Chapter Five
Smack. Smack. SMACK. Something was beating the hell out of her. “Why do I ache?” Reagan asked herself. Everything was fuzzy and she really didn’t want to wake. Unfortunately, she felt like she was lying on the beach. Some sort of sand was creeping into a number of inconvenient places and aggravating her skin.
“Miss? Goddamnit! Wake up!” John Tate had been trying for a few moments to revive the woman. He was beginning to worry that her state was worse than he had originally expected. This was turning rapidly into a rather exceptional evening of surveillance.
Reagan’s green eyes flashed open. “Don’t swear at me! I’m getting up.” She lifted her head but immediately regretted it. Dizziness and nausea engulfed her, making the room spin. She groaned.
“Don’t overdo it,” the strange man urged her. “Do you hurt anywhere?”
Reagan refocused and looked around. She appeared to be lying on the floor of her own kitchen. The florescent lights were a bit too bright for comfort. The man leaning over her smelled really good. He smelled like fresh soap on warm skin. She rode out another dizzy spell. He had dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a very hard manly face. “I think I’m okay. A little dizzy. I’d like to try sitting up now.”
He gently helped her into a sitting position. She was mildly surprised to find herself lying in sugar. That must be what was both abrading her skin and creating a sticky dew on the more moist locations of her anatomy.
“Not to be inhospitable,” she began, “but who are you?”
“Detective John Tate, Chicago P.D. I was on my way home when I heard the call on my radio, so I joined the responding units. Can I get you something to drink or something?”
“Yes, some water. There should be a bottle or two in the refrigerator over there.” She pointed. “Help yourself.” He reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two ice cold bottles of water, handing her one. She pressed hers to her forehead trying to use the coolness to ease the nausea. When she pulled the bottle away from her head, she noticed blood clinging to the sweating bottle. “I think I hurt my head.”
“Head wounds always gush. It doesn’t look serious, but we have an ambulance coming to check you out anyway.”
“Great.” She said this with something considerably less than enthusiasm. “It seems my humiliation is to be complete. At least the security service is thorough. I didn’t realize all of this came with the box.” She sipped her water.
“I’m sorry?” He seemed confused.
“The security alarm. You came because I pressed the trouble button, right?” She decided it was time to stand up, so she moved to do so. He helped her gain her feet in the slippery sugar.
“Uh, no. Actually I believe the units responded because your neighbor called about some noise, some kind of disturbance. Why did you press the trouble button?”
“Well, there was the small matter of two scruffy strangers breaking into my kitchen. I pressed the button before I confronted them.” She was much less dizzy now, but still uncomfortable. There was a headache building and sticky grit all over her.
“You confronted them? With what, this?” He smiled and held up her tennis racket. “Did you warm up with a volley?”
“Laugh if you must, it was all I could find at the moment.” She smiled back, noticing not for the first time that he was a very attractive man. Just then, two emergency medical technicians wandered into the kitchen from the front of the house.
“I’m going to let these two men check you out, and then we’ll get a full statement, okay? I’ll let Mr. Rosenfrend next door know that you are back on your feet.” He smiled again and left her alone with the two very efficient and professional EMTs.
