Hit&Run

by Freya Barker

I pass a rack with bath towels and robes, and grab a few. She lets me wrap her in one of the robes, but makes me turn around while she strips off her sopping wet pants and shoes. I use a few towels to dry myself off as best I can, before turning back to Rosie, who looks ready to keel over. She lets out a little yelp when I bend down, lift her up in my arms, and walk her to the elevators—my feet sloshing in my boots with every step.

  “What are—”

  “I’m taking you home, and getting you looked at. That’s all you need to worry about right now.”

  “But—”

  “You gotta let me do my job, Rosie. I’ll get you an answer, but first I have to do my job.” She doesn’t utter any more protests, and allows her body to relax in my arms, which makes carrying her a damn lot easier.

  Peabody is already waiting by the back door, alarm on his face when he sees me carrying his friend.

  “I’m fine,” she quickly says, struggling to be let down, which I grudgingly give in to. “I slipped, hit my head, and fell in the pool. Jake fished me out.”

  I’m surprised at the ready lies flying from her mouth, but it makes things a lot less complicated. I quickly take over.

  “Thanks for grabbing her stuff,” I follow up; well aware of the suspicious glances the large man throws me. I’m sure I could take him, but with his bulk and size, it would be a challenge. “I’m getting her looked at right away. Can you cover for her here?”

  “Thanks Grant, I owe you one,” she murmurs, reaching her hand to touch his arm. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

  He nods, and hands her a purse and a lunch bag, which she clutches to her chest when I swing her back up in my arms.

  “I’ll get the door,” Grant offers, holding it open for us. He moves to the side when I step outside, but bends his head toward Rosie, forcing me to slow. He kisses her on the forehead, and then I hear him whisper, “I’ll have to remember that play. Nice catch, girlfriend.” I can feel her body go rigid and keep walking before she can voice a protest.

  Grant’s deep chuckle follows us all the way to the parking lot.

  CHAPTER 6

  ROSIE

  I watch from the doorway as Hillary tries to squeeze her car by Jake’s massive truck, taking up most of the driveway.

  She’d been alarmed when I got home in the middle of the night, a strange man in tow, but believed the same story I’d fed Grant. It’s true what they say; the only way to get away with a lie is to stay as close as possible to the truth.

  After she looked me over—Jake’s orders—I managed to convince her to go home and catch a few more hours of sleep.

  I close the door and walk into the kitchen to find Jake on the phone, giving someone directions to my house. I busy myself putting on a pot of coffee, but the moment he ends the call, I’m all over him.

  “I hope you’re going to fill me in on what’s going on.”

  Jake doesn’t seem impressed with my stern tone, leaning back in the kitchen chair, and folding his hands behind his head, as he calmly looks at me. For extra emphasis, I put my hands on my hips, but all that does is bring his eyes down to that level, and it’s mostly bravado on my part anyway. The smirk on his face reminds me I’m wearing a pair of leggings Hillary had grabbed me from my dresser. Leggings I bought exclusively for use around the house, never to be seen in public, since they boast flying piggies. Apparently they amuse the otherwise brooding security guy.

  “Look,” I try again. “There’s a reason you whisked me out of the hotel, right after someone attacked me, instead of...oh, I don’t know...calling the police?” As the shock wears off and my mind clears, I’m starting to think this whole sequence of events is off. Too many things don’t make sense, and some I prefer not to contemplate. For instance, my initial thought when I saw Jake lean over me on the side of the pool; I was half convinced it was him who tossed me in to begin with, but that thought was debunked when I heard him talking on the radio.

  I haven’t been able to shake the possibility this has something to do with what I witnessed in the alley last weekend. That perhaps, somehow, somebody knows I was there and is afraid I’ll say something. I can’t think of any other reason someone might want to hurt me.

  “I offered to call an ambulance,” Jake points out, dragging me from my thoughts. “You’re the one who didn’t want one, so I assumed you wanted to keep this under wraps. You already told me you never saw a face, only that whoever jumped you was significantly bigger. Not that that’s a surprise, you’re tiny.”

  “Hardly,” I mumble, but he must have some bionic hearing or something, because he stares me down with an eyebrow raised.

  Okay, so he’s got a point. I was pretty adamant about not wanting an ambulance there, but that was more about insurance than anything else. A trip to the ER would’ve come with a claim against the measly medical insurance I have through work, along with a thousand dollar deductible I can’t afford. That insurance, plus the small emergency savings account I’m building, is to cover Mom if something happens. Her old age pension pays for Hillary and most of my income goes to living expenses, food, and medication. What little is left gets tucked away for emergencies.

  “So what now?” I want to know.

  “Someone from my team is on his way here, his name is Dimas. He’s gonna need whatever information you can give him. Whoever attacked you did not come in off the street. It’s someone who is staying there.”

  “A guest? That doesn’t even make sense. Why attack me?”

  “That’s what we’re going to try and find out,” he promises.

  Suddenly he gets up and walks to the door, opening it to whom, I assume, is this Dimas he mentioned. I didn’t hear a knock, no car doors slamming, but clearly something alerted Jake.

  The two men make for an interesting contrast. Although Jake appears a bit shorter than his friend, they both have significant bulk. Where Jake is all dark and shadows, Dimas is the opposite. Dirty blond hair, an open face, and a bright smile that is impossible to resist. He walks toward me with his hand outstretched and I notice a slight limp to his gait.

  “Hi,” I mumble, when he reaches me and grabs my hand tightly in his big paw.

  “Love the pigs,” he returns by way of greeting.

  “Dimi,” Jake growls in warning.

  Meaningful looks are exchanged, the significance of which I’m not privy to, so I dislodge my hand and go about getting us set up with coffee.

  “So tell me what happened from the moment you got off the elevator,” Dimas asks. when I sit down across from him.

  For the next half hour or so, I am poked and prodded for every minute detail, from the missing bulbs to the size of the person forcing me to the bottom of the pool. Did I hear anything? Did my attacker say anything? Could I detect any particular scent? Could I think of any reason why someone might want to harm me? Keeping secrets is hard work, and by the time the blond man gets up to leave, my head is spinning, I’m ready to cry, and I’m tired and shaky.

  “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Jake says, looking at me with concern darkening his gray eyes.

  “Are you leaving too?” I realize how needy those words sound the moment they’re out of my mouth.

  “Nope. Just seeing Dimi out. I’ll be right outside.”

  I wait until I hear the click of the door, and then I gather up the coffee cups, giving them a quick wash and stacking them back in the cupboard. That’s one thing you learn fast, living in small quarters; cleaning up behind you. All it takes is a few plates and cups to make the small kitchen feel cluttered and messy. Life is messy enough, so whatever order I can create to allow me some semblance of control is welcome.

  With the kitchen straightened, I slip into my bathroom to brush my teeth. Mom’s larger bathroom is on the other end of the trailer home, tucked between her bedroom and the spare, where Hillary sleeps. My quarters are to the right of the front door, separated from Mom’s side by the small living room and kitchen. There’s just enough room for a small couch and a
couple of chairs in the living area, and the kitchen boasts a small dining table and chairs.

  Usually, when Hillary is not here, I leave my bedroom door open so I can hear Mom. I’ve learned to sleep with one ear and one eye open, over the past months. Especially after waking up one morning to the smoke alarm going off, when Mom was trying to cook breakfast in a moment of clarity, to then promptly forget the frying pan she’d set on the stove. Luckily there was no damage, but it definitely made me more alert.

  Without thinking I leave my door ajar, crawl into bed and curl on my side. The moment my head hits my pillow; I can feel fatigue drag me under. I willingly let myself, until I’m suddenly back in the dark pool, being held down until I had no choice but to give in to the darkness claiming me. My eyes pop open, and I flip on the light on my nightstand and roll on my back, willing myself into the present.

  I still lie like that when sometime later, the front door opens and Jake steps inside, immediately turning his head to glance into my bedroom.

  “I thought you’d be sleeping,” he says, closing the front door behind him and leaning his shoulder against it, his eyes on mine.

  “I tried.”

  I watch as he closes the distance to my bed. Sitting on the edge, his face wearing its customary impassive expression, he reaches out, brushing a few stray hairs off my forehead.

  “Try again.”

  His voice is at a near whisper, but the deep rumble still manages to reach my bones. His eyes hold mine captive, as he softly strokes the callused pad of his thumb in soothing patterns on my cheek. It doesn’t take long for my eyelids to drop, and with the comfort of his gentle touch, I let myself drift off.

  JAKE

  “You’re right,” Dimi says when we get to his car. “She knows.” He turns, leans back against the fender, and crosses his arms over his chest. “And she won’t tell.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The ice-cold chill, running from the top of my scalp all the way down my spine, at his words is reflected in the tone of my voice. He notices and looks confused.

  “Her,” he clarifies, jerking his thumb in the direction of the front door. “I’m saying, the fact she isn’t sharing after an experience like this is pretty conclusive evidence she won’t say a word.”

  “How convenient,” I grit out between clenched teeth, my hands in tight fists by my side. It’s all I can do not to take my best friend down. “Your idea or was this your big brother’s doing?”

  “What?”

  “Where were you tonight, Dimas?”

  I watch him squint his eyes before they widen in understanding.

  “You cocksucker!” he bites off as he plants his palms in my chest, shoving me back a few steps. “You think I set that girl up? You think I’d attack some innocent woman to silence her? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  My suspicions dissipate as quickly as they’d surfaced at the look of disbelief on Dimi’s face.

  “Look,” I start, my hands up and palms out. “That was fucked up, I’m sorry. I know better.”

  “I fucking thought you did,” he huffs, running both his hands through his hair. “Jesus, man.”

  “Whoever did this was smart, disabling lights and cameras. They knew Rosie’s schedule and planned this out carefully. An inside job,” I explain my train of thought. “Your brother didn’t want to believe me when I said she wouldn’t talk. He’s the one who suggested securing her silence by whatever means necessary. Not to mention the massive price tag attached to this security contract.”

  “All right, all right,” Dimi stops me. “I get the train of thought, but if you weren’t at least partially thinking with your dick when it comes to this woman, you would have realized no matter what the payoff, Yanis wouldn’t physically harm an innocent person. Not for any amount of money.”

  “Then what the hell would be the motivation to harm her? She had fucking blue lips, Dimi. That wasn’t a warning, it was an attempt at murder made to look like an accident.”

  He nods in agreement, and both of us fall silent, taking in deep breaths and letting heart rates settle.

  “Money is always the best motivation. So if it wasn’t you, me, or Yanis,” Dimi adds pointedly. “Then it’s likely someone else associated with the movie.”

  This time it’s my turn to nod in agreement. “See what you can find on the second floor. I had Bree seal it off, but we can’t leave it like that for long. We don’t want anyone getting wind of this, if this came out it would draw too much attention. We don’t need cops asking more questions.”

  “You staying here?”

  “Both to protect her and to protect our client,” I tell him, even though the first is fast outweighing the second for me.

  I watch Dimi drive off before returning to the trailer. Pushing through the door, a soft light to my right draws my attention. I can make out Rosie’s form under the blankets; her bright eyes wide open and turned to me.

  “Hey...Rosie.”

  I gently shake her shoulder, hating to wake her already.

  It’s barely been three hours since she finally fell asleep. I was tempted to crawl in bed with her, and touch her to see if her skin was as soft all over, but I resisted. Instead, I crashed on the couch for a bit before the texts started coming in from Dimas. I’d been sitting at the kitchen table, having a coffee from the fresh pot I made, and working on my phone, when a very frail and very confused woman came walking out of one of the other bedrooms. I presumed that was Rosie’s mother, who looked to have had an accident, judging from the wet nightgown tangled around her legs.

  Christ.

  “Your mom is awake.”

  That appears to do it. Like a Jack-in-the-box, she sits up straight in bed and furiously blinks the sleep from her eyes. There’s a crease running down the side of her face from the pillow, and her eyes and lips are swollen with sleep. She looks cute as fuck.

  “I’m up. I’m up,” she mumbles, as she swings her legs over the side and shoves me out of the way as she beelines it to the bathroom. To give her some privacy, I walk back into the living room, when I see her mother cracking eggs in a bowl. Judging by the pile of eggshells on the counter, she’s gone through half a dozen already.

  “Why don’t you let me do that?” I offer, guiding her firmly to one of the kitchen chairs. “Do you like your eggs scrambled?”

  “Maxwell likes them scrambled, so that’s how we make them.”

  “Maxwell was my dad,” Rosie says, walking in and going straight to her mother. “Morning, Mom, how about we have a quick shower? Get some dry clothes on you?” Continuously chatting, she helps her mother up and into the bathroom, quickly poking her head out the door. “Sorry, I won’t be long. Feel free to grab yourself whatever you like.” Before I can answer she’s gone again.

  Twenty minutes later, a much drier and fresher Mrs. Perkins shuffles into the kitchen, Rosie right behind her, her arms full of laundry and wrapped in only a towel. My eyes automatically scan down her curvy body, down to her narrow ankles and tiny feet.

  “Good thing she can cook.”

  I look up at Mrs. Perkins and see she has a scowl focused on her daughter, who looks quite embarrassed.

  “Sorry?”

  She turns her much clearer eyes to me, a sly little smirk tugging at her mouth.

  “Well, she doesn’t have much else to offer,” the woman says, cackling heartily at her own words.

  “Mom, please,” Rosie whispers before scooting past me, avoiding any eye contact.

  “Aren’t you a piece of work?” I turn back to her mom to give her my unbridled opinion, but whoever had been spouting that vitriol was replaced with the placid, slightly confused-looking woman I met earlier.

  I wonder if that poisoned tongue was what had Rosie finally run to Denver. It would make her move back home to look after her ailing mother even more of a sacrifice than it already was.

  I was so young when my parents died; I only have a few vague memories of them. So I may not be an expert on the su
bject of parenting, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s not normal for a mother to belittle her child like that.

  When she returns a few minutes later, dressed, and with her wet hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder, she looks and acts like nothing happened. I give her that—for now. There’ll be a time and place to tell her what I think about her mother’s words, I’ll make sure of that.

  “I hate to ask,” Rosie says, after a predominantly silent breakfast. “I have to take Mom to her appointment at eleven. Do you think you could drop us off at the hotel so I can grab my car?”

  “I’ll just take you to your appointment.”

  “What about work? Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

  I don’t tell her that sticking close to her is my job. Except the focus has shifted from making sure nothing touches Kyle Steele, to making sure no one touches Rosie. My fucking loyalties are stretched all over the fucking place. Brain versus heart has never really been a dilemma I’ve had to struggle with, but I’ll be damned if I’m not struggling now.

  “Nah, no worries. Dimas has things covered back at the hotel, so I’ll stick around for a bit. We’ll play things by ear for today.”

  What I don’t mention is that my buddy will be making sure the whole team is up-to-date, and additional security measures are put in place, since we now have one additional person to keep not only quiet, but also safe. Things are getting complicated.

  “Just so you know, it’s her standing monthly appointment at the salon,” Rosie clarifies, a hint of a smile on her face.

  Well, shit. I can handle a doctor’s office, but I’m pretty sure it says somewhere in my job description, hanging out in a hair salon goes is against the rules. If not, it should.

  “Right,” I grind out to Rosie’s apparent amusement, even though she tries to hide the grin on her face behind her hand. “I’ll just wait in the car.”

  CHAPTER 7

  ROSIE

  “Dammit, girl, you shoulda called me. Would’ve loved to have been a fly on the wall.”