A Fare To Remember

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Mario recounted the situation point by point. With each revelation, Iris reacted with increased shock.

  “Dios mio! She could have been killed. You both-”

  “I was okay. By the time I realized what was happening, it was over. I got a description of the car. Called it in to my dispatcher. I need to make sure he called the cops.”

  Iris tilted her head, her eyes questioning.

  “I’m retired NYPD,” he explained. “Thirty-five years.”

  Her dark eyes widened. “I didn’t know.”

  “You thought I drove a hack all my life?”

  She shrugged shyly. “I guess we don’t talk as much as we think we do, in between customers, I mean.”

  He nodded. “That’s why I wanted to do the dinner thing tonight. You know, find out about each other.”

  Iris glanced regretfully at Rachel’s bedroom door. “I don’t think we should leave, you know?”

  Yeah, Mario knew. He didn’t want to leave Rachel, either. Funny how the kid had grown on him. Like Iris, Mario had been married before, but he’d never had kids. His wife, God rest her soul, hadn’t been able to conceive. Yet, he’d always looked at the circumstance as a blessing. He’d walked beats in everywhere from Flatbush to Harlem. By the time he’d made detective, he’d seen more than his fair share of cruelty and crime and death. Bringing kids into the world had seemed a bad decision. After his wife died, he hadn’t been so sure.

  But with his job driving cabs, he met lots of young adults who seemed to fill the void. He liked getting to know them, meddling in their lives a bit, using his personal experiences with life and love to push them in the right direction.

  With Rachel, however, he’d screwed up, big time. He would have bet his best night’s tips that Roman Brach hadn’t been up to anything sinister, that her fears about his secretive nature had been nothing more than imagination and supposition-and maybe, he was getting a little on the side. Yeah, he’d pegged Brach for the quiet, untrustworthy type, but he’d never, even with all his old cop’s instincts primed, have imagined the guy had been wrapped up in the criminal world.

  Despite Brach’s claims, Mario had no idea which side Brach was on, but he was going to stick around Rachel’s place long enough to find out.

  “You gonna reopen the stand?”

  Iris pressed her lips tightly together. “I didn’t lock up properly in the rush. I should go back downstairs and make sure I haven’t been robbed blind. But I’ll close for the rest of the day and help watch after our mijita.”

  Mario shifted in his seat. “We could take turns running the register, if you want to stay open.” That way, he could watch the street for any sign of Roman Brach, or the car and drivers that had tried to gun him down.

  “You’d do that?” she asked.

  He knew Iris struggled financially. Most working-class people in New York did. He had a fairly nice nest egg and pension, so he worked more as a way to keep out of trouble, stay active. If he didn’t drive the cab for a few days, no one but his dispatcher would give a damn.

  “We’ll do what we have to,” he replied. “Rachel shouldn’t be alone. I have a strong feeling that the scene on the sidewalk won’t be the last between Rachel and Roman, and one of us should be here to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

  RACHEL BACKED AWAY from her bedroom door.

  Too late, Mario.

  Despite the drugs, she’d been too wound up to really sleep, though the medication had soothed her racing heart to a nice, even beat. She was now calm enough to realize that everything Roman Brach had told her, shown her, implied to her, had likely been a lie. From his profession to his interest in her…hell, probably even to his name.

  And worst of all, his deceptions tore at the very core of who she was. She’d always considered herself smart, savvy, brave. She’d traveled the world with little more than a backpack and passport, even venturing into countries where government rule was as insubstantial as feathers on the wind. She’d studied graphic arts at the best school in Florida, interned with the hottest graphic arts company in Miami, and then hopped on the next plane to New York City to work with the best in the business, bar none. She had no unfulfilled dreams. No unreachable goals. No regrets.

  Until now.

  A broken heart was nothing new. Hers had been cracked and had healed many times. But this time, when she’d least expected the trauma, when she’d told herself over and over that her dalliance with Roman was just an exciting, once-in-a-lifetime affair, she’d been ripped apart at the seams.

  Roman had lied to her in so many ways, her mind was still spinning. She staggered to her bed and clambered back beneath the sheets. Yes, he’d hurt her. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t survive. She just had to figure out how.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE no report of a shooting at Seventy-eighth and Madison? It happened this morning! I was there. I saw it. I heard sirens.”

  “Ma’am, if you were a witness, why didn’t you call earlier?”

  Rachel pressed her lips together tightly. This certainly was a question she’d rather not answer. “I was terrified, okay? Bullets were flying.”

  “Was anyone shot?”

  “Not that I know of. Look, I just want to find out what happened.”

  “So far as my computer shows, ma’am, nothing. Not even a record of a call.”

  Rachel half listened to the desk sergeant as he ran through a list of possibilities for the glitch, her body still numb from the medication Iris had given her, her mind still trapped in the violence she’d witnessed on the street just twelve hours ago-a shooting the NYPD now declared had never happened.

  “You’re sure?” she asked again. “There is no official record? Maybe the investigating officers are still looking into the matter? Haven’t filed the right paperwork yet?”

  Mario had schooled her on the process, but he’d also guessed that by six o’clock in the evening, the computers at the police department would have some reference to the shooting on the sidewalk. When he returned from helping Iris pack up and move the last of her wares back to her apartment, he was going to be shocked by what Rachel had learned.

  Which was, essentially, nothing.

  She thanked the officer and mindlessly hung up the phone.

  The soft knock on the door drew her attention away from the mess with the cops. She’d expected Mario and Iris back any moment and hadn’t thought to give them a key.

  “Just a minute,” she shouted automatically, but recoiled when she touched the dead bolt. What if it wasn’t Mario or Iris?

  “Who is it?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Rachel, it’s me.”

  Roman.

  “Go away,” she ordered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “If I wasn’t, I’d be at the hospital. Or at the morgue.”

  “I’m sorry, Rachel. Please, let me in so I can explain.”

  She laughed. Okay, the situation really wasn’t funny, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the absurdity. Explain? Roman? The king of secrets and lies?

  “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. You’re a liar and maybe even a criminal. Forget you ever met me, Roman. Forget you know where I live. Forget that I’m alive. We’ll both be better off.”

  Though her chest felt as if a heavyweight wrestler had wrapped his arms around her to begin a slow and eventually fatal squeeze, Rachel propelled herself away from the door and waited. She paced the living room, watching the trifecta of locks-a dead bolt, a chain and the key-for any motion. She listened for footsteps in the hallway to announce the arrival of Mario and Iris. She shouldn’t have let them go-but then, she’d encouraged them, hadn’t she? She was a big girl and didn’t need chaperones. What she needed was space-away from Roman, away from the city, away from the memories.

  Infuriated with herself, Rachel slammed into her bedroom. He’d leave. He’d have no choice. God! Why couldn’t Roman’s secret have been just about the sexy w
oman in the skintight leather pants? Why couldn’t he have been just a liar and a cheat? Why did he have to be the kind of man people shot at?

  This wasn’t the life she’d designed for herself. She didn’t have enemies. The most controversial thing she’d ever done was work on the opening credits for a documentary on birth control. Sure, she’d gotten a few nasty e-mails, but so had everyone else whose name had been listed in the credits. No one had targeted her for death.

  But what of the other woman? Maybe Ms. Sleek-and-Sensual was an international drug dealer. Maybe she seduced big government officials and then sold their secrets to the highest bidder? Maybe she had been the target. Not Roman.

  “Who was she?” she muttered.

  “I can answer that.”

  She spun around, her heart slamming up into her throat at the combined surprise and anger at seeing Roman standing in her bedroom doorway.

  “How did you get in?”

  “I had to see you.”

  “You didn’t answer my question! But then, you never do, do you? You just turn the focus on to something else. Get out!”

  She stepped forward, questioning whether or not the ire swimming through her veins was hot enough yet for her to throw him out. No matter what she’d witnessed this morning on the sidewalk, even considering the gun he’d pulled out of nowhere and fired into the street, she wasn’t afraid of him. Her judgment was clearly off, though, so she kept her distance.

  He must have read the fear in her eyes. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Rachel. Ever. I swear.”

  “I have no reason to believe anything you say, Roman.”

  He released a pent-up breath. “I know.”

  “Then why come? Why bother?”

  “I had to see for myself that you weren’t hurt.”

  She spun around in a circle, her arms spread wide. She even managed to cover up the tiny half stumble her dizziness caused when she came to a halt. “I’m perfect. Now, get out.”

  “I wasn’t just worried about you physically, Rachel.”

  She raised her eyebrows high, wanting to make sure he understood his audacity.

  “You’re worried about my feelings? If maybe my heart was broken after seeing you snogging with some sexy chick with no color palette in her fashion decisions? I don’t give a rat’s ass who you screw around with, Roman.”

  “You cared yesterday.”

  “That’s because I was the one you were screwing. So not the case anymore.”

  Emboldened by the fact that she’d sparred with him for a good ten minutes without either dissolving into tears or falling victim to his practiced charm, Rachel took a step closer. Yeah, it hurt like hell to have him here, right in front of her, forcing her to confront the stupidity of her choices over the past four months, but she could take it.

  “Tell me something, Roman.”

  “Anything.”

  She laughed, even as her heart wept, knowing he couldn’t answer the question she was about to pose, even though she was still compelled to ask. “Is anything I know about you true?”

  “What do you know?”

  She cursed. He never could answer a straight question. She’d start simple.

  “Your name?”

  His mouth tightened.

  “Are you a television consultant?”

  Again, nothing.

  “Is that woman your lover?”

  “No.”

  “Never? She’s never been your lover?”

  He glanced aside.

  “An ex. Nice.”

  “I didn’t expect to ever see her again. She only kissed me because she knew you were watching.”

  Rachel staggered a step backward, her knees folding until she sat on the bed. “You knew I followed you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t know. She knew.”

  “How?”

  “Apparently, she’s been following me for the past week.”

  “Hopeful of a romantic reunion?”

  “She and I slept together, Rachel. Nothing more.”

  She leaned back on her hands. “That’s your modus operandi, so I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “She’s involved in my business.”

  “Which isn’t television consultation.”

  “No.”

  She sat up straighter. “Holy shit. I think you just answered a question.”

  “That’s all I can say, Rachel. I’m not really a television consultant. Everything I’ve told you about myself from the first moment we met has been a lie, first as a way to get to know you, then as a way to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  He stared at her and she could see the conflict in his eyes. Truth? Lie? So many choices for a clearly complicated man.

  “From people like the shooter in the car. People who don’t care about collateral damage. That’s only one reason why I should have stopped seeing you months ago.”

  “Why didn’t you?” she challenged.

  He stepped forward and his voice, for the briefest moment, sounded strangled from the tightness in his throat. “How could I?”

  She glanced aside. “It was just sex.”

  “Now who’s the liar?”

  For a moment, she sat there, chastised, knowing that if she could stop pretending for just a second, she’d realize she’d come to care about the man. But how could that caring mean anything when the man she’d thought she was getting to know was nothing more than an illusion? A cover?

  “Look, Roman, or whatever your name is, the sex was great and the affair was fun, all full of spontaneity and mystery and all the things that are biting us in the ass right now. Fact is, you’re probably on your way out of town-you and that gun of yours-so why are we wasting our breaths talking about nothing?”

  Silence reigned. God, she wanted him to reply with “It’s not nothing. We connected, Rachel. We were something to each other. You matter to me.” But his mouth remained closed. She supposed she should have celebrated when he turned and started to exit the room, but instead, a sob caught in her throat.

  Luckily, Mario and Iris swept in before Roman could change direction.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Mario asked.

  Iris muttered in Spanish, something Rachel was pretty damned sure was a curse. Not the cussword type, either. The “may your penis turn purple and fall off” type.

  “He was just leaving,” she replied.

  Roman cast a glance over his shoulder. The regret and self-recrimination in his steel-blue eyes nearly caused her insides to buckle, but she pressed her hand against her belly and silently ordered herself to remain still.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she narrowed her eyes and speared him with a glare that told him any excuse, beyond the honest-to-God truth, would be too little, too late.

  With a polite “excuse me,” he moved out of the apartment and consequently, out of her life.

  Forever. For good.

  Iris rushed past Mario and caught Rachel by the arms before she could sink onto the bed and dissolve. Into tears. Into a puddle. Into a pathetic mess.

  “Mija, you’re better off.”

  Rachel forced strength into her legs, willed herself to remain standing. “I know that, Iris. I swear, I know that with every fiber of my being. But why, then, why do I feel like I’m about to fall apart?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “JUST HOLD ON THERE, SON.”

  Roman turned, not entirely surprised to see Mario Capelli stalking after him in the hallway outside Rachel’s apartment. The wizened cabdriver shut the door behind him firmly, then marched down the hall. Roman waited. He supposed he shouldn’t deny the man his opportunity to ream him out.

  “Mario,” he said by way of greeting.

  The old man arched an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

  “I can’t explain to you any more than I could explain to Rachel.”

  “She has a lot of questions.”

  “None that I can answer.”

  He’d wanted to answer them. He’d ful
ly intended to come here and offer complete disclosure. But on the way over, using all his skills as a covert agent to make sure that the enemies who had fired on him this morning didn’t get a second chance to fill him full of holes, he’d realized that the truth would be too selfish and dangerous. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. Right?

  Mario shifted his hands into the pockets of his baggy khakis. “Maybe she doesn’t know the right questions to ask, her heart being broken and all.”

  “We were never serious that way,” Roman insisted, knowing the statement was only true from her perspective, not his.

  “Maybe not in words, but when you jump into a woman’s bed, you jump into her heart, too, whether she likes it or not.”

  Roman blew out a frustrated breath. “That’s a fairly old-fashioned viewpoint.”

  Mario shrugged. “I’m a fairly old-fashioned guy. But unlike Rachel, I do know what questions to ask. You a crook?”

  Roman chuckled. He was a lot of dastardly and despicable things, but a thief wasn’t one of them. “No, sir.”

  “Drug dealer?”

  He shook his head.

  “Assassin? Gunrunner? Bank robber?”

  “None of the above.”

  “So you’re legit?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “That can mean only one thing-you’re government issue.”

  Roman arched a brow. He supposed he’d led the man to his conclusion by replying with honesty to his questions, but the cabbie had had the forethought to ask. “You in the biz?”

  “Just a cop. Detective. Thirty-five years for the NYPD.”

  “And now you drive a cab.”

  “Beats withering away. I know the city. And I know people. And you’re one who can turn a conversation on a dime so he doesn’t have to talk about himself.”

  Roman grinned, not wanting to take the compliment, but what choice did he have? His talent for lying and twisting conversations had brought him to this very place-on the brink of losing a woman he’d risked everything for, simply because he couldn’t tell the truth.

  “Rachel is better off without me,” he said, accepting that if he said the mantra often enough, he might, eventually, start to believe it.