Chapter Thirty-Six

The day's revelations were precisely what Grissom needed. Somewhere during Alex's descriptions of Pam's infidelities, Grissom made up his mind to rely on Tuesday's inheritance if Pam insisted on a custody battle. He and Tuesday needed to get past their individual fears about them being together. Ego be damned, he'd take the first step, even if it meant allowing Tuesday to use some of her inheritance to make sure Pam never went near his boys again. Like he'd told Tanner so many times: Anytime. Every time. That included Tuesday, and it started now.

After Alex and Kelsey left with their kids, Grissom grilled steaks while Tuesday made a leafy green salad. The boys ate in front of the fireplace, like cowboys riding the range, Tanner said. They were finally asleep in their bunk beds, worn out from playing with Lexie and Bradley all afternoon. It was time to make a move.

Grissom looked down on Tuesday, stretched out comfortably alongside him, asleep in his arm. A powerful sense of protectiveness swelled inside. Closing his eyes, he held her as tightly as he dared. She'd insisted on helping with dinner, and them working together over something as simple as preparing that meal, had confirmed everything he already knew. They needed each other, in all things and in all ways. Breathing in her sweet, feminine scent was a gift he hadn't planned on ever having in his lifetime. But he had it now and he wasn't letting her go.

In so many ways, they were alike. She'd conquered a mountain of insurmountable obstacles in her life, yet was still a virgin. He wasn't as pure as Tuesday, but he was inexperienced in other things that mattered. Like love. No woman had ever loved him like a boy or man deserved to be loved and cared for. His dad had, sure, yeah, in his own, stifled way. But tender womanly expressions of love were as alien to Grissom as Martians on planet Earth.

Tucking her close, he lifted up slowly from the couch, and, with the practiced care of a father of little boys, he headed for his room. Make that, their room . With one foot, he nudged the door open and aimed for the bed. Sticking one knee to the mattress, Grissom carefully deposited Tuesday against the pillows, then eased his arm out from under her.

He couldn't remember ever having carried a woman before or talking as openly as he had with Tuesday. With her, he could be himself. She treated him the way she treated his boys, with empathy and respect. Every time.

Just as carefully, he crouched to his knees, eased her feet out of her slippers, and unzipped her jeans. Once her long legs were freed from the denim, he stopped and stared, amazed that a woman as lithe and beautiful as Tuesday was in his bed. She could be a dancer as toned and well-muscled as her legs and thighs were.

His cock kicked against his zipper, wanting her. Every male instinct sprang to life. Molten need roared through his veins, and his eyes watered at the intense juxtaposition of a man like him, a warrior and killer, standing so close to an angel. What had God been thinking, to bring a creature full of light into a life that, for so long, hadn't been worth living?

If not for his firstborn, Grissom would've offed himself years ago. He'd been that low, that hopeless, after he and his team had mistakenly killed those boys in Syria. How did a man ever get past such a heinous act? Sure, it was accidental, one of those ungodly fog of war mistakes. But to Grissom, it seemed enormously unjust that he was free to hold and love his sons, while another father grieved. Death had been a constant in his line of work, and now there was the possibility that another child had been left motherless, maybe fatherless, this one through no fault of his. Tuesday was right to wonder if Pam had truly been pregnant when she'd killed that airman out of Eglin Air Force Base.

Quietly, Grissom stepped from his bed to make a call.

Mother answered with a terse, "What do you want?"

She seemed tense so he gentled his tone even more. "Hi Mom, it's me, Grissom."

"I know. I've got caller ID." Mother was in rare, testy form tonight.

"Could you locate the name of the airman my wife murdered in Florida about seven, maybe eight years ago?"

"Why?"

"Because, allegedly, she killed him after he refused to marry her, and, oh yeah, her real name's Marcia Valentino, not Pamela."

"Oh, sure." Mother's tone softened. "Chief Prince should have that information. Hold, please."

Grissom paused, listening to her fingernails work one of her many keyboards. Mother was a complicated woman. If she liked you, she'd do anything you asked. If not, she could make your life miserable. A few agents found ways to work around her. Many did their own research, or they went to Beau Villanueva, Axel Cho, or Ember Dennison for assistance. Grissom still didn't know if Mother liked him or not, but she was helping now. That had to mean he was on her good side, didn't it?

"The man Marcia Valentino killed was Airman First Class Benjamin McGill. He was from Minot, North Dakota."

"If there was a child…" Grissom wasn't sure how to ask.

"You want me to crosscheck physician and hospital records to locate that baby? Is that what you're asking?" Her tone pitched higher. "Why? Are you going to want it when I find it or are you just curious? Because I'm not—"

"I want to know what happened to him or her," Grissom clarified. "Pam liked getting her way, and this may be a wild goose chase, but if it's not…" He turned back to Tuesday, knowing she wouldn't let this motherless child waste away in the foster system. "Yes, Mom, I want that child. I want him or her to be as safe and happy as my boys are. Can you do that for me or not?"

Nothing but the clatter of Mother's nails on her keyboards answered back. Grissom held his breath. She was an all-out genius. It was just possible that—

"Airman McGill was Native American, as in full-blooded Cherokee," she bit out. "Did you know that?"

"Is that supposed to matter? I don't care if he was purple, black, or polka-dotted. Do you know if—?"

"Don't get smart with me. I'm just asking. Some people care, that's all."

"Well, I don't. I just want the child Pam threw away. If there is one." Grissom couldn't see her allowing a pregnancy to go to full term when there wasn't anything in it for her. There were so many ways she could've ended that baby—if there'd been one to begin with. If not, at least he'd tried. But if there was a baby, if Mother could track it down, and if that little one needed a family…

Grissom glanced over his shoulder at Tuesday. Wouldn't she be surprised when she woke up tomorrow and discovered they were going to Florida to adopt that child?

"Got it," Mother breathed. "An infant girl… a tiny, tiny baby girl… Ahem." Mother paused to cough, but all of a sudden, she sounded—fragile? "Yes," she continued, "someone left a baby girl in the Safe Haven drop box at a Gainesville fire station around the same time Marcia Valentino disappeared. I'm not calling that witch Pam McCoy, sorry. Not calling her your wife anymore, either."

"Okay, yes, that sounds about right," Grissom breathed, relieved for the first time since he'd heard about Pam murdering that poor airman. "That's where Pam, I mean Marcia Valentino, was from. Not sure how we'd know for sure that's Airman McGill's little girl, but—"

"DNA," Mother snapped, her clever fingers going a mile a minute. "I've got yours. Now, I've got Pam's, err, Valentino's. Howie got that when he booked her. Just need Airman McGill's and…" Tap, tap. Clatter, clatter. A few more taps then, "That little girl is definitely Airman McGill's, and… look at this."

Grissom's phone dinged an incoming message. Lifting his cell away from his ear, he looked at the photo of a beautiful, bronze-skinned little girl, around eight years old, with bright brown eyes and shiny, long black hair that fell over her shoulders. She was beautiful, dressed like she was, in a fluffy pink dress and holding a gray stuffed bunny by one ear. Another photo hit his incoming box. The smiling airman in that shot was the spitting image of the child who would've, and should've, been his daughter. His little girl.

Grissom's heart crawled up his throat at what that poor airman had lost, all because of Pam's evil trickery. "Where is she, Mom? Is she safe?" God, I hope so.

"She is, Grissom," Mother whispered, her voice oddly strained. "Her name is now Rosario Medina. Hector and Adele Medina adopted Rosario within months of her being left in that Safe Haven box. Hector was the fireman who found her. He and his wife are Cuban. They tried for years to get pregnant and now… and now…"

Was Mother crying? "Are you okay?" Grissom asked gently, wiping his own eyes at the miracle unfolding over his phone.

"Allergies," Mother choked. "I've got allergies and it's hay fever time of year and… and it's none of your business."

Grissom let it go. For now. He was as choked up as she was. "The important thing is that Rosario's safe, Mom. Thanks for finding her for me."

A definite sniff came over the connection. "Would you have adopted her, Grissom? I mean, really? Would you have wanted a baby like her, after everything your wife's done to you?"

"Yes," he answered, with a clean heart and full intent. "The one thing I know for certain is that kids aren't responsible for the sins of their parents, and babies deserve every chance we can give them."

"I know," Mother whispered. "I… I just… I just wish..."

"I don't know what me and my boys would do without you, Mom," Grissom said when she stalled. "Thanks for helping me find Rosario. I'm sad I'll never have that little girl in my life, but she's happy and that's all that counts."

"She is. Happy, I mean." Mother's voice sounded so small. "Thanks for letting me find her for you. I… I needed that." The connection went dead, and it was okay. Grissom knew a lot about devils, and the devil riding Mother must be a son of a bitch.

He turned to find Tuesday watching him from where she lay. "Where are we?"

"In our room." Grissom made sure to use that explicit, possessive pronoun.

" Our room?" she murmured, lifting to her elbows. "Umm, where are the boys?"

"You mean our boys ?" he asked, emphasizing the direction he needed her to go with him.

A lazy smile lit her face. "I like that word."

"Good, because from now on, this is our room, and those two little guys passed out on their bunk beds are our boys ." Grissom sat his butt alongside Tuesday, then leaned over and rested his forearm beside her shoulder to hold his weight. Sex was the last thing she needed, but a kiss or two wouldn't hurt. "I want to make love with you, but tonight's too soon. We'll wait until—"

"I'm tired of waiting," Tuesday interrupted softly, her finger tracing up his jaw and over the tip of his ear. "I've waited all my life, Grissom. I want us to be together. Now."

He shivered at the sparks her touch left in its wake. Tipping forward, he pressed his mouth over her lips and was lost in the sweetest heaven on earth. Holding this woman soothed his ragged soul, and kissing her reset his inner compass.

"I have something to tell you," he mumbled around her questing lips.

"What?" she breathed into his face.

"Pam didn't lie. There was a baby. She gave birth to a daughter in Florida."

That got Tuesday's full attention. "Oh?" she asked, pushing Grissom far enough back so she could sit up.

"Yes, but she gave the baby up. Not sure precisely when or if Pam's the one who put her there, but that little girl ended up in one of those Safe Haven boxes at a fire station in Gainesville. You know the ones, where mothers can voluntarily surrender their child if they can't keep it, for whatever reason? Her name's Rosario Medina, and look." Palming his cell phone, Grissom brought up the photos Mother had sent.

"Oh," Tuesday whispered, her fingers gripping Grissom's phone and her eyes brimming. She blinked and blinked. "What a pretty little girl. Is that the man who fathered her?"

Grissom nodded, his heart in his throat, thankful this little one had a happy ending.

"They look so much alike. How'd you find her?"

"With Mother's help."

"Aww…" With a sigh, Tuesday let go of Grissom's hand. "Thank you. I was worried about that baby, if it was even real or just another lie."

"Me, too. Also…" He tipped his forehead to Tuesday's. "I've decided to man up and accept your offer to help me fight Pam. I want you at my side, and I'd be honored if you'd help me keep my boys safe from their mother."

"Does that mean…?" She was holding her breath.

"That I'm okay spending some of your inheritance? Yes, if it's okay with you."

"Yes, oh, yes! Grissom, yes! Thanks for letting me help! Honestly, I hate being wealthy, but if I can use my inheritance to help you, then yes! Thank you so much!" She threw her arms around his neck, pressing her full breasts against his chest. Flattening her body to his.

Her mouth was so close. So incredibly sweet.

"We should wait," he whispered, even as he licked her strawberry lips.

"No. We shouldn't ever wait again. We never know what tomorrow will bring."

"But you've never—"

"But I'm ready, and my side hardly hurts anymore."

"Well…" He hedged, pulling back far enough to peer into those emerald wells of innocence.

Too late. Grissom fell. Headlong. Powerless to stop himself. Smart enough not to try anymore. Awestruck at the beauty in his arms. Tracing the tip of his thumb from her bottom lip down her neck to the gentle swell of her cleavage, he asked, "Promise you'll tell me if anything we do hurts?"

Her fingers delved into his hair and down the back of his neck. "You'd never hurt me. I know that about you. You're a good guy."

"Damned straight, but I'm not stopping this time and things could get rough. You might feel a pinch when we go all the way, maybe more. Let's take it slow and easy."

Her fingers fluttered down his neck, over his shoulders, to his chest. "If you say so."

Grissom looked toward the ceiling, humbled at the trust radiating off his woman. He loved what the warmth of her touch was doing to him, but those words? ‘If you say so . '? He couldn't explain how much they meant to a man like him. Just knew that her body touching his always gentled the monsters in his head like nothing else.

Her tiny fingers and hands, hands that hadn't hesitated to grab onto his sons to keep them safe, were now smoothing over his head and circling his neck. Her hands weren't large enough for her fingers to meet at his nape, but the idea that a tiny thing like Tuesday Smart was putting her life in his hands was a rush. She was so small, and he was nothing but a hairy, coarse oaf, dying to devour and deflower her. Ready to mark her from the inside out as his, only his.

This was another Leap of Faith moment, and the enormity overwhelmed Grissom. As thrilled as he was that Tuesday wanted her first time to be with him, he hesitated. Should he even take this chance? Would he hurt her when he did? He was larger and thicker than most guys, but would that act destroy what they had now? Their friendship? Her feelings for him? Would making love change everything, just because he couldn't resist her? Worse, oh, God, no, would she turn into another… mistake? A witch? Was it him? Was he the problem?

Her wet, breathy kiss against the underside of his scruffy chin brought Grissom back to his senses. Tuesday lay there serene and angelic beneath him. Waiting. For him, for hell's sake. Him, of all the men she could have chosen. Just knowing she was content to wait for him, while he'd allowed doubt to creep in, made Grissom want to crow. She wasn't Pam. Never would be. No matter what he did or how many mistakes he made, Tuesday loved him. She didn't need to say it for him to be sure.

Peering into those trusting emerald depths, his very own private pools of wonder, Grissom knew this was the right time and she was the only woman for him. Tuesday's peaceful acquiescence, her submissive acceptance of him and his decision to go slow, made him the man he was meant to be. Her man.

Grissom tipped forward on his knees until he was nose to nose with the adorable goddess waiting patiently beneath him. "Mind if I take off the rest of your clothes?"

"Not if I can undress you, too," she whispered coyly.

"Absolutely."

It took seconds to get her bare. Then came the difficult part of this coy game. Striving for patience, Grissom laid back and allowed a very naked Tuesday the experience of undressing him for her first time. He caught the indecision in her eyes once she smoothed his t-shirt up and out of her way. He nearly died and went to heaven when she leaned forward, the deep pink tips of her lush breasts brushing his bare stomach while her hands smoothed over his chest like she was touching a treasure. How her mouth formed a perfect O. How she kept licking those wet, strawberry lips. How her thumbs scrubbed his nipples as lightly as an angel's touch. How her eyes sparkled with delight and wonder. How hard it was keeping his dick under control once the naked woman on his bed unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and clambered to her feet to pull his pants off his long legs.

By then, his balls were blue fucking smurfs. The last thing he needed to hear was when Tuesday said, "You're so big. Are you sure you're—?"

"I'm sure," he answered, rolling her carefully to her back. "I'm damned sure."

Grissom was on his knees to this woman, his ass in the air. So ready. So damned lost in love. His cock was jonesing to get things going. Reaching down, he gave it a tiny sip of the pleasure dripping from her folds, then tipped forward, barely thrusting into her, watching Tuesday's eyes flash with sudden awareness of what they were about to do.

"Are you just going to stare at me?"

Grissom nodded, because words failed as their very first glide-and-slide began. Her body clenched so damned tight around him, strangling his cock, refusing entry. He took a deep breath and backed off. They had the rest of the night to make this work. Plenty of time.

"It won't fit," she whispered. For an untouched virgin her age, one who hadn't touched herself in play or curiosity, of course it hurt.

"It'll fit, trust me. Women have babies and most babies are lots bigger than me. Breathe, just breathe. No rush." Didn't matter that his damned cock had morphed into a steel spike or that she was the one who had set it on fire. Tonight was only about Tuesday.

‘Play. This first time has to be good for her. It has to be about play. Just play.'

Lowering to one elbow, he slid his free hand over her breast, tweaking her nipple while covering her mouth with his. Their tongues clashed and chased each other, lighting yet another urgent message that all systems below were go, go, go.

Still, he dallied, intent on taking the worry out of this monumental first. On kissing Tuesday as long as she needed in order to relax; on savoring the miracle of being with this very naked beauty. Carefully, he squeezed her breast, then the other, while the creature of satin, silk, and a bit of sin writhed beneath him, scrubbing her smooth, sleek body against his, urging him to the inevitable.

Her fingers on his scalp tenderly massaged away the dam that had forever blocked the blood supply to his brain. Shivers tingled up his spine as her gentle touch awakened every last one of his nerve endings.

But next she turned into some kind of dominatrix, her nails biting the cheeks of his ass. Grissom damned near squeaked at the sting. He'd never been a fan of the BDSM movement sweeping the world with its lies of physical abuse causing pleasure. The two were diametrically opposed in his book. Having witnessed what women and girls overseas suffered on a daily basis was a powerful deterrent, and lifting a hand against any female had never been a turn-on for him.

But if Tuesday kept up with that back and forth, her fingers soft and sweet on his scalp one moment, then digging into his ass the next, that he could live with. She couldn't hurt a big guy like him. Problem was, he'd come before she did if she kept it up, and that just wasn't right. Time for plan B.

Deserting her succulent breasts, he dragged his free hand down her centerline, over her taut belly to her luscious folds. Like playing with liquid fire helped his control? Hell, no. The scent of her arousal bloomed like roses in his nose. Everything inside of him powered forward.

"Hold on, love," he ordered, his voice gruff and raw.

"Am I ready?"

"Yeah. Ready. Now. Hurry." I've let you play too long, and damn it, woman, you're good.

The second her fingers settled over his shoulders, Grissom surged forward. Less than an inch, but damn. His control was shredded.

Her hands slipped down his ribcage, plucking his ribs like piano keys. Once again, those fingers landed on his ass and out came her nails. Digging in. Painfully. Marking him with erotic stabs and pinches he'd never experienced before, and just enough sass that…

"Do it," she hissed, thrusting upward and onto him.

Just that fast, he was balls deep, lost in the deepest, sweetest clinch of his life.

Fuck! Her inner muscles were like fingers, squeezing the hell out of him. She was so damned tight, and he was gloriously deep. He stopped. Tuesday hadn't whined or screamed yet, had just forced him into her body with that one powerful jerk and…

Damned if this tiny virgin wasn't a helluva lot stronger than she looked.

Pulsing with the urgent need to, ‘Move it!', Grissom began a rhythmic series of thrusts that took him deeper each time. Pushing in. Pulling out. Slipping just far enough out. Sliding just hard enough back in. Not too far. Not too deep. No sense rushing, despite Tuesday's tendency to explode on contact.

Too bad she didn't share the concept of going slow.

Her thighs were more muscled than he'd expected, especially now, when he could feel the impact of her naked body slamming against his. As slow as he meant to go, her upward thrusts were feverishly brutal. His woman was a natural. Their bodies weren't just coming together, not as hard as she kept banging into him. Smacking against his pubic bone. Her fingernails still tacked onto his ass.

At last. He was through. But what the fuck? Was she fucking him? Was demur little Tuesday Smart one of those legendary Amazonian women come to life? In his bed? Was this determined woman so fierce and so driven, that he was now the weaker sex? Oh, hell no.

With one firm fist gripping her gorgeous ass, Grissom got serious. She wanted to play rough? Game on. Growling from the sheer pleasure of being set free, yet still making sure he didn't bump her bandaged wound, he slammed forward, going as deep as he could. Keeping his mouth on her breast, he sucked hard, stretched that cocky nipple, marking her creamy skin and branding her inside and out. Like primal man did to his woman back in the Stone Ages. With fury, lust, sweat, and a fuck-ton of animal passion.

Right on time, too. Tuesday's legs stiffened into planks. Her weeping core became a burning fist of fire, strangling his cock, reminding him that this was how she'd survived all those years of torment and death. By being strong and fierce, by killing him in the best way.

Tuesday'd been honed in the worst fires possible. Somewhere along the line, she'd apparently elected to become one helluva survivor instead of just another whiny victim. Victoriously strong, she'd conquered her attackers, every last one of them. Grief. Death. The extreme solitude of her chosen profession. The almighty FBI with their illicit, illegal outreach. Hell, even that pig, Maeve Astor. Estes. Pam. Moreno. And now…

She was conquering him and her virginity, both in one fell swoop.

"Fuck, yeah!" Grissom hissed, unloading into Tuesday's sweat-slickened body.

The power and energy of their coming together blew his mind. Her body's grip was so damned strong, and her core so phenomenally tight, he could not catch a full breath. Not deep enough to get him through the onslaught of aftershocks radiating through her body to his, holding his rigid cock in place, as if it—he—had no will. No choice. Which he kinda didn't. What red-blooded man wanted one?

The sweetest, feminine, "Wow," shivered over his sweaty chest. Balanced on both palms to keep from crushing her, Grissom stared down at the woman he adored, sweat dripping through his bangs and stinging his eyes. What a rush! "For a tiny thing, you're dynamite in bed, woman."

Delight, joy, and a butt-load of womanly satisfaction glittered back at him. Not a hint of red-light stop, stop, stop in sight. Damned if those darling absinthe eyes didn't light up like traffic lights, all sparkly go, go, go. Made a man proud to realize he'd met his match. His one and only. That he, Grissom McCoy, was the first and would damned well be the last man claiming Tuesday Smart. His soulmate. His other half. His true destiny. She was no shrinking violet, and if that cocky smirk of hers meant what he hoped it did, they were headed for one helluva repeat performance.

There was no need to ask if he'd hurt her, and he'd never admit she'd hurt him. She hadn't. She couldn't, not as small as she was. That constellation of tiny, indented crescents she'd marked his hairy ass with were precisely what had pushed him off the edge of worry and right into her. They'd taken their Leap of Faith together.

He offered another breathless, "Again?"

The wide grin that cracked her pretty face was the perfect answer. Tuesday Smart was one helluva dynamo, and Grissom was up for the challenge.