First Responder on Call

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  Available Balance: $213,475.23

  As she stared at the number—an amount of money that she was a hundred percent sure she could only dream of having—a curtain lifted in Celia’s mind.

  She could see herself entering the bank with Detective Teller at her side. She could hear his dark-edged voice, instructing her, and she could feel her own fear as she approached the counter and made an unusually large deposit—far, far, far more than what her pay would typically look like.

  Suddenly light-headed, Celia felt herself sway. The TV remote slipped from her fingers. Remo’s hand shot out, and somewhere in the periphery of Celia’s mind, she thought he was going to reach out just in time to catch it before it hit the ground. Instead, his palm found her shoulder. And it was a good thing, too. As the remote thumped against the carpet, Remo’s strong grip was the only thing that kept her from actually keeling over.

  Because it wasn’t just the money she remembered. It was what it was for.

  Chapter 18

  Remo had never so thoroughly understood the term “as white as a sheet” as he did in that moment. Even Celia’s freckles had paled into oblivion. Her already slightly translucent eyes had somehow managed to fade, too, their gray tone becoming washed out. She was so still and so silent that only the flutter of her eyelids gave away any sign of life.

  “Celia,” he said gently.

  The prod got no response, and he realized her chest wasn’t rising and falling as it should be. Worry sliced through him, and he slid his hand down her shoulder to her elbow and tried again.

  “Hey,” he said a little more urgently. “You need to breathe, sweetheart.”

  She didn’t move, and his concern deepened, adding medical worry alongside his personal one.

  “C’mon, Celia. Take a deep breath for me.”

  She blinked. Once. Then she finally drew in a shuddering gasp. But she held it, her chest high, her eyes a little too wide.

  “Now let it out,” Remo added.

  On command, she forced out the exhale.

  “Again,” Remo said.

  It took three more breaths in and out before Celia started doing it without his cues. She was still quivering a bit, and she was gripping his arm so tightly that it was probably going to leave a mark, but the color was coming back to her cheeks. And when she blinked this time, he could tell that she was back in the moment.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded, then looked down at her fingers on his arm and cringed. “Sorry,” she said, peeling them off.

  “I can take it,” he told her lightly. “I was once putting a blood pressure cuff on a lovely older lady and she hit me with a cane.”

  “Really?” she replied.

  He smiled. “Nah. Just trying to make you feel better about mauling me.”

  In spite of the way she was still shaking a bit, she laughed. “You’re terrible.”

  “Worked, though, didn’t it?”

  “A little.”

  He nodded toward the TV. “I take it you weren’t expecting to find that there.”

  She rolled her shoulders like she was trying to work out a kink. “Actually, I kind of was. At least as soon as I started typing in the password, I was.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  “No. But I guess I have to, don’t I?”

  “Keeping it a secret probably won’t help us move forward.”

  She closed her eyes and took another breath, then exhaled it, too. “I don’t remember why Neil hit me the first time. That side of thing still feels...vague. But what I do remember is that I thought Teller was one of the good guys. I was under police protection. Or I thought I was. And he was assigned to keep me safe. But instead, he dragged me to that bank, and he told me that if I didn’t ‘take care of the problem,’ then he would take care of me.”

  Her words hit Remo with a sudden punched-in-the-gut feeling. He understood why the memory had made her react the way she did.

  “They wanted you to terminate the pregnancy,” he said, and saying it aloud just gave him more of a chill.

  “That money was a payoff to do it,” she added softly. “And I took it.”

  “You took it, but you obviously didn’t touch it,” he reminded her. “It’s still in the account.”

  “Plus interest.” She smiled wryly for a moment before her mouth drooped again. “I wasn’t very far along then, but I was already completely in love with the idea of becoming a mom. Ending the pregnancy was never a consideration.”

  Remo brought his arm up and dragged her closer, then ran his hand over her back in small, soothing circles.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said.

  She sighed. “I know. I just wish I remember why I took the money, or what I was planning. There has to have been something. And I can still hear Teller, whispering in my ear while I waited with the check. He told me that if I thought about reneging on the deal, no one would believe a word that came out of my mouth once they saw that money in my account, and that if I tried to take Neil down, I’d suffer more.”

  “That could be helpful, though.”

  “How?”

  “Because it means that somewhere in your head, you know of a way to take down Neil Price. All we have to do is keep working to figure out what that is.”

  She was silent for a few moments, then spoke quietly into his chest. “I think I should go there.”

  He stopped making the circles on her back. “Go where?”

  “To the bank. West End Savings.”

  “That’s a bad idea, Celia.”

  She pulled back and looked up at him. “Why? It’s the next logical step, isn’t it? Someone there might recognize me. Or remember the transaction. Or point us in the right direction.”

  “Or someone there might be working with Teller and Price.”

  “We can’t know that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know what I mean, Remo,” she grumbled.

  “I do,” he agreed. “And you know what I mean.”

  “That doesn’t make you right,” she replied.

  “Are we having our first fight?” he asked.

  “There’s no fight,” she said firmly.

  “Because you’re going to insist that we go, or because you’re agreeing with me?”

  She opened her mouth, but a tap on the door stopped her from answering.

  “Mom?” said Xavier from the other side. “Someone’s out there, and he smells like pizza.”

  “I think that’s our cue,” Celia said. “I should probably answer, just to make sure he doesn’t recognize you from the news or something.”

  She jumped up, while Remo stayed in place, watching as she smiled a little too brightly, then quickly opened the door and greeted her son. There was no doubt in his mind that she was in a little too much of a hurry. He tried to brush off the worry, and for a little while, it worked. Mostly because he didn’t have time to think about it. Between the pizza and a kid-friendly movie, then a hotel-supplied board game and a pillow fort and some more pizza, his mind and hands were occupied. They couldn’t very well talk about things in detail with Xavier’s little ears in range, so the conversation was as much of a distraction as everything else. And it was actually nice to sit and talk about less intense things.

  Remo liked hearing about Celia and Xavier’s life. He enjoyed the little game they created, comparing the things they had in common and contrasting the things that made them different. There was the fact that all three of them loved waterslides and cheese, and that none of them had been to Disneyland. And of course, the pepperoni pizza was a given. There was the fact that in spite of his job, gore in movies made him queasy, while Celia loved anything in the horror genre. Xavier put in his bid for “funny movies about dogs or monkeys,” and they all laughed. The more they talked, the more Remo
wanted to talk. The more he wanted to see the glow-in-the-dark stickers on Xavier’s ceiling. The more he wanted to carve out a permanent place in their lives and the less he thought about Celia and the bank.

  Even when the day wore into evening, and Xavier started yawning and asking for warm milk and saying on repeat that he wasn’t tired, and Celia scooped her son off for a bath, Remo’s earlier concerns didn’t quite worm their way back in. He was too busy focusing on the needs of the moment. He dragged fresh sheets from the closet and changed the bed linen for Celia and Xavier, then made up the pull-out couch for himself. He helped settle the kid into the big bed, indulged in the request for a made-up story, and promised not to leave until Xavier had fallen asleep.

  It wasn’t until his own exhaustion pulled at him, and he started to drift into sleep himself—still tucked in between Celia and Xavier—that his mind at last poked at him and asked if he was still worried that she was going to push harder about going to the bank.

  I am, he acknowledged sleepily, but it can wait until morning.

  In the end, though, the morning turned out to be a little too late. Because when Remo woke from a dead sleep several hours later, he and Xavier were alone. Celia’s spot was empty except for a note.

  Sorry, it read in flowing handwriting. I know you’re going to be mad. But I know you’d probably have succeeded in talking me out of going, too. So...forgiveness instead of permission, right? Keep an eye on Xavier, and I’ll be back soon. XXOO. C.

  Remo’s instinct was to chase after her. To run down to the concierge and ask how long ago she’d passed by. But he couldn’t. Not only did he risk getting recognized, but Celia had also made him responsible for her son. He was trapped, and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until Celia actually climbed out of the taxi—after murmuring to the driver that he could just circle the block and come back for her—and spied her destination that the first lick of trepidation crept in. Until that moment, she’d somehow managed to convince herself that she was doing what needed to be done. But as she drew in a slightly acrid, city-tinged breath, doubt and fear tried to sweep away the resolve she’d come in with.

  You can do this, she said to herself.

  But instead of agreeing with the self-directed statement and stepping forward, she bit her lip, stayed planted to the spot, and asked herself if she’d completely lost it. Her mind slid back over the last forty minutes, trying to pinpoint when, exactly, she’d abandoned all sense.

  When she’d first woken up, she’d felt oddly energized. Completely refreshed, and hopeful, too. Then she’d found Remo and Xavier still asleep, and the idea of sneaking away had popped up. It might have even seemed like a good one. So she’d written the note and slipped away without looking back.

  Get to the bank as soon as it opened.

  Get some answers.

  Get back to the hotel room.

  That had been the plan.

  Maybe the first moment of second thoughts should’ve come when she stepped into the elevator. Another woman had been standing in the back corner of the small space, and there’d been no escaping the startled look she’d given Celia. Or to be more accurate...the look she gave Celia’s pants. The same scrubs—complete with now-darkened bloodstain—she’d been wearing since escaping from her hospital room. Definitely out of place, and far too attention grabbing.

  Yeah...that probably should’ve been enough to make you realize this was a bad idea, she thought, shifting from foot to foot.

  But it hadn’t been. Instead of taking it as a hint to turn around, she’d simply found a way to fix the issue. She’d made her way to the store attached to the lobby—Ye Old Gift Shop read the sign over the door—where she’d grabbed a pair of sweatpants embossed with a line of swords down own leg and a T-shirt with a shield decal across the chest. She put them on in the change room, tore off the tags, and made her way up to the till.

  Then came what Celia now suspected should’ve been the second red flag. The moment she realized she had no means of paying. But being as determined as she was, she’d found a way around that, too—by charging the purchase to their room. A tickle of guilt had reared its head just then, but she’d simply told herself she would pay Remo back as soon as they were out of the current situation. And the next moment supplied an opposing sign, anyway. Attached to the cashier counter hung a little flyer that advertised a pay-by-room taxi service.

  Celia took immediate advantage of the offer. And on the ride over, she hadn’t felt overwhelmed or scared. Just anticipatory. So she wasn’t sure why the change of heart wanted to come now.

  Maybe it was just the way the concrete structure loomed up in front of her, its tall, tinted glass doors intimidatingly opaque. Or maybe it was how she could recall the way Detective Teller’s hand had felt on her back as he forced her to walk through those same doors. Or it could’ve just been that reality had caught up. She was outside. Exposed. Alone. Away from her son. Away from the only person in the world who she could truly trust. And she had no idea what she was walking into, and all their lives were hanging from a very frayed rope.

  She almost spun on her heel. But before she could turn, someone pushed through one of the doors, then held it open. And the action gave Celia a full view of inside. What she saw surprised her, even though she knew she’d been inside before.

  It didn’t look like a regular bank at all. There were not roped-off tellers, or advertisements for investments, or visible ATMs. The decor was both understated and imbued with wealth at the same time. Dark cherry accents. Mahogany desks. Just a hint of cream.

  And suddenly Celia had a feeling that her 200K balance was probably a pittance compared to what the usual clientele brought in. It didn’t exactly ease her mind—she was pretty sure Neil Price was a well-to-do man himself—but it did make her curious enough to finally take a step closer. Her forward motion caught the eye of a dark-haired woman standing just inside the door. Celia was surprised to realize that she actually recognized her. And clearly, the familiarity was mutual. The woman’s eyes widened, but a moment later, she smiled, then made a “come here” motion with her hand. Celia hesitated for only a second before quickly deciding that if the friendly look on the brunette’s face was put on, she was a damned near perfect actress.

  And the plan was to go in, right?

  She took a quick glance around, then lifted her hand in a small wave, and took the steps, two at a time. Walking in was like being sucked into a slightly altered reality. The sounds from outside disappeared, including the siren that had wailed to life just a second earlier. Voices were hushed, the music overhead was barely audible, and a strange, contradictory sense of relaxed busyness hung in the air. Like everyone had something to do, but no one felt harried by that fact. And the quiet wealth became even more obvious. Tailored suits and designer shoes and perfect hair. It overwhelmed Celia, and even if she hadn’t been wearing hotel-themed sweats, it still would’ve made her feel completely out of place. And her discomfit only grew when the dark-haired woman approached and addressed her by name.

  “It’s Ms. Poller, isn’t it?” she said, her voice low and rich and perfectly suited to the atmosphere.

  Celia cleared her throat and did her best to sound confident. “Yes, that’s me.”

  The woman let out a small, not-buying-it laugh that was just muted enough not to carry through the rest of the bank. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to remember me. Putting names together with faces is kind of my superpower. I’m Maxine Maxwell—yes, Max Max, don’t ask—safety deposit box supervisor.”

  “Nice to, uh...remeet you.”

  “Likewise. Do you have an appointment today, Ms. Poller?”

  Celia was sure Maxine already knew the answer before she shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”

  The brunette didn’t miss a beat, and Celia wondered how much of her easy congeniality wa
s built-in, and how much was adapted to deal with finicky clients.

  “Well, good news,” said the other woman. “No one’s in the storage room at the moment, and I can take you right in. I am the boss, after all.” She let out another of her soft laughs, then gestured toward the other side of the room. “Right this way.”

  Celia followed nervously, trying not to draw any extra attention. And to the credit of both the bank employees and the customers inside, not one person looked askance at her—or her sore thumb of an outfit—as they made their way past desks and offices and cubicles that somehow passed themselves off as stylish and chic. When they reached a closed door, a suited man with an earpiece offered them a nod, but it was the only acknowledgment they received. Maxine smiled at the man, punched a code into the keypad below the knob, then pressed the door open. She led Celia into a long hall. They passed three more doors before stopping at a fourth, where the brunette held her thumb to a little screen.

  “Always makes me feel like I’m doing something top secret,” she joked as the screen beeped and lit up with a green glow.

  Celia forced a laugh, but her throat was dry. The security did reek of something far more than just safely stowed family heirlooms and important documents. And the inside of the small room looked more high-tech than expected, too. Instead of keyed lockboxes—which Celia belatedly realized she wouldn’t have been able to access—there were rows of number-controlled safes. It was intense. Almost scary. And when the door shut behind them, Celia nearly jumped.

  “Ms. Poller...” said Maxine, her voice abruptly switching from customer-service friendly to something that sounded like genuine concern. “I don’t want to overstep, but is everything okay?”

  Celia answered carefully. “Is there a reason it wouldn’t be?”

  “When you came in all those years ago and set up this box, you were scared. You told me that this was your insurance. I didn’t know what you meant, but I always assumed it had something to do with that big, mean boyfriend of yours. I offered to help you then, and you said you were preparing for a second-to-worst-case scenario.” The other woman paused, then shook her head. “Not a day’s gone by that I haven’t thought about you and worried a little. Maybe it wasn’t as dramatic as I remember. Or maybe I’m out of line, and I should just—”