Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(214)
He’d also confessed to murdering his Mom and pinning it on her boyfriend. He was, as Tate would call him, seriously whacked. Not appreciative of the fact that his Mom had found the love of her life and especially not appreciative of the fact that she didn’t mind hiding it.
She was, Tambo told Tate that Dalton told him, meant to be only his.
They’d released Dalton’s Mom’s boyfriend after he spent nearly twenty years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit against a woman he adored. The State gave him restitution but, I figured, losing the woman he loved and nearly half of his life to prison, no restitution would heal those wounds.
Tambo had also told Tate that I’d gotten loose, in a way, partially thanks to Tonia, Neeta and the other girls. They’d struggled, weakening the pipe of the radiator.
I hated this fact, hated knowing their torture helped to save my life, but I was thankful all the same.
And lastly Tambo told Tate that Dalton did all the girls there, at that old house, then took them home even if that meant Nevada or Utah. Dalton said they needed to go home, needed to be with their families, needed to be at rest someplace familiar. Dalton was contrite, driven to his behavior but he struggled against it. He killed in May, his mother’s birth month, and December, her boyfriend’s. That he would allow. Knowing he could give in those months kept the urge at bay the rest of the time. But, when I got to the bar and Dalton watched Tate and me falling in love, that triggered something, flipped the switch, and he lost control.
I hated this fact too but I didn’t dwell. Tate had taught me, with what I allowed Brad to do to me, with what he felt after his Dad died, with how he acted after Neeta’s murder, that life was too short to dwell, to twist special in your head and make it go bad. Tate and I falling in love was just that, a biker and his biker babe falling in love. It was something else for Dalton and that was on Dalton. After searching my whole life, I wasn’t going to finally find special and let some psychopath twist it and make it go bad.
No, I was going to hold it precious.
Forever.
As for my family, we’d had a pretty good Christmas, considering I was still banged up and in some pain. As I suspected, Mom had spoiled Jonas but she’d also spoiled Tate and me. Jonas definitely had a good Christmas, what with Mom, Carrie, Pop, Stella, Wood and me giving him his every heart’s desire (and some of them he didn’t even know he wanted). It had taken us hours to unwrap presents.
Tate had left me to spoil Jonas and he’d just spoiled me. He’d had a silver necklace custom-made, a fall of five, exquisite silver flowers in a pendant hanging from it, the links in the chain were unusual and beautiful. He’d also had a set of five silver bangles made, two had flower pendants dangling, three had been inset all around with peridot and rose quartz. He’d also had a wide silver band made, it fit my index finger, went from base to knuckle and it was also inset with peridot and rose quartz. He’d given them to me telling me, right in front of everyone, “From now on, babe, you only wear my silver.” This, I figured, was healthy indication that he intended to add to my new silver collection and since Tate had good taste, the jewelry so gorgeous, I didn’t mind that at all.
Even with Mom and Carrie’s great cooking, family and friends all around (because practically everyone in Carnal trooped through our house the last few days) and almost constant Christmas music being played (because I might give into Tate and Jonas not liking it much but Mom was a Christmas Music Freak and she knew I loved it too and I’d been abducted, beaten and stabbed so she was going to play my beloved Christmas music even if Tate was a badass) things hadn’t been good.
We’d had to unplug the phone so many people were calling and not just friends and family. My ex-friends from Horizon Summit had all phoned and Tate was not very diplomatic when he’d answered these calls, usually saying something like, “You one of those who hung Laurie out to dry when her f**kwad husband was cheating on her?” Pause for answer then, “Bullshit, go f**k yourself,” then disconnect (when Carrie heard this, she burst out laughing, every time).
We also had calls from journalists for print and television and even a production company that wanted to pitch a reality program, starring Tate.
Not joking. A reality program starring Tate.
“No, Dad!” Jonas shouted from the floor, taking my mind off my thoughts. Jonas was nearly bouncing in excitement and not taking his eyes from the TV screen.
“Nittany Lions fans still feel the pain remembering Jackson’s professional football career being cut short when he was hit with an illegal tackle in the endzone after forcing a fumble, recovering it and entering the endzone in a monumental touchdown in the last seconds that won the Eagles the game against their rivals the Giants,” the commentator continued.
“After leaving football,” the other commentator took up the story, “Jackson became a decorated police officer and is now one of the most sought after, and successful, fugitive apprehension agents in the country.” He grinned devilishly at the camera. “That’s bounty hunters to those of us not in the game.”
“But, little would he know,” the other commentator butted in, his voice had gone grave, “that two days before Christmas Eve, Jackson would be hunting a serial killer who’d murdered his ex-girlfriend, an employee and a string of other young, innocent females over a four year period and who had, that very night, abducted Jackson’s fiancée.”