First Responder on Call

by Melinda Di Lorenzo

  “No. It’s fine. Really. You’re not out of line. And I’m okay.”

  “The offer of help still stands,” the other woman stated.

  “I appreciate it. Truly. But I think I just need to do what I came to do.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll let you get to it. Box eighty-two. Just in case.”

  “Thank you,” Celia replied.

  She waited until the other woman slipped out, then sagged against the table in the center of the room. Her eyes sank closed. She was sure that when Maxine had said “big, mean boyfriend,” she had to have meant Detective Teller. He’d accompanied her to the bank at least the one time. And no way would Neil Price fit the description. Not on the outside, anyway.

  “But if I was so scared...” she muttered, opening her eyes again. “Why did I come back and open a safety deposit box? And what did I mean by insurance for a second-to-worst-case scenario?”

  She knew she must’ve been truly beside herself to have told the woman—a stranger—anything at all, let alone something specific like that. For the briefest second, Celia considered calling her back. But as her gaze drifted toward the closed door, it got hung up on the numbered safe fronts instead. Eighty-two. It was at eye level, and the same as the rest. Yet somehow it blazed to life for her. Thoughts of asking for Maxine’s assistance slid away, and Celia moved to the box instead. In autopilot mode once again, she lifted her hand and dropped her fingers over the keys in a sequence that dredged itself out of somewhere in her foggy memory. As soon as she was done, the four-inch by twelve-inch door let out a pressurized hiss, then clicked partway open. With shaking hands, Celia gave it a soft tug. She was frozen for a moment, just staring at the manila envelope that sat inside the small space.

  C’mon, she urged silently. This is why you came here.

  But the moment her fingers closed on the thick paper, she realized she didn’t need to look to know what was inside. Her recollection of its contents was crystal clear.

  Chapter 19

  The more minutes that ticked by, the more Remo understood why lions paced in their cages. He was doing his damnedest to stay calm—and more importantly not to reveal his concern to Xavier—but it grew harder and harder. His mind kept wandering back to Celia. He itched to get out. To act. To not have to shove room-service waffles into his mouth and pretend they didn’t taste like cardboard. There were only so many cartoons and games of I Spy a man could handle when the woman he was falling in love with had thrown away all pretense of safety and disappeared to God knew where.

  You know where she is, he said to himself in a silent, futile attempt at reassurance.

  It was true. Ish. After finding the note—then crumpling it into a ball and tossing it across the room in a decidedly unsatisfactory fit of worry and frustration—he’d taken the time to do an internet search for the bank. It wasn’t far. Nowhere near the West End of Vancouver, as the name implied. Just across the bridge, no more than a twenty-five-minute drive. Presuming traffic was light. And that she was traveling by car. Because she could’ve got back on the bus. She wasn’t crazy enough to have attempted the trip on foot? He scrubbed at the two-day-old stubble on his chin, then jerked his head up in surprise when Xavier’s voice cut through his worried thoughts.

  “Remo?”

  He forced a smile. “What’s up, kiddo?”

  The kid pointed toward the playing-card-riddled table. “Your phone is making a noise.”

  Remo blinked and turned his attention to the chiming that had blended in with the TV. Frowning, he dragged the device out from under the ace of spades. Sure enough, the screen was flashing with an unknown number. Remo stared for a moment, quickly weighing the options. But really, he didn’t have any. His mom was the only person who had the new number for sure, but Celia could very well have taken it with her in case of emergency. He had no choice but to answer it. So he tapped the screen, then lifted the phone to his ear, and waited for someone to greet him. Instead, the sounds of muted conversation immediately carried through. He was a heartbeat away from clicking off before realizing that he actually recognized one of the voices. It was his friend who’d booked the hotel on his behalf. Freddy Yan. A moment later, he placed the second voice, too. Detective Teller.

  Cursing in his head, Remo made a lips-zipped gesture to Xavier—who nodded solemnly—then focused on listening as best he could.

  “...that kind of space for a single man?” the corrupt cop was saying right then.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” replied Freddy.

  “And you lost your key.” Even through the fuzzy line, the disbelief in the statement was clear.

  “It happens.” The shrug in the response was just as obvious.

  “Lying and withholding information really aren’t in your best interest.”

  “I’m not withholding anything, and I’ve been forthcoming about the fact that I only spoke with him once. You looked at my phone yourself.”

  “I did. Which is how I noted that you conveniently neglected to mention the conversation with his mother and the credit card charge.”

  “An oversight.”

  “In the police world, that’s what we refer to as ‘obstruction of justice,’ Mr. Yan.”

  “In my lawyer’s world, this is what he refers to as a ‘courtesy.’ So if you want me to call him again...”

  “Not necessary. I’m simply suggesting that if there’s anything else you’d like to tell me, you’d better do it in the next ten minutes.”

  Their voices grew more muffled again, and Remo strained to make out what was happening on the other end. Instead of distinct words, he heard only noises. The shuffle of fabric. A few rhythmic thumps. The rush of traffic. Some kind of dinging sound.

  Where were they? And why was Freddy with Teller? It clearly wasn’t where his friend wanted to be. Remo debated hanging up, but as he started to pull the phone away from his ear, the clues from the conversation finally came together.

  Too much space for a single man. The lost key and the credit card charge.

  The pocket dial wasn’t a pocket dial at all. It was actually a warning. The two men were on their way to the hotel, and there were only ten minutes to spare.

  “Crap,” Remo muttered under his breath, tapping the phone off and stuffing it into his pocket.

  “Mom says that’s not a nice word,” Xavier piped up.

  Remo squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “Sorry, little man. I promise to give myself a time-out as soon as I get the chance. But we need to go for a walk, and we need to do it fast. Can you get your stuff? Your shoes and coat?”

  “What about Mom? You said she was coming back soon.”

  “And she is. She’ll have to meet us outside.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t let you down, would I?”

  The kid studied him for a second, then shook his head, accepting the promise. And as Xavier moved to grab his things, Remo silently vowed to make sure he kept it.

  “But first...” he murmured, with a glance around the room.

  There was evidence everywhere of their presence. No way would it pass for a single man’s overnight getaway. Which put his friend—who had done them the favor and who probably had no clue that his actual life was on the line—in even more danger. At least Teller had used official channels and Freddy’s lawyer was involved. It offered a bit of a safety net.

  Quickly, Remo moved through the suite. There was no time for a complete sweep, but a surface one was in order. He dumped the playing cards and board game pieces into a box together, then shoved the box into a free-standing cabinet. He flicked the living room TV to a news channel, then turned it and all the lights off. Finally, he slipped to the bedroom to clear the browser history from the smart TV. By the time he was done, Xavier’s shoes were laced, his jacket in place.

  “You ready?” Remo asked.

  The kid nodded.
“Are we supposed to clean our dishes?”

  Remo bit back another bad word as Xavier’s question prompted him to look toward the room service tray. It was loaded with the remains of a two-person meal, and there was no way to disguise it.

  “Maybe we could put it outside,” Xavier suggested. “The cleanup guys could still get it then, and no one would be mad about the mess.”

  “That’s a genius idea, kid. C’mon. Give me a hand, all right?”

  Together, they pushed the cart across the room and out the door. There, Remo positioned it beside the next door down. Not much of a ruse, but hopefully just enough. Satisfied that he’d done what he could to cover their brief stay in the suite, he held out his hand. Xavier took it with no hesitation, and Remo was extra grateful for the trust the kid offered him. Moving quickly and quietly, they made their way up the hall, then to the stairs. It took them only a few seconds to get to the lobby floor, and when Remo peered out to scan the area, he was relieved to see that their timing was impeccable. Teller and Freddy were just turning away from the concierge desk. Their trajectory would take them to the elevator rather than the stairs, and in ten seconds, they’d be out of sight.

  But what are the chances that Teller doesn’t have some kind of backup, waiting out front?

  The thought sent an unpleasant tickle of worry up Remo’s spine. Not just because it put him and Xavier at greater risk of being spotted, but because he had no idea where Celia was in relation to whoever was out there. There had to be another way out. As he stepped back and let the door close, he saw that there was a possible solution right there—the stairs kept going down.

  He tipped his head down to Xavier and smiled. “How do you feel about a bit more adventure before we go find your mom?”

  “Is it scary?” the little boy asked.

  “I sure hope not.”

  “Okay.”

  Remo took his hand again, and guided him over the landing and down the next set of stairs. About halfway down, Xavier spoke again.

  “Remo?” he said. “It’s okay if it is scary. I just like to know.”

  Remo tightened his grip on the kid’s hand. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a little too wise for your age?”

  “Is that like smart?”

  “Exactly like smart. But smarter than smart.”

  “Mom tells me I’m smart all the time. But I think she has to, so I’m not sure if it counts.”

  Remo chuckled. “Maybe not. Then again, your mom could just keep quiet, right? Not say anything, if she didn’t mean it?”

  Xavier shrugged. “I guess.”

  “What about your teachers at kindergarten? You probably get a pretty nice report card.”

  “Mrs. Fernridge gives me smiley faces.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign.”

  “Yeah.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs then, and they paused. An oversize, thick-looking door loomed in front of them.

  “Is that the adventure?” Xavier asked, his voice echoing off the concrete.

  “Guess there’s only one way to find out,” Remo replied, freeing his hand so he could turn the knob and give the heavy door a push.

  He didn’t know what he’d been expecting to find on the other side of the door, but it wasn’t the sudden rush of air, the honk of car horns, and a direct view into a narrow, house-lined alley. And what he was expecting even less than that was to see Celia, swinging her legs out of the back door of a taxi directly across the cracked pavement.

  * * *

  Celia’s feet no sooner touched the ground than her favorite little voice carried to her ears.

  “Look!” said Xavier, his delight obvious in just the one word.

  Startled, Celia stopped midexit and lifted her gaze. The big man and her son stood just on the other side of the alley, hand in hand, attention on her.

  “You were right, Remo!” Xavier added. “She did find us!”

  Remo dipped his head and said something she couldn’t hear, then reached down and scooped her son from the ground. And before Celia could complete her exit, they were rushing across the street to join her.

  “Get back in,” Remo said gruffly. “Trust me. Here is the last place you want to be right now.”

  Too surprised to argue or ask why, she simply lifted her feet and slid to the other side of the back seat. Xavier clambered in beside her, quickly buckling his seat belt without being asked. Remo followed, addressing the driver as he closed the door.

  “Take us out of this area and into the city,” he instructed. “Don’t worry about using the most direct route. In fact...avoid it. And the front of the hotel, while you’re at it.”

  The cabbie glanced in the rearview, and Celia tensed as she waited for a sign of recognition. But he just nodded and said, “You got it, man.”

  As the car eased into the road, Remo’s silence was somehow louder than Xavier’s chatter about how they’d spent the morning. And while Celia nodded at the enthusiastic descriptions of board games and waffles, her eyes didn’t leave Remo’s profile. There was no denying that his expression was just barely shy of stormy. His jaw was set stiffly, his mouth a flat line. Whether he stated it or not, his anger was palpable.

  And can you blame him? Celia said to herself. How would you feel, if he took off while you were sleeping?

  Her throat closed up at the thought, and she unconsciously clutched the envelope in her hand as guilt washed over her. It’d been a lot easier to justify the sneaking away when she didn’t have to look him in the eye.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t,” he replied quickly.

  “Remo.”

  His gaze flicked in her direction, then slid down to Xavier, then found the front windshield again. “This isn’t really the moment for a discussion.”

  He was right. She knew it. And she didn’t want to argue with him in front of her son, either. But the fact that he was mad at her twisted her stomach into knots. Her hands tried to tighten even more, and she had to force them to relax for fear of ruining the contents. And Remo stayed disappointingly silent until they were almost back in the city. When he did speak, it was only because the cabbie asked whether or not they had an address for him yet. But as he started to answer in the negative, the roof of a building one block over caught Celia’s eyes, and she found herself interrupting.

  “Can you take us to 404 Hoight Avenue?” she asked.

  The driver shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  Remo didn’t argue—or comment at all—and Celia found that strangely disappointing, too. She opened her mouth, then decided it would be ridiculous to force more of a fight, and instead focused her attention on their new destination. She knew it was going to be a four-story, brick-front structure with a set of yellow doors at the front. Just like she knew the name of the building manager was a woman named Rupinder, and that the suites inside came furnished, and that Remo’s presence would make the occupants blink, just because he was a man.

  There was nothing that declared the place for what it was, but Celia didn’t need to be told. She’d spent the weeks after Teller shot her living there. And the weeks after that, too, when Xavier was a newborn. Their current situation might not fit the bill for the shelter’s usual clientele, but as they pulled up and climbed out of the cab, she was sure that Rupinder wouldn’t turn them away.

  Before they went knocking on the door, though, she knew she needed to talk to Remo. Waiting would only build the bad kind of tension.

  “There’s a fenced playground around back,” she said. “Can we stop there for a minute so Xavier can stretch his legs?”

  “Please?” Xavier piped up, bouncing on his toes. “Please, please, please?”

  It was a bit of a dirty ploy to mention the park in front of her son, but she didn’t want to let things get any worse. And Remo nodded easily. He even too
k her hand as they made their way around the squat, reddish building toward the closed area in the back. And when Xavier ran through the gate and headed straight for the tall, twisted slide, he was the one who stopped her near a bench and spoke first.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re sorry,” he said.

  “I don’t want you to be mad.” It was impossible to keep her voice from breaking.

  He brought both of his hands up to her face and cupped her cheeks. “I’m not mad.”

  “How could you not be mad?” she replied. “You have a right to be. And I understand.”

  “Listen to me, Celia. You scared the hell out of me. Leaving like that...” He trailed off, his hands dropping to his sides and his voice growing even more cut up than hers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. If you thought going to the bank was the right thing to do, then I should’ve agreed to go with you.”

  “You don’t have to cater to my every whim.”

  “Do I seem like the kind of guy who caters to every whim?”

  “Well...”

  He stared at her for a second, then—like he couldn’t help it—let out a laugh. “Seriously? I don’t think I’ve ever, in my whole life, been accused of being accommodating.”

  “You’ve been pretty accommodating about everything with us,” she pointed out. “And you left medical school to help your sister.”

  “That’s because...” He trailed off again, scratched at his chin, then sighed. “I would’ve done anything for Indigo. That kid was my life, even when she was doing her damnedest to ruin it.”

  “I don’t want to ruin your life all over again.” The words were out before Celia could stop them.