Hit&Run

by Freya Barker

  “She seems to like her new digs.”

  “Ah, I see your guest has arrived.” The waitress, who’s been hovering around our table interrupts, and turns to Rosie. “Can I get you a drink while you look at your menus?”

  “Sure. I’ll have an iced tea.”

  “Sweetened or unsweetened?”

  “Half and half, please.” Rosie smiles and opens her menu, pretending to be focused on the options, but I can see the slight shaking of her hands. Yanis notices too, and gives her a moment to get settled as he grabs a menu himself.

  “I trust Jake explained why I wanted to meet with you?” Yanis waits until the waitress shows with Rosie’s drink, and our orders are placed.

  “You think I have resorted to blackmail,” Rosie responds with surprising calm, but clearly on the offensive. I can’t blame her.

  “I’m not gonna lie,” Yanis admits. “My initial thought was exactly that, but both Jake and my brother convinced me otherwise. I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. As the one ultimately responsible for my client’s security, I can’t overlook any possibility, even if you don’t exactly strike me as the type.”

  “Okay. So then why am I here?” she challenges.

  “Simple, I trust Jake and Dimas with my life, but my client may have other ideas. He’s put his trust in me, so in good faith, I owe it to him to follow due process.” Rosie nods her understanding.

  His questioning of her over dinner is casual, asking mostly things I already went over with her. She confirms what she told me—she didn’t see anyone else in the alley—she didn’t tell anyone about what she witnessed, and she absolutely has nothing to do with any blackmail plot. She even offers Yanis insight on her bank account and access to her apartment, which he somewhat sheepishly declines.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, but I appreciate the offer.” He drops his napkin on his empty plate and gets up. “I should probably head back, I still have to find whoever is behind this. You two take your time finishing your meals.” He leaves with a nod for me and a smile for Rosie.

  “You okay?” I turn to face her, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

  “I am. I’m actually quite relieved. Are you going back to work?”

  “For an hour, two tops. I have a few things to finish up. Are you going to be home?”

  “That’s the plan. I’m wiped.”

  “Too wiped for company?” I probe, and smile when I see the twinkle in her eyes when she turns to me.

  “Don’t know,” she teases. “But I won’t stop you from finding out for yourself.”

  After we finish our dinner, we discover that Yanis already paid for our meals on his way out. I tuck Rosie under my arm as we make our way back to the hotel, where her car sits in the parking lot. I open the door for her and wait until she’s seated behind the wheel, before I lean in and kiss those lips that have been tempting me all night. Like every time I kiss Rosie, I have a hard time pulling myself away.

  “We’ll pick up on that later,” I mumble against her lips as she groans sweetly.

  I wait until I see her taillights disappear around the corner before heading inside.

  CHAPTER 17

  ROSIE

  It’s already getting dark by the time I leave the hotel parking lot. I stop at the light to cross Grand Avenue, still dazed from the brain-numbing assault of Jake’s kiss, when the sharp sound of a horn behind me startles me. A glance at the light shows green and I quickly pull into the intersection, peeking in my rearview mirror to check out the impatient driver behind me. All I can make out is a figure behind the wheel of the big, dark SUV behind me. Turning left on Ouray, I notice the vehicle turns behind me and sticks with me as I take a right on North Second Street.

  I’m not overly concerned, but I have to admit I feel a touch relieved when I see the SUV’s left turn signal in my rearview mirror. You hear about these road rage incidents where irate drivers follow you around for the singular purpose of giving you a piece of their mind...or their fists. Apparently this guy is heading for the RiteAid parking lot and I easily dismiss him.

  I start making the turn onto my street, when my engine starts sputtering, and I barely manage to pull off to the side where it dies. The fuel gauge still shows half a tank, so that can’t be it. Just what I need, more expenses to a car that’s long past its expiration date. It never fucking stops. I can manage without when it comes to work, but if I want to visit my mom, I’ll need wheels.

  Frustrated, I pop the hood and get out of the car. Not like I know what the fuck to do with whatever is underneath, but I can try to shake and rattle a few things. It works for my toaster. I lift the hood and use the flashlight on my iPhone to have a look. Just as I lean in and reach in to jiggle a hose, I hear the rev of an engine and the crash of impact.

  I’m thrown to the sidewalk as the front of my car is hit from the side, the impact shoving the front wheel onto the curb. I yelp as I land hard on my side, but manage to look over my shoulder to see the dark SUV take off down the road.

  “Are you all right?”

  An older man comes rushing down the sidewalk toward me.

  “I’m not sure,” I confess, trying to get up.

  “Don’t move,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’re bleeding, I’m calling an ambulance.” He indicates my arm. I look down to see the sleeve of my shirt is torn. My skin is a bloody mess underneath, but nothing looks or feels broken, just the painful sting of road rash.

  “Don’t,” I plead, holding up my hand to stop him. “It’s just a scrape.”

  “Are you sure? I still think you should—”

  “I’m positive,” I cut him off. “I’ll call a friend, if you can help me find my phone; it must’ve flown from my hand. He can contact the police.”

  When he hands me my phone, which ended up behind me on the sidewalk, I notice the screen is cracked, but the phone still works. I quickly dial Jake’s number.

  “Impatient,” he answers my call with a smile in his voice.

  “I need your help.”

  Immediately serious, he snaps, “What happened?”

  “I had a bit of an accident; my car broke down on the corner of North Second and Chipeta, and a car just hit me.”

  “Stay put, I’ll be there two minutes.”

  “Jake? Maybe call the police? I think it was intentional.”

  There’s dead silence on the other side of the line.

  “Jake?” I prompt.

  “Two minutes,” he bites off. I hear some shuffling and then Dimi’s voice is on the line.

  “Hey, sweetheart, Jake will be there in a flash, are you all right? Is anyone with you?”

  “One of my neighbors heard the crash and came to help.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Just knocked around a bit, scraped up a little.”

  “Good, that’s good, honey. The car that hit you, is it still there?”

  “No. It sped off.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  I recount everything, starting with the honks and ending with the taillights of the same dark SUV speeding off down the street.

  “You sure it was the same car?”

  “Not positive, it’s dark out, but pretty sure. I think it’s a Ford? I remember seeing the emblem on the grill in the rearview mirror. Either black or navy blue; it was hard to tell.”

  “New model Ford Expedition, and I noticed part of the license plate, but I couldn’t get it all,” my Good Samaritan interjects.

  “Did you hear that?” I ask Dimi, who asks to speak to my neighbor. Just as I hand over the phone, Jake’s familiar truck comes to a screeching halt behind my car. His face is grim and his eyes are focused as his long strides eat up the distance between us.

  “Shit,” he hisses as he crouches down beside me and examines my arm. “You call an ambulance?” he barks at my poor neighbor, who is still on the phone with Dimi.

  “I’m fine,” I assure Jake, putting a soothing
hand on his arm. “I asked him not to. Please, no more hospital.” For a moment, it seems like he’s going to force the issue, as he glares at me with clenching jaw.

  Next thing I know, I’m scooped up in his arms and carefully placed in the passenger seat of his truck.

  “Took a few years off my life,” he growls, before pressing a hard kiss to my lips.

  “Sorry,” I mumble, as he backs out of the vehicle.

  “Stay,” he orders with a warning finger in my face. “Don’t move a muscle.”

  JAKE

  “Ouch!”

  Rosie flinches as I try to remove some persistent debris from the wound on her left arm with sterilized tweezers. I give her a stern look when she tries to pull away, and I may have grunted in frustration. They would’ve had the appropriate tools to do this at the hospital, but she was adamant about not going. Stubborn woman. It had been twenty minutes before the cops showed, after I got to the scene, and needless to say, I was less than pleased. When I noticed they weren’t taking this as seriously as the situation warranted, my blood started boiling. With Rosie safely tucked away in my truck, I made sure to let my feelings be known. It took a phone call to Yanis, and the resulting pull of some impressive GJPD strings, to get the officers to ditch the flippant attitude and do their fucking jobs.

  It was another twenty minutes to take her statement, during which time a flatbed truck arrived, but by then I’d had enough. I told one of the officers if he needed to talk to Rosie, he could call my cell.

  “Where are we going?” she wanted to know when I drove right by her apartment.

  “My place, where I have a proper first aid kit and a real bed.”

  I ignored her protests all the way home. There’s no way in hell I was going to let her out of my sight anymore. It seems every time I do, something happens.

  “All done,” I announce, taping down the end of the gauze wrapping on her arm. “Now let’s see the rest of you.” Rosie insisted on walking from the truck into my house under her own wind, but I noticed she was limping quite distinctly. “Drop those pants.” I shoot her a cheeky grin, trying to make light of the situation.

  I know what happened from her neighbor, and from the account Rosie gave the police, but we have yet to discuss the implications. Someone has it out for Rosie, and I think the connection is pretty obvious.

  A sharp hiss escapes me when I see the marks on her left leg and hip. There are no tears in her jeans, but a scrape underneath the denim is oozing and the skin is already starting to discolor on her hip.

  “Shirt off too,” I instruct, and she strips it off without objection. Aside from some small scuffs along her ribs, her shoulder looks like it got a direct hit from the concrete as well. A deep blue hue is forming around the joint, and I’m pretty sure that will be black by tomorrow. Black and blue, not to mention stiff and sore.

  “Shit,” she whispers, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”

  “Bad luck has nothing to do with this. Bad karma does, and the son of a bitch responsible for this has a serious dose coming.”

  A bit more cleaning and few sterile pads later, I help Rosie into my bed. I’m about to lock the house down for the night, when I hear a knock at the door. A glimpse through the window shows Dimi and Yanis both standing on my step.

  “Little late for house calls?”

  Dimi grins unapologetically as he pushes past me into the house. Reluctantly, I step aside and invite Yanis in.

  “This’ll be quick,” Yanis says, by way of excuse, as he settles down on the couch. I take my recliner across from him. “The partial plate and make of the vehicle don’t match. Someone has done a switch. Grand Junction PD is keeping their eyes open for a new model Ford Expedition, with damage to the front passenger side, but you and I both know that car is probably already at a junkyard being stripped. Radar is calling around, but given the time of night, he’s not having much luck so far.”

  “Fuck.” Frustrated, I shove my hand in my hair. “What about witness description of the driver?”

  “There isn’t much; the guy was putting out the garbage when he heard the crash. He just got a quick glimpse of the suspect as the vehicle was speeding by and passed under a streetlight. He’s pretty sure it was a white guy, wearing a light-colored ball cap, and no facial hair. The one odd thing he noticed was the driver was wearing sunglasses, despite the almost dark. All in all, not a hell of a lot to go by.”

  “Beer?” Dimi comes walking in with three bottles from my fridge, handing one to each Yanis and me. “How’s she doing?”

  “She is doing fine.”

  We all turn to see Rosie standing in the door, wearing a tee and sweats from my dresser. The grin that starts forming on my face vanishes instantly when I see the edge of the bandages on her arm peeking out.

  “Hey, Gorgeous.” My eyes snap to Dimi, who is doing his best to blind Rosie with his smile, and I can’t hold in the warning growl. Fucking guy flirts with anything in a skirt.

  “Rosie,” Yanis greets her. “Glad to see you moving about.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbles, a bit more subdued now all the attention is on her, shooting a pleading look in my direction. I reach out my hand, trying not to look smug when she moves toward me, right by Dimas without looking, and lets me pull her down. Ignoring the guys’ soft chuckles, I carefully settle her on my lap. They can think what they want; I don’t give a rat’s ass.

  “Can I get you something? I’m afraid Jake doesn’t stock wine.” Clearly Dimi can’t quite leave trying to one-up me alone.

  “Good thing he stocks my favorite beer then,” Rosie fires back, her eyes sparkling.

  I don’t bother trying to hide the satisfied grin this time, especially when Yanis bursts out laughing.

  “Looks like she’s got your number, little brother,” he pokes at Dimi, who has trouble keeping a straight face himself.

  With her own beer in hand, the atmosphere turns serious again when Rosie asks, “Other than keeping an eye out, what are the cops doing?”

  “Canvassing neighborhood houses, checking if anyone saw anything,” Yanis answers her. “Someone in my office is keeping tabs on their investigation, so as soon as they know something, we’ll know it too.”

  “I don’t get why someone would want to hurt me. I haven’t done or said a thing to anyone. Why would anyone come after me?”

  I’m about to open my mouth to break the heavy silence that follows her question, when loud knocking sounds on the front door.

  “Expecting someone?” Dimi asks and I shake my head no. He stalks to the door and checks the peephole before turning around to us with a big grin on his face. “Looks like this just became a party.”

  ROSIE

  “Get out of my way, goddammit, I know my girl is in here. What the eff, Rosebud!”

  Dimi barely has a chance to open the door, and Grant pushes his way inside, his eyes tracking and locking on me.

  “How did you get here?” I want to know, confused.

  “Well, let’s see,” Grant taps his index finger to the dimple in his chin and rolls his eyes dramatically to the ceiling. “By the grace of God, I managed to change my shift in favor of a hot date, when I ended up home, twiddling my thumbs, after my Dutch boy called to say he wouldn’t be able to make it. I was waiting for my girl to get there so she could help me drown my sorrows. A cop shows up to the door—great teeth, shoulders for miles, and an ass they should sell tickets to see—asking if I happened to see the accident. ‘What accident?’ I asked, batting my eyelashes; because you never let an opportunity to flirt go past. ‘A woman in an old PT Cruiser was run off the road,’ he tells me. I about grab the poor boy by the collar and get all up in his face, demanding more information.” Grant pauses to snatch Dimi’s bottle he left on the table, and takes a deep swig. “Thanks, darlin’,” he coos at Dimi, who looks shell-shocked, as he gets a half empty bottle of beer pressed into his hand. “Anyhoo...I run outside, and lo a
nd behold, your poor, decrepit, little dinky toy is crumpled up against the sidewalk halfway down the block, but there’s no sign of you. Cover model cop has no idea what happened to you, and I trot off down the sidewalk. Rupert from across the road stops me and tells me he saw you getting hit and you were bleeding. Bleeding.”

  “Honey, I’m sorry, I...” I try to get up off Jake’s lap, but he holds me tight. Grant shakes his hand in my face to cut me off, while pressing the other to the middle of his massive chest.

  “Imagine the hurt when I find out my best friend, my roomie, my Rosebud, doesn’t call me to the rescue—just steps away down the street—and injured and bleeding, sets off into the night with dark, broody GI Joe instead. I tried calling: no answer. I left a message: nothing. Finally I called your office—” He points a scathing look at Jake. “And threatened whoever was unfortunate enough to answer the phone, that I would sit on them, hold them down, and roll rubber bands through their chest hair until they’re as smooth as a baby’s butt—to get this damn address.” Out of breath, Grant plucks the bottle from Dimi’s hand, and tosses the remainder back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Here I am, hot and sweaty as a whore in church. I could use another drink, got anymore of these?” He waves the bottle at Jake, who points in the direction of the kitchen. “But first I’d like to know; what the fuck, Rosebud?”

  “I’d just left Jake at the hotel and he was the first person who popped in my head, sorry...” I wince as I make my excuses. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls, but I think the neighbor may still have my phone.”

  “Actually,” Jake interrupts. “I have your phone, but I left it in the car.”

  “Oh, well, anyway I’m especially sorry I didn’t think to call you immediately. I thought you were going to be busy with Olaf and since I just have some cuts and scrapes, nothing major, I figured it could wait until morning.”

  Jake takes over and explains what happened, which gives me a chance to detangle myself from him and hobble to the kitchen to get us more beers. With his second beer in hand, and more or less over his snit, Grant settles in beside Yanis on the couch, who looks a little pale around the nose, especially when Grant repeatedly puts his big paw on the guy’s knee.