21st Birthday by James Patterson (e book reader android .TXT) 📕

glass of wine in his hand and he handed it over.

“I didn’t dish up the ice cream. Yet.”

I kissed him, took the wine and sipped, then handed the glass back to him. “I think I’ll take a peek. Maybe watch her sleep for a minute.”

I tiptoed into Julie’s dandelion-yellow bedroom. She was in her big-girl bed, “without fences, Mom.” As she was turning four in another week, we’d all agreed that a bed without rails was age appropriate.

As I looked down on her, Julie opened her eyes, gave me a sleepy smile, and said, “It’s past your bedtime.”

I cracked up. It wasn’t just that she liked to mimic me, it was that she knew exactly how and when to do it.

“I’m going to bed now, Julie Bugs. See you in the morning.”

I kissed her cheek, and she held up her toy cow, Mrs. Mooey Milkington. I kissed Mooey, too, and Julie threw an arm around my neck. I tickled her until she let me go. Still smiling, I backed out of her doorway and went to my favorite room in the house.

The blue-painted bedroom at the corner of our apartment was cloud-like with white curtains and a big bed. It was the place where we’d made Julie and where I had delivered her, on a dark and stormy night, with the help of a dozen SFFD firefighters.

Joe had missed the drama, but has made up for it in so many ways. As he was doing now. He handed me a bowl of pralines and cream ice cream in a blue earthenware bowl, the still-chilled Chardonnay, fluffed pillows behind me. Then, my gorgeous husband got into bed beside me.

“Are you taking care, Blondie?”

He was worried about my recurring condition. Pernicious anemia can be fatal and had given us a bad scare. More than once.

“I’m emotionally exhausted,” I said, “but not physically.”

He looked at me dubiously.

“How are you?” I asked him.

“All paperworked out,” he said.

“Awwww. Tell me all about it before I fall asleep with a spoon in my hand.”

My cell phone rang out from the living room. I knew it was on the table next to Joe’s chair. I tried to sit up.

Joe said, “Nope. No way. You’re off duty.”

“I’m working tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is still a day away.”

Right he was.

I rolled over and wrapped myself around my husband. He shifted me until my robe was on the floor. I put my arms around his neck and I looked up at his face, taking my time. He kissed me, taking his time.

His hands moved over me, stirring me up.

I said, “Mmmmm.”

He took that as a yes.

I sighed happily and let him have his way with me.

Chapter 49

My eyes opened Sunday morning to the sound of my phone ringing in the living room.

The bedside clock read just after 5 a.m. This time, I had to pick up the call. I slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Joe, and found my phone in the dark. I looked at the caller ID.

Brady.

He said, “Sorry to wake you, Boxer, but I think you’d want to know.”

“What? What’s happening?”

“A red car, looks like a Volvo, was spotted a hundred yards out in the low tide off China Beach.”

I knew the place, a large public parking area, five minutes off the tony Sea Cliff neighborhood and just south of Baker Beach. A curved tree-lined road led to the beach. The waters here could be brutal. When the storms whip up the surf, this was one of the most dangerous beaches in California. The tide gave no warning, no second chances as water poured in under the bridge, shifting dramatically with unpredictable undercurrents and deadly riptides. Daredevil swimmers had died at China Beach, a half dozen this year alone.

I said, “Brady, you’re thinking it’s Tara’s car?”

“Could be. I can just make out the roof. I’m on the lot overlooking the beach right now. Coast guards brought in a couple of small track cranes and tow trucks. Motorboats. CSU has a flatbed truck and—Uh-oh. The car slipped the cable. This is one tough whale to beach. They’ve been at it for hours.

“Could be lost sleep for nothing. But I think you’ll want to see this.”

I shook Joe awake very gently and told him I had to go, that I would call him later.

“What time is it?”

“Just past five.”

“Be careful.”

“I will be.”

I kissed his face all over, picked up my shoes from under the chair, and tripped over Martha as I dashed for the door.

“Sorry, Boo. Good girl.”

I geared up in the living room and, out on the street, found my car and unlocked it without setting off the alarm. The engine started up easily and I drove up Lake Street to China Beach, arriving in about eight minutes. I took the access road to the overlook and parked next to Brady’s Tacoma and a coast guard van. He was standing at the edge of the lot looking at the police activity underway in the wild dark sea through his binoculars.

A stiff salty breeze whipped my hair as I walked up behind him and shouted “Hello!”

He said, “Look out there,” and handed me his glasses.

The first light of dawn lit the scene as the vehicle in question surfaced and bobbed in the tide. A crane was lifting the front end, and two tow trucks had hooks into the undercarriage, ratcheting in cable, balancing the vehicle still in the surf. And now the red car was inching up the beach, getting dragged up and out of an ocean that was reluctant to give it up.

I saw CSIs taking a tarp out of their van.

“They’re going to wrap up the car?” I asked.

“Let’s move,” said my lieutenant.

Chapter 50

Brady offered a muscular arm to help me down the stairs, and our timing was such that by the time we reached the beach, our badges in hand, the car was on four wheels.

We identified ourselves to the coast guard officer, then ducked the tape and walked up on the red Volvo as