by Tia Louise
“I read that somewhere.”
“It’s good.” A police siren pierces the quiet, and I look over at her. “This is a terrible neighborhood. What are you doing here?”
“Trying to make ends meet. Something I’m sure you know nothing about.”
“I’ve told you. You don’t know about my past, Sin.” I glance at the corner, where I saw hoodie guy go. “You have my number. Call me if anything goes wrong. Or you feel scared.”
I can’t imagine her being afraid, but this time when she looks at me, the fire has subsided. At least momentarily.
“Thank you.” She steps away from the door, arms crossed. “I helped Court get a restraining order. Now we have a patrol car that drives by every night between ten and eleven.”
She seems very proud, and I don’t want to burst her bubble with how uncomfortable this makes me. “I’m available 24-7.”
“I’ll remember that.”
My hands are in my pockets, and I start for the stairs. I hate leaving her here, this way, but it’s what she wants. Just before descending, I pause. “I’ll need to see you Monday at eleven.” Sliding one hand up my waist, I squint. “Irritated my back chasing after you just now.”
“I’ll make an appointment and send you a confirmation.”
“Goodnight, Joselyn.”
I’m at my car when I hear the door slam and the lock click. Climbing inside, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. It has the letters TY and a little red heart in the Notes field.
Oh, Sin, if you think this is charity, you’re dead wrong.
Chapter 21
Joselyn
Mr. Santiago rebooked for Sunday afternoon.
He texted just as I was closing my eyes last night asking if I could see him today. Of course, I said yes, only mildly hesitant about appearing too available.
Hell, I need the work. Other than him, I’ve only got Spencer on the books for tomorrow morning.
I do have an interview at Court’s place tomorrow afternoon, but I’m not sure how soon I’ll get started or how much work it will be, or when I’ll get paid…
“So, you see, I am desperate,” I sigh to myself, scanning the office directory outside the elevators of the Member’s Mark building.
A chubby security guard sits near the glass doors staring at his phone. He doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, but at least he’s here, he has a gun, and he nodded when I said I was seeing Mr. Santiago.
The bell dings, and I step inside the glass tube heading to the top floor.
We spent the weekend scouring Zillow for apartment listings and doing our best to keep things upbeat and normal for Oliver. Our nightly police drive-by has continued, which makes us feel a little secure, and Spencer’s offer has been burning a hole in my chest since Friday.
My heart is screaming I should have let him kiss me, but my head is a stubborn old nun saying I did the right thing. I won’t be used and tossed in the trash… although, I am a bit embarrassed about overreacting to seeing him with Heather.
Way to show your cards, Sly.
The elevator dings again, and I step out into a dim hallway. With all the office doors closed, the reception area is illuminated only by the emergency exit lights. If it weren’t five in the afternoon, it would be creepy.
I follow the directions to the third door on the left and tap lightly, “Mr. Santiago?”
The door slowly opens with a light creak, and lying before me on a table is an olive-skinned man without a shirt. He’s face-down, so I only see his back, and he’s not as defined as Spencer. Still, I can tell he works out.
The blinds covering the windows are closed, and the room is dim. He’d said in our text he had his own equipment, which is unusual but not unheard of. I didn’t question it. The less I have to carry, the easier it is to get out of here if I feel uncomfortable.
“Miss Winthrop, I’ve been waiting for you.” It’s a mid-level voice with a touch of an accent I can’t place, almost British.
A Bluetooth speaker is on the edge of the desk playing island music.
Shaking away my hesitation, I lower my bag into a chair. “Looks like you know as much about my job as I do.”
“I’ve spent time with massage therapists.” He doesn’t look up, and it’s starting to get weird.
“I’ll just get started then.” Taking out my oils, I place the warming plate beside the small speaker. “Would you prefer peppermint or lavender?”
“Neither, if you don’t mind.”
A quick nod, and I put the items back in my bag. “You said the pain is coming from a lower back strain?’
“Yes.”
Rubbing my hands together, I start with light strokes on his shoulders slowly making my way down. “If the pressure is too intense, just let me know.”
I’m quiet, working steadily, focusing on my hands. I assume he’s fallen asleep when he speaks. “Tell me about yourself.”
It’s an odd question, but I don’t mind answering. “Well, let’s see… I grew up in a small town about two hours from here…”
“What brought you to the city?”
“College. I started at the university in horticulture, but then I switched over to Palmetto to study sports medicine. I really got into the massage therapy and wellness aspect of recovery.”
“Horticulture to sports medicine is a big switch. Is it because you had friends in the field?”
I’ve answered this question before, and I start to relax as I talk about my goals. “I was drawn to the program because I’ve always been interested in the healing arts. Flowers bring joy and lift the spirit. Certain scents can elevate your mood. It’s all related.”
“So you made friends in college?” His question is forceful and a little confusing, jumping back to why I came here.
I return to my original assumption he’s foreign—perhaps he’s looking for a way to make friends? But he works in this busy office.
“Miss Winthrop?”
Clearing my throat, I move my hands into what he said was the injured part of his back, deepening the pressure. He doesn’t even flinch.
“Is this too much pressure?”
“Not at all.”
My shoulders tense, and I step back, picking up my towel and wiping my arms. “You’re not really injured are you?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” It’s a smooth observation, a smile in his voice, almost like he’s leading me with his words.
Picking up my bag, I take another step away from the table. “Why are you asking about my friends?”
“I’m wondering how you came to know my wife, Miss Winthrop. I’m wondering how you got the idea in your head you have any say in what she does with our son.”
My heart leaps to my throat, and I bolt for the door, throwing my bag over my shoulder as I run.
Ozzy is off the table like a jaguar, nearly catching me. The whisper of his hand just missing my arm causes me to shriek, and I grab the doorknob, jerking it open. It’s just enough delay for him to grab the back of my scrubs.
“No!” I scream, falling on my stomach in the hallway.
Clawing the floor, I manage to get my feet under me and pull myself up before he can land on top of me. Running as hard as I can to the door, I fling everything I pass in the way behind me—a chair, a potted tree, the computer screen off the receptionist’s desk. It lands with a massive crash.
If I’m lucky, there’s a security camera. Otherwise, whoever owns this office is going to be confused when they come into work tomorrow. Slamming the doors of the suite, I see his shadow rising up in the frosted glass, and I drag a long, metal planter in front of it.
He hits it with a slam, and I run hard to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly, looking back over my shoulder, crying out as I pant for breath.
He’s almost through the door, and I give up, scanning all over the place for the stairs. “Where are they?”
My eyes land on the sign for the restrooms. Deciding I don’t have time to wait, I run full-s
peed into what turns out to be an enormous stone facility.
A powder area with sinks and a full-length mirror divides the front from the 12 stalls in the back. It’s empty and dark, and I run to the middle stall, pushing open a door and quickly sliding the lock before crawling, military-style on my belly under the dividers to the very last one.
I lock that door as well and step carefully onto the toilet seat. I don’t know if he saw me come in, and I clutch my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing, straining my ears for any sound of footsteps.
Tears stream down my cheeks. I’m winded, and every snort, every heavy exhale feels magnified a thousand times in this stone enclosure.
“Joselyn…” Ozzy sing-songs my name like it’s a horror film, and more tears coat my face. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Joselyn. I just want to talk.”
He slaps the doors open, one by one, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying to God and the saints, and the Fireside ladies to help me.
“Have you ever watched a house cat play with a mouse?” Slam! He pushes another door open, slowly moving down the row. “House cat’s not hungry. He doesn’t want to deal with all that fur and blood and guts…” Slam! Another door… “He plays with it until it stops fighting back. Then he gives it a warning…” Slam! He’s one door away from… “Sometimes the warning is a little too rough, and the mouse dies. Either way, the mouse gets the message. Tell me, Joselyn, are you getting the message?”
Clink… He’s at the door I locked, and my eyes squeeze shut. “Did you really think a flimsy little lock would keep me out?”
At the first Boom! of his boot striking particleboard, I step down from the toilet, sliding the lock slowly open.
Another Boom! and my lips squeeze shut against a scream. As soon as he breaks through that wrong door, I plan to run as hard as I can for the exit.
It’s my only hope of escaping.
It’s got to work.
My fingers grip the handle for his last kick when Woosh!
The toilet behind me automatically flushes.
I jerk the door open and our eyes meet. His glitter with satisfaction, but I swing my bag of massage oils, warming saucer, and rocks with all my might, aiming for his head as I run directly at him.
He’s taken aback that I’m running at him, and the bag strikes his temple, throwing him to the ground. On the way down, he grabs my leg, and I go down, too, striking my cheek against the stall divider.
Light explodes behind my eyes, and I roll onto my back with a moan.
Ozzy pushes off the floor. “Look what you made me do.”
The sound of his voice spikes adrenaline in my veins, and I shake off my disorientation. I’m on my feet again, snatching up my bag and running at top speed for the exit.
Sticky blood is on my cheek, but I don’t stop running. I’m in the marble foyer, and I see the sign for the stairs.
Bursting through the doors, I run around and around, gasping for air, exhaling little cries of fear, flying as fast as I can down all twenty-two floors to the bottom. I slam the metal crash doors open and don’t even pause for the security guard. I’m in the parking lot, in Betsy, screeching away towards the apartment.
We can’t stay there tonight.
Chapter 22
Spencer
Rocking back in my chair, I tap my finger against my desktop waiting for Joselyn to appear. It’s Monday morning, and after our encounter Friday night, I didn’t expect her to be late. She’s very law-abiding these days.
On Friday, it took all my willpower to hold back from kissing her. Her reaction to seeing me having dinner with Heather was quite satisfying. What am I going to do with this woman—and Heather with the nonstop jokes.
Heather actually texted me, Some people are worth melting for, which apparently is from a children’s movie. I didn’t reply.
At last, my door opens, and Joselyn breezes in, rolling her chair. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic this morning was crazy, and it took me a little longer to get out the door…”
She’s wearing dark sunglasses and too much makeup, but she can’t hide the large purple bruise and cut held together with a butterfly bandage across her cheek.
“What the hell?” I’m out of my chair, crossing the room. “What happened to your face?”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” She waves her hand, but I lightly place my fingers on her chin, tilting her head to the side and doing my best not to hurt her.
“How did this happen?”
“I just… fell.”
She turns away quickly, pressing her lips together. I notice a tremor in her voice, and my stomach knots all the way up to my throat. She’s hiding something, and I have a sneaking suspicion I know what it is. All I can think of is hoodie guy disappearing around the corner outside her apartment complex on Friday.
I should never have left her there alone.
“What made you fall?” My voice is low, icy calm.
“Spencer…” It’s a breathy retort, and she waves as if she’ll brush aside my concern. “It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ve got it under control.”
Catching her by the arms, I make her face me. “Did he do it? The husband?”
“It wasn’t like that. It was my own stupid fault. I took an appointment with an unknown client. I should never have gone alone to an office building after hours for someone I don’t know. It’s just common sense.”
With every word, the fury in my chest grows tighter. “What office building?”
“Member’s Mark.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know.” She’s quiet, subdued. “We went to the police station and filed a complaint. Since he didn’t actually hit me, and I went there to meet him without being coerced, they’re saying there’s little they can do. I ran from him, and when he tried to catch me, I fell and hit my cheek on the bathroom stall.”
“You were in the women’s restroom… with him?”
She nods, and I can tell she’s afraid.
Her fear has murder on my mind. “You’re not going back to that apartment. You’re not going out of my sight until this situation is resolved.”
She laughs bitterly. “And how do you propose we resolve it?”
“It’s very easy. You’re going to pack your things and move into my house until we find you a better place to live.”
Her jaw drops, but I hold up a finger. “No arguments. Tell Courtney and her son. I have plenty of room.”
“Courtney will not go for this. Ollie has school, and she already said he’ll find her wherever she goes.”
My fist tightens, and darkness clouds my vision. I’d love for that bastard to try something at my home. I’d love to show him what a real man will do. Clearing my throat, I give a more civilized answer.
“Our office has security on call for when we’re transporting expensive items. I’ll tell them I need a man at my house around the clock until further notice. Better yet, I’ll have him assigned to you until further notice. You’ll be perfectly safe—as long as you don’t do anything foolish like taking appointments from clients you don’t know. Even then…”
“I needed the money, Spencer. And I’m not having a security guard following me around like I’m the damned Queen of England. I have an interview this afternoon with Palmetto Rehab. If they give me a job, they’ll have security on-site, and then I won’t need to take any more clients I don’t know.”
Her protests fall on deaf ears. I turn to my desk, punching up Allied Universal on my iPad and arranging for a guard to start today. “Did you report what happened to Member’s Mark?”
“No.”
“They need to know exactly what happened, when, and where.”
“It was all so fast. I haven’t really had a chance to process everything…” Her face lowers, and when she blinks, a crystal tear hits her cheek.
It’s like a fist smashing in and grabbing my heart.
“Come here.” I pull her to my chest, and she melts into me. “You’re okay
now. I’ve got you. We’re going to find this guy and get him behind bars. In the meantime, you’ll be safe with me.”
“I can’t do that, Spencer. I don’t belong to you.”
Sliding my hand up and down her back, I vaguely note the prick her words cause in my chest. “It’s not about belonging. It’s about your safety—and Courtney’s. Men like that typically don’t stop until they have what they want.”
And I’ll be damned if he hurts Joselyn again.
“I can’t commit to something like that without talking to Court, and if she’s not onboard, I can’t leave her alone. I promised I’d stay with her, and we’ve been doing okay. We have a patrol car driving by every night—”
This stubborn, beautiful woman. At least she’s letting me comfort her. I’d like to kiss her, take her home, and lock the door, throw away the key.
Enough.
I step away, going to the desk and picking up my office phone. “Call her now and ask her. I’ll talk to her myself if necessary.”
She watches me, looking from my face to the phone, but slowly she takes it and gingerly types the numbers into the keypad.
I take a seat in my desk chair, picking up a stress ball and squeezing it in my fist.
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a fight, but I can see myself smashing that guy’s head against the concrete. Repeatedly.
“Court?” Her eyes blink away, and she turns her back. “Hey… I’m just at my appointment with Spencer. He’s kind of angry. He wants us to live with him until Ozzy’s off the streets.” She exhales a laugh. “I know, that’s what I said.”
Leaning forward, I’m out of my chair, walking around to stand in front of her again.
When she looks up at me, I offer to take the phone, but she shakes her head no. “He says there’s plenty of room, and they have this on-call security guard. I know it’s silly…” Her eyes close, and I feel like she’s not selling it until they open again, wider. “What? You think it’s a good idea? Yeah, hang on.”
Lowering the receiver from her ear, she holds it out. “She’d like to talk to you.”
