His eyes were on the piece of wood in his hand, so Saint didn’t see this until it was too late.

  I, on the other hand, knew the instant I saw the way the man’s hand curled around the butt of the gun.

  Without thinking, let alone considering what would happen if I did it, I yanked that sharpened piece of wood out of Saint’s hand.

  Between one breath and the next, the medic had the gun pointed at the back of Saint’s head.

  But he wasn’t as fast as me.

  Within a half a second I’d buried that piece of wood in the man’s throat. It was the only soft place I could think of where it would do the most damage and stop him from blowing my man’s head apart.

  The gun clattered to the floor as Saint whirled around.

  “Holy fuck!” he shouted.

  The medic dropped to the floor clutching the piece of wood in his neck.

  “Don’t move it, motherfucker,” I snarled. “They might be able to save you if you don’t move it.”

  The man’s glasses slipped and Saint tensed.

  “Son of a bitch!” he hissed.

  I looked over at him.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That’s Juris Holloway. My father’s advisor.” His eyes found mine, full of shock, as he said, “He almost executed me and I was allowing it.”

  It was then that the shock started to set in.

  I’d stabbed a man in the throat with a fuckin’ stake for Christ’s sake!

  “I’m so sorry that I made you do that.” Saint’s arms went around me. He was shaking with fury at the breach of my safety and the fact that I’d had to do that.

  But I’d do it over and over again.

  A thousand times, as long as he was living at the end of the day.

  Connor walked up and kicked the gun away from the man’s hand.

  “Saw it all happen,” Clayton said as he walked up next. “Where the fuck is the real medic?”

  “None were ever released to come to the scene,” Bennett said. “They’re on their way now.”

  He was right.

  Minutes later the medics were there, and they were loading the man onto the stretcher.

  Dad climbed into the real ambulance with them and cuffed the man to the bar next to his head.

  “Come pick me up.” He leveled Saint with a look. “I want to talk about this, too. And you need your back looked at anyway.”

  He was right.

  That would be exactly what we did.

  The ambulance rolled away, and Foster took a look around. “Anybody else want to fuck this all up for us?”

  The night was silent around us and he grunted in satisfaction and started to gather the SWAT team up so they could head out.

  “I’m sorry about the scene,” Connor said, his focus on Saint. “I was a little bit of a mess, and I don’t even want to talk about how much of a girl I just acted.”

  Saint snorted out a laugh.

  “Having someone in her house
scared the absolute piss out of me,” Connor continued, looking contrite. “So you’re fully forgiven.”

  Connor grinned and offered Saint his hand.

  Saint took it, even though I saw that it pained him when his shoulder moved.

  “Oh, and Merry fucking Christmas,” Connor said before heading to his cruiser.

  CHAPTER 18

  All I want for Christmas is you. Just kidding. I want a million dollars and a three-month vacation.

  -Caro to Saint

  SAINT

  “It was an isolated incident,” Lynn said. “I don’t really know how he breached the house. I think it was a poorly planned switch off on our part, compared with luck on his on when he chose to go in, but we don’t feel like it has any bearing on what is surrounding you.”

  No, it didn’t seem like it.

  Apparently when Carolina had gone to pick up the donuts yesterday, she’d gotten into an altercation with a man parking his vehicle in Dillan’s parking lot for the bar that was next door.

  Dillan had come out and asked him to move, he’d refused, and so Carolina had stepped in.

  When he still hadn’t moved, Carolina had called her father, who had then come over with his police cruiser and shut the bar down for being overly crowded. Which had not only pissed the owner off, but the man that had refused to move his car.

  Of course, as he was leaving, Carolina had snipped at him and the guy held a grudge.

  He’d also waited for her to leave a little bit down the road, and had then followed her home, waited until it was late and she would be asleep, before entering her home.

  It was all tied to her, not me, but still, after experiencing all that was the terror of seeing her at gunpoint, I’d started to revert back to ‘maybe we should take a break’ again.

  Which, granted, Carolina had immediately seen.

  Which led us to now, Carolina asking for clarification from the mayor, Luke, and Bruno.

  Which left me wondering what, exactly, I was supposed to do.

  “If you’re so worried about my safety,” Carolina said, “I’ll go stay with my parents for a while.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s… you can stay with me. I live in Cop Row. You should be safe there.”

  Lynn’s eyes came to me, assessing and considerate.

  “What about the other guy?” Carolina asked then. “Why was he there?”

  That I wanted to know, too. But Juris wouldn’t be talking for a while. Not with taking a stake to the throat.

  “Opportunity, likely,” Bruno muttered. “Probably was watching you. Hoping for an in. The ambulance was stolen from a gas station around the time that the call went out.”

  “Did he have anything identifying on him?” Carolina asked. “Maybe a key card or something? Did you check his phone? Sometimes they send the key card to the phones now. He doesn’t live here. He’s got to be staying somewhere. Maybe you’ll find something in his belongings that’ll tell you why he’s here. Other than the obvious of wanting to kill a president’s son.”

  I liked my girl.

  So smart.

  “As a matter of fact.” Someone came into the room then. “I just found this.”

  Carolina’s father.

  “Whatcha got?” I asked curiously.

  “His phone that has plenty of shit on it,” he said. “And a hotel’s address in the recent searches on Google.”

  Lynn sat forward.

  “Do you need a team?” Lynn asked, looking at Luke.

  It was now five in the morning.

  I had six stitches in my back, and I was officially off shift as of twenty minutes ago.

  If they had to call the SWAT team in on Christmas morning, shit was going to hit the fan.

  “No,” Luke said. “I think that with a small team, we can get it done. Michael, you got anything planned?”

  Michael looked at his watch. “I have about two hours left until I have to be home and opening presents. Nikki will literally lose her shit if I’m not there.”

  “Then we best get this done in an hour, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want your woman pissed at you for no reason,” Luke drawled.

  I stood up, too.

  Carolina tugged on my hand, and I looked down into her eyes.

  “I’m going to go ahead to Mom’s,” she said, eyes soft. “Come over when you’re done?”

  She knew me so well.

  She didn’t complain about me going. Just wanted to make sure I could find her when I was done.

  That was my girl.

  “Yes,” I said softly. “I’ll hitch a ride with your dad.”

  She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my mouth.

  “Good luck, Saint.”

  Then she was gone, walking out of Luke’s office like she’d done it a hundred times before.

  “Ready?” Bruno asked, strapping on a gun.

  I nodded once. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  • • •

  I wasn’t expecting a person to be in the room when we got the manager of the hotel to allow us entrance to the hotel room.

  But there she was, standing there in a black silk nightie and nothing else.

  I blinked, stunned, when I saw who I saw.

  “Mother?” I asked, voice raw with untold emotion.

  • • •

  An hour later

  “Why’d you do it?” I rasped.

  I was still stunned. How could she have done this? To me? To Dad?

  “Do you know what it’s like to be the perfect woman?” she asked. “Do you know what it’s like to have to deal with the media, day in and day out? To have them constantly criticize what I wear, who I talk to, what I do during the day? I don’t want that anymore!”

  I blinked.

  “Of course, I know that,” I said. “I was a part of that. But you want to know what I did when I didn’t like it? I left! I didn’t stage a murder and shoot my husband!”

  My mother curled her lip up at me in disgust. “You’re the reason that I had to do this.”

  I’d had enough.

  My mother had just spent the last hour of my life spinning bullshit, and I was done.

  “She’s all yours,” I said. “I’m done.”

  That’s when I nearly ran straight into Brad.

  He grinned huge at me.

  “You’re good at this,” he said. “If you ever want to be in the secret service…”

  I had no idea whether he meant the interrogation of my mother, the rescue of Carolina, or just the general me being me. Whatever he meant, I wanted no part of it. Even if he was being serious.

  I scoffed. “You wouldn’t let me, anyway. When Dad wins reelection…”

  “Your dad’s taken himself out of the running,” Brad said as he glanced at the woman handcuffed to the table in the interrogation room. “That’s what they were discussing when this all went down at the cabin. Him bowing out. I’m not sure how the next twenty minutes went, though. One second, I’m okay, and the next I’m disoriented and in the middle of the woods. When I came to, I went back to the cabin, and that’s when I saw all the police cars. They were pulling a body bag out that supposedly held your mother, though fuckin’ nobody thought to check, and I was left with a lot of fucking questions.”

  I turned to my mother.

  “Who did you kill?” I asked.

  She sneered. “I didn’t kill anyone. Juris procured a body from the morgue that’d been killed that day in a car accident. Though, it was tough keeping her warm. We used the hot tub. Closed her in there for a while until we needed her.”

  Until we needed her.

  There she was talking about a body, somebody’s family member, as if she didn’t do something highly illegal.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” I admitted.

  “You could find me a lawyer,” Mom suggested.

  Or, I could leave and never come back. That sounded even better.

  I looked at Brad. “You have fun with that. I have breakfast and pr
esents to open up.”

  Brad grunted. “Don’t forget that your father’s awake.”

  I grimaced.

  My father and I weren’t the best of friends. Hell, we barely knew each other.

  But he was right.

  My dad needed a visit.

  Even if I didn’t want to do that visiting.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Today was for my girl.

  CHAPTER 19

  Let’s all take a moment to recognize the true hero of Christmas—Elastic waistbands.

  -Caro to Saint

  CAROLINA

  “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  I looked over at my father who was busy drinking a beer.

  At eight fifty-four in the morning.

  I guess having his daughter held hostage by a crazed man meant that he deserved the beer.

  Then again, it was Christmas and we got to do things on Christmas that we wouldn’t normally do any other time.

  “You’ve never seen me antsy?” I asked curiously.

  “Seen you pacing the halls waiting for some boy that doesn’t deserve you,” he countered.

  My mother, who was busy half-ass making pancakes, looked over her shoulder.

  “You want to know what is making me antsy? The lack of grandbabies in my life. Nico has grandbabies. Why don’t I have grandbabies?” Mom asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

  I felt my belly tighten at the thought of giving her grandbabies.

  Not because it didn’t appeal to me, but because it did.

  Babies didn’t fit with my schedule right now.

  I was trying to prove myself as a judge—the youngest in the whole state of Texas, and a girl at that—that meant that I should focus on my career a little bit. Not my yearning for a baby.

  Yet… the thought of having a baby with Saint’s bright green eyes, his chestnut hair, and cute little baby glasses? That was what was on my mind when it should be cases, putting some hours in wearing my robe, and generally kicking ass and taking names.

  But it wasn’t on my mind.

  Hadn’t been for a long while.

  “Nico’s one of the few original SWAT guys without multiple grandbabies,” I said to my mother. “But Saint and I are pretty serious. I… I’d like to add some grandbabies to the mix.”