by Kelli Walker
“Rocco.”
Dr. Jones whimpered my name and it pulled me from my trance. I whipped my head back around, pushing myself off the window. I strode over to her and brought her back into my body. I felt her hands cling to my shirt against as she shivered against my chest. My eyes fell to the floor as the security guard that was been stationed outside pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket. He picked up the brick and brought it over to the kitchen table, and my eyes caught his name badge.
Chelsey.
Holy hell, I hoped that was his last name.
I felt Dr. Jones sniffle into my chest and I peered down. She had her eyes screwed shut and her hands curled so tightly into my shirt her knuckles were white. I scooped her into my arms, holding her against me as if she were a tender bride. I moved the major shards of glass around with my boots before I settled her back down into a chair, then promptly started looking over her body.
I wanted to make sure she hadn’t been hurt.
“Boss, you need to see this,” Chelsey said.
I panned my gaze over as I stood up, taking in the note he had in his hand. He held it with the rubber glove, but the look on his face told me something nasty was written on that piece of paper. I took the rubber glove from his hand and grabbed the note. I looked at Dr. Jones wiping her tears away and felt something tug in my gut. My eyes fell over the note and I started at the top. I didn’t try to analyze why this note was handwritten. I didn’t try to deconstruct the type of pen strokes used and what that said about the personality of our author.
The only thing I read were the words. And even I felt a shiver work its way up my spine.
Charity,
If you think your guards can help you, rest assured I will find a way to get to you. You’ll have to leave at some point. Those men look like they can really eat. I hope you rest well, beautiful. Because it’s not possible to guard every inch of your home at the same time.
Okay. So planting a guard at the front door did work.
I shoved the note into the chest of Chelsey and ripped out my cell phone. I had a slew of missed phone calls from Matthew, but I was in lockdown mode. I needed to communicate to him what had happened, what I had, and what he needed to do. So, I pulled up an email to him and began to swipe my thumb along the keyboard.
Matthew,
Search the city for any and all dark green Chevy trucks. Year make 2003-2006. Smaller models. Plain hubcaps. Tinted windows still within the legal limit. License plate beginning in A-F-R. Possibly A-F-B. Get a team to Dr. Jones’ brownstone to secure the scene. Chelsey will brief. Don’t ask questions.
Rocco Taylor
I shot the email off to my partner before I turned back around to Charity. She was no longer crying. No longer wiping away tears. Just staring off into space as Chelsey began the painstaking process of trying to pull something off that damn brick. My eyes swept along her body one last time, making sure she hadn’t been hurt in my tackle. Or cut by any glass. And when I was sure she was okay, I turned my sights back on that note.
It was handwritten, which meant this was getting personal to the stalker. The handwriting was neat. Succinct. Which usually denoted the fact that the writer was a woman. Matthew would be able to use that to narrow down suspects. And in my mind, my suspicions turned away from family and settled onto a fanatic.
Someone that had been a fan of Skylar Lane.
The thought made me sick. I walked over to Dr. Jones and scooped her back into my arms, ready to get her out of this scene. She didn’t need to see the throngs of men that were about to bombard her home. The police that would filter in and cordon off her kitchen. I walked her up the stairs, feeling her go limp in my grasp. I walked into her room and placed her down onto her bed, then pulled the covers over her.
Before I could catch myself, I reached down to her neck. I smoothed her hair away from it, tucking it gently behind her ear. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t turn my way to do anything. All she did was stare off at the wall as I went to check her window.
And once I was sure it was locked, I closed the blinds and made my way out of her room.
“What are you thinking, boss?”
I made my way down the stairs and drew in a deep breath as my attention turned its way back to Chelsey.
“I think this is personal. Which rules out any and all family members related to Mr. Lane. I want us looking into personal connections to Dr. Jones now. Someone she’s encountered that has also crossed paths with Skylar Lane. I want no stone unturned. It could be someone as innocuous as a patient she once had in her care at the hospital herself.”
“So, you don’t want us looking into Mr. Lane’s family any longer?” he asked.
“No. I don’t. Our efforts there are fruitless. I want us looking into joint connections, starting with the people that visited Mr. Lane in prison. Also, we can forget the men,” I said.
“Why the men?”
“Because the handwriting on that note is too straight, too perfect, and written in cursive. What man do you know who writes like that?” I asked.
“Fair enough. Want me to field the team when they get here?”
“Yes. And update the police once they arrive as well. I’ve got some research I want to do. Things I want to look into myself.”
“On it, boss,” Chelsey said.
“Tell Matthew I’ll be in the room over here if he needs me,” I said.
I didn’t wait for Chelsey’s response before I strode through the kitchen, into the bedroom, and closed the doors behind me.
Time to do a little digging of my own.
Charity
When my eyes finally opened from sleep, it was dark outside. I stretched and groaned, feeling my joints pop and my back snap back into place. A rush of relief ran through my body as I let my eyes fall closed again. What time was it? How long had I been asleep?
I slid from my bed and looked over at the window. I wanted to go peek outside, but I was too afraid to. That brick flying through the window had rattled me to my core. It made my hyper-aware of everything around me that could be penetrated and destroyed in a heartbeat. I swung my legs over the other end of my bed and got up that way. Heading straight for the door as I felt along the wall. The house was dark. It felt like it was the middle of the night. The only thing that told me it was still technically daytime were the wonderful smells wafting up from the kitchen.
Someone was cooking dinner.
I felt around for the door to my bathroom and practically fell into it. I caught myself against the counter, barely holding myself up as I tripped over my own two feet. I reached out and turned on the light, shielding my eyes from the harsh fluorescent glare. But when my eyes adjusted and the darkness was chased away, I took stock of my appearance.
The bags underneath my eyes were puffy and my eyes themselves were bloodshot. Riddled with veins and lined with red. I reached for a washcloth and ran it underneath some cold water. I pressed the cloth to my face, trying to get some of the swelling to go down. I had angry red marks on my cheeks from my pillow I let the cloth run over. I slowly stroked my skin, trying to get it to calm down.
But the more I thought about the incident that morning, the more my heart sped up.
It made me worried for my safety more than I had ever been. And I was finally thanking Reese silently to myself. I did need help. I did need someone to help look after me. That brick had scared me more than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. And that included my job as a surgeon.
It also served to make me feel safer with him.
With Rocco.
He was a massive man, but holy hell his reflexes were incredible. The way he had taken me to the ground before pulling me underneath the table at lightning speed had robbed me of my breath. He had been so willing to blanket me. To cover me and protect me from whatever danger had been present. Thinking about it tugged at my heartstrings.
Then again, it was his job.
No use being flattered over it.
/> I placed the washcloth down and cupped my hands underneath the cold running water. I splashed it into my face, blowing bubbles in it as it trickled through my fingers. I drew in some deep breaths before I dried myself off. Then, I made my way back into my room to change my clothes.
I was still in my nightgown from the night before.
I stayed clear of my window. I kept my eyes on it, just in case whoever it was from this morning came back. I quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. No use in not being comfortable through my anxiety. I grabbed my cardigan from my closet and wrapped it around my shoulders, then reached for my cell phone off my bedside table.
The smells from the kitchen were calling me, and I felt my mouth watering as I made my way down the stairs.
I saw Rocco’s shoulders come into view. He stood there at the stove, moving his arm back and forth. He was hunched over, paying attention to something in front of him. And as I made my way into the kitchen, I saw the spread over on the kitchen table.
My eyes widened as I licked my lips. There was a pitcher of tea and a pitcher of lemonade. There was asparagus in a heaping pile on a plate in the middle of the table. Mashed cheesy potatoes were steaming in a large bowl with a spoon sticking out of it. There was bread sliced into chunks with an olive oil and seasoning dipping sauce. There were plates and knives and glasses with ice that looked as if they had just been prepared.
I saw something quick move out of the corner of my eye and flinched.
I turned quickly and saw Rocco moving away from the stove. He stabbed something in the pan and heaved it onto the plate, and I watched as the steak dripped with juices. My stomach growled out over the sizzling. I could have sworn I saw a grin tick Rocco’s cheek as he put the other steak onto his plate. He walked over to the stove and set the hot pan onto the back-burner, then turned to me and nodded.
My eyes fell to the oven as he opened it, showcasing the blackberry cobbler he had slowly baking in the oven.”
“Oh my gosh,” I groaned.
If I had questioned his grin, there was no questioning it now. It slid across his cheeks effortlessly before he held out his hand. He ushered me over to my seat before he sat down beside me, the table full of foods I was ready to devour.
The two of us loaded up our plates and filled our glasses before we dug in.
Everything I tasted was divine. The steak was cooked to perfection. As tender as any steak could have been. The juices of the steak dripped over to my mashed potatoes and I stirred it all together. The asparagus had been grilled with garlic. They snapped against my teeth as I chewed it and swallowed it down. I felt ravenous. Alternating between massive bites of food and chugging down the perfectly-brewed unsweet tea Rocco had made.
I felt his eyes on me. But every time I looked over at him, he averted his gaze.
Just the idea that he was watching me burned my gut. I’m sure I looked insane, shoveling my face full of food. But I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d slept the day away, essentially. The sun sat beyond the window that had somehow been quickly replaced. The new pane of glass shone a glistened a little more than the one beside it. A small, yet stark, reminder of the morning’s events. It caused me to slow down. To savor my food and not chew it up so quickly. I leaned back into my chair and brought my tea to my lips, allowing my eyes to wander around the room.
The entire place had been cleaned up. It looked as if nothing had ever happened.
My eyes slid over Rocco’s body as he hunched over his plate and ate. If he knew I was staring, he didn’t make any attempt to make me aware of it. The silence between us was comfortable. Unlike the tense silence it had been only a few days ago. I found my mind wondering about him. Trying to pick apart the silent hulk that refused to engage in conversation.
Why wouldn't he speak with me? Was it that he couldn't? Or what he didn't want to? Had I done something to make him feel uncomfortable? Or was he simply trying to stay focused on his work?
I wanted to know more about him, despite the fact that he refused to engage in conversation. I wondered if he would answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions about himself. Personal questions, if I tossed them at him.
Only one way to find out.
“Did you have a good childhood?” I asked.
His fork stopped halfway up to his mouth before his eyes flickered up to mine.
Too much too soon, Charity. Bring it back.
“I just meant, did you grow up around here. You know, in the city,” I said.
Rocco quirked an eyebrow at me before he wrapped his thin lips around his fork. He slid the food off the utensil and I was convinced he wouldn't respond. Wouldn't engage in any sort of personal conversation.
Then, I watched him nod his head.
“Oh! Well, me too. On the other side of Manhattan. Are you familiar with Manhattan?” I asked.
He nodded his head again.
“Did you grow up around that area, too?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“SoHo?”
A shake of his head.
“The Bronx?” I asked.
A very curt shake of his head.
“Harlem?”
And then, I watched him nod.
“Oh. Well. That must have been interesting. Did you grow up with siblings? I’m an only child myself,” I said.
I watched him shake his head ‘no’.
“Well, that’s something we have in common, then. We’re both only children.”
His eyes stayed connected with mine as I took another sip of my tea.
“Do your parents still live in the area?” I asked.
Then, he gave me a curious response.
He shrugged.
“You don’t know?” I asked.
And again, he shrugged.
“Do you… not have a good relationship with them?” I asked.
He shot me a look that froze the blood in my veins.
“Okay. Backtracking away from parents. Well, my parents are dead.”
I watched his stare soften as he placed his fork onto his plate.
“Not by anything, like, bad. I just had older parents. They both had their careers and their wants and wishes they wanted to fulfill before having me. Both of them were almost forty by the time I came around. No diseases or anything. Just their bodies giving out over time. My father was diagnosed with cancer when I was fourteen, though. He beat it, thank God. That’s actually what started my journey to want to become a doctor. I saw how all of his doctors and nurses helped to save his life, and I thought to myself, ‘I want to do that, too’. I guess it stuck with me ever since.”
My eyes found his and I saw something akin to empathy racing around behind his stoic gray eyes.
“So, I guess we have that in common, too. You know, wanting to save lives and all,” I said.
The way his unwavering stare didn’t once leave my face made me wonder if he was even listening.
“Did you always want to be a security guard?” I asked.
I watched Rocco blink rapidly, as if pulling himself from a trance before he nodded.
“Well, maybe one day you can tell me the moment you knew you wanted to be a personal security guard,” I said, smiling.
Even though the conversation was only one-sided, it wasn’t at the same time. Not really. I’d figured out a lot about him simply by tailoring the conversation to what he was comfortable with. I had to do it with my patients all the time. Communicate with them and relate to them in a way that made the comfortable enough to talk to me. To tell me things they wouldn't normally tell other people so I could help fix them. Help save them.
Maybe if I worked on Rocco long enough, he’d actually speak to me. No matter how averse he was to it right now.
Rocco
I couldn't stop staring at her. The small snippets of her life were short. To the point. But it exposed so much about the woman I was sharing dinner with. How strong she was. How independent she had become. How steadfast of a human being she had turned int
o. She was intelligent and bright. Easy-going, but stern when it counted. I felt a tug in my chest as I listened to her talk about her life and I tried to distract it with food. With eating. With chugging back the tart lemonade I had managed to throw together.
Because that tug wasn't good.
That tug happened last time. And I couldn't have a repeat of last time. I couldn't allow myself to get swept up into the dazzling existence of this woman in front of me. But even the smallest movements she made intrigued me. Like how she talked with her hands. Or how the corners of her lips curled up into an effortless grin whenever she talked about her childhood in the city. Or how the yellow specks of her eyes reflected the moon as the light streamed through the window I had replaced while she had been sleeping upstairs.
I didn’t want her coming back down into the ruins of her brownstone from earlier.
“I think that was my favorite memory from my childhood, though. Even though it kind of goes against everything I am as a physician of health. My father smoked cigars right there in his office, and the smell was always comforting to me. It signaled that he was home and winding down from his days. I guess he thought that shutting those double doors would keep the smoke out of the rest of the house. Do you smoke, Rocco?”
I shook my head as I stabbed at another piece of my steak.
“Good. It’s a nasty habit. One my mother always got on my father for. It wasn't until he was diagnosed with his lung cancer that he made the effort to stop. But, it was a hard habit to crack. It is for anyone that starts. So, good for you. Don’t ever start,” she said.
I watched her spear a piece of asparagus and inch the entire thing into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around the fork and moaned at the taste. A sound that rocketed electricity up my spine. My eyes dropped to my plate and I continued to eat. I focused on the way the potatoes mingled with my steak. The way the condensation of my glass dripped down onto the table we sat at. The way the warm red center of the steak dripped with juices.
