Hit&Run

by Freya Barker

  Back on Jake’s lap, I finish my own drink and snuggle in with my head on his shoulder. I follow along with the general conversation, ranging anywhere from the underbelly of the movie industry, to the merits of microbreweries, to the poor performance of the Colorado Rockies so far this season. Just listening to the heavy drone of the men’s voices makes me sleepy. Within minutes, my eyelids flutter and I doze off.

  The next thing I know, I’m being tucked into bed by Jake—who presses a kiss to my hair—before I let my eyes drift closed again. The bedroom door closes and I hear Jake in the hallway, talking to someone.

  “Trust me, I’m not letting her out of my sight. She’ll be staying with me.”

  I should probably protest the fact decisions are being made about me, without my input, but I’m too damn tired to open my mouth. Instead I let myself slide into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  JAKE

  “Next time you’re arm wrestled into giving up my address, you wanna give me a heads-up?”

  Radar smiles a toothy grin when I walk into the office.

  “And what would be the fun in that? The guy was in a state, and I would’ve given good money to witness him giving the three of you some of what he handed out to me.” He ducks when I try to give him a slap upside the head, and adds, “Just so you know, I did offer to call you to check, but he wouldn’t hear of it, he insisted he see Rosie for himself. How is she, by the way?”

  “Other than she’s pissed as all hell right now, she’s fine,” I confess with a grin, as I gather up some files and slide them in a messenger bag with the laptop.

  IT STARTED FIRST THING this morning when I woke up in a cold bed. Sounds from the kitchen alerted me to the fact Rosie hadn’t skipped out at some point. I wouldn’t have put it past her. Not after the weekend we’d had.

  She wasn’t at all happy I had Grant pack up and bring over her clothes and toiletries on Friday night. So Saturday morning did not start swimmingly when she found out, but her snit didn’t last long. Then Grant knocked on my door again that night, after dinner. Seeing him triggered her anger, and she gave him hell for colluding with me to keep her prisoner; her words, not mine.

  Sunday things seemed more relaxed; we stayed in watching movies and eating junk food. The only time she was upset was when she slid her hand down my boxers after we’d gone to bed, and I stopped her. Trust me, I would’ve liked nothing better than to take her up on her invitation, but with her body still black and blue, I didn’t want to chance hurting her. I wasn’t too sure if I’d be able to restrain myself.

  In the end she huffed a little, turned her back to me, and finally fell asleep shortly after I wrapped my arm around her, tucking her into my body. The whole night was some kind of torture with her soft ass pressed into my painful erection. Sleep didn’t come until the faint light of morning started filtering in through my blinds.

  I tagged a pair of jeans and followed the smell of coffee into my kitchen, where I found Rosie fully dressed in her uniform.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She turned to me with one eyebrow pulled high. “Work,” she stated, daring me to respond.

  “You’re off until we find who is responsible for your injuries.”

  Clearly that did not make her happy. Thus followed a discussion where I had to explain her boss was made aware of the attack on her, and—after Yanis reminded him of the kind of business PASS provided the hotel by housing all their clients there—the man very graciously agreed to let Rosie take a week.

  It’s true what they say about the temper of redheads. As shy and easygoing as Rosie appears initially, once the gloves come off; she is fierce. A little scary even. But what is scarier is even the woman’s anger seems to be a turn-on for me. The more I see of the real Rosie, the deeper I fall.

  By the time Grant called to see if she wanted to go with him to see Connie, she had calmed down a little. When he swung by to pick her up, I mentioned running into the office to grab some work for the week, which earned me a particularly dirty look and a tightly closed mouth when I tried to kiss her goodbye. The fact I could barely contain my amusement at that only fueled the flame. Grant just chuckled as he tucked her into his car.

  “ALREADY, HUH?” RADAR points out. “Didn’t take you long to alienate your woman. At this rate you’ll break my record.”

  I don’t react to his calling Rosie my woman. I reckon it’s pretty accurate, there is no one else who would fit that bill.

  “By the way,” Radar continues. “The Ford was reported by a security guard at Colorado Mesa University, yesterday morning. He noted it had been left parked without a tag in a lot by the Welcome Center, sometime early Saturday morning, and had remained unclaimed for twenty-four hours by the time it was called in. The Ford was towed off by GJPD for processing.”

  “Any news from there?”

  “Matter-of-fact, there is.” He turns to his screen and opens a link on his desktop. “The VIN number on the car was traced back to a lawyer in Glenwood Springs. He reported the car stolen Friday morning at the local golf course. The license plates were traced to a guy who is apparently on vacation with the family in Mexico and left his car in the long-term parking lot at the airport, here in Grand Junction.”

  “Let me guess,” I offer, “his car was sporting the Ford’s plates?”

  “Bingo. I pulled up the DMV record for Peter Lavoie, the owner of the Ford, and judging by his picture, I can safely confirm he was not behind the wheel.”

  I take a look at the image on the screen of a black man in his fifties. “Looks that way. So where do we go from here? Whoever stole the Ford had to have had some way to get to the golf course, and some way to get off university grounds after he abandoned the Ford there.”

  “Bree managed to find out the GJPD checked with their Glenwood counterparts for any reports of an unclaimed vehicle at or around the golf course. Of course, someone may well have dropped him off and picked him up again.”

  “Could be, which would also raise the possibility the driver could be working for someone else.”

  “Exactly, but that might make him much harder to trace. For now, I’m going to assume he was on his own and had to find his own way around. Either he was well-prepared and had a second vehicle waiting nearby, but if we’re lucky he grabbed a taxi. I’ll get started on the cab companies to see if anyone has a record of a pickup at the university early Saturday morning.”

  “Thanks, appreciate it. Could you shoot everything you find to me in an email? I’ll be working from home.” Carrying the messenger bag, I head for the door, but stop just short. “By the way; since I’m trying to keep Rosie safe at my place, you may want to hold off on giving out my address to random people for a bit.”

  Radar turns his infectious grin on me, but when he sees the dead serious expression on my face, sobers right up.

  “So noted.”

  “CAN I HELP YOU?”

  The woman behind the counter smiles when I walk into the store.

  “I’m just looking around.”

  “Let me know if you need any help.” I nod at her and walk over to the cooler alongside the back wall, housing a wide range of options.

  Jesus, I had no idea there’d be this many choices. It’s not like I have much experience buying this stuff. My eye catches on something red, white, and blue. Patriotic—every warm-blooded American likes those colors. Pleased with myself, I grab it out of the cooler—the thing is as heavy as a goddam paver—and walk over to the counter.

  “Is it for a special occasion?” The woman throws a concerned look at the replica of the American flag in my hands.

  “Not really, just something for someone special,” I explain, puzzled when her face drops even further.

  “I’m so, so sorry for your loss,” she mumbles.

  Wait. What?

  “Loss? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “It’s a beautiful choice. If you’d like we can have the flowers sent straight to the
funeral home.” She turns soulful eyes on me.

  Confused, I examine the piece in my hands, only now noticing a ribbon with the words Rest In Peace, fluttering at the bottom.

  Minutes later I walk out, the admonishing glare of the florist burning a hole in my back, clutching a bouquet of white and yellow flowers she ended up picking in my hand.

  Apparently funeral flowers are not the way to go when you’re trying to make nice with a woman.

  How the fuck was I supposed to know?

  ROSIE

  I shake off Grant’s hand when he tries to help me out of his car. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “You move like one,” he fires back, before adding with a smirk. “You wouldn’t have lasted an hour at work.”

  That earns him a dirty look, but I’m determined not to engage. Grant likes to push my buttons, but I’ve done my fill of arguing this weekend. The truth is—although I’d rather swallow my tongue than admit it—I’m glad for the time off. My hip is killing me, and the bruising and swelling of my shoulder makes using the arm on that side virtually impossible. It would’ve taken me forever to get my work done, if I could’ve managed at all.

  But I’m not going to let Grant in on that. The men in my life—I’m still getting used to the fact there is more than one—already think they know everything best. Drives me nuts, even if sometimes they’re right.

  “Have you heard from Olaf?”

  “I don’t know, Rosie. That man is fine as fine can be when he’s around—attentive, funny, and shit; he scorches my damn sheets—but it’s like he forgets I exist when I’m out of sight. I finally got hold of him last night. Says he had to fly out to LA on Friday unexpectedly; something about meetings for a next project, won’t be back until Wednesday for the last days of shooting. He forgot his charger and his phone ran out of juice, but I’m calling bullshit. Boy sees me as a temporary diversion, and you know I’m worth more than that.”

  “Damn right you are,” I commiserate, patting his knee soothingly. “He doesn’t know the pure diamond he holds in his hand.”

  “Right?” he agrees with flair. “He gets one more chance, but that’s it. He better bring his A game.”

  “Isn’t this the last week of shooting, though?”

  “For the cast, yes, but the camera crew will stay behind until Wednesday next week to shoot scenery around McInnis and downtown Grand Junction. Of course I work, but I switched a few shifts so I actually have Saturday and Sunday off to spend with him.”

  “Wow,” I smile at him. “For once a proper weekend with everyone else.”

  “Let’s hope it’s a good one.”

  He returns my smile but when he turns his attention back on traffic, it disappears into a straight line. I feel bad for him; Grand Junction isn’t exactly a hotbed of the gay community. Especially for a black man built like a tank. He would’ve been better off in San Francisco or even Phoenix. Despite appearing out of place, his family roots in this town are deep, and I can’t see him trying to build up a life elsewhere. It’s just slim pickings here.

  “He doesn’t appreciate you the way you deserve, you give me a call; I’ll give that boy a come-to-Jesus he won’t ever forget.”

  Grant snorts beside me. “Rosebud, you’re five nothing and weigh maybe a buck fifty—wet. Have you seen Olaf?”

  “One seventy-five, and I’m five-two. He may be bigger, but he hurts you, you can bet your patootie I’ll have that Dutch boy singing soprano in the damn church choir.”

  We walk into the nursing home, my best friend still chuckling beside me. I’m glad I was able to make him laugh.

  Mom is dozing in her bed, with one eye half-open when I come in the door. The moment Grant walks in behind me, both eyes pop open and a bright smile appears on her face.

  “Hey, Beautiful,” Grant coos, as he pushes past me and takes a seat next to her bed.

  She barely gives me a second glance as he easily draws her into conversation, trying to pull me in as well, but Mom doesn’t bite. I should probably be used to it by now, but it still stings.

  My whole life, I’ve been made to feel inadequate and her dementia has not changed a thing. Sometimes I’ll just sit there and tell her about my day, while she either glares at me or avoids looking at me altogether, until I finally give up. Most days she barely acknowledges my presence, and I spend those visits as I do today, sitting quietly in a chair beside her bed.

  There isn’t much I can do for her anymore—everything I did before has been taken over by the staff here—but I can at least come and visit. I have to admit it’s more for myself than her. At some point in this process, I’ve gone from merely a disappointment to an actual enemy for Mom, and I doubt she’d miss me if I didn’t show, but I need to know I’m doing all I can. For me.

  There are times when I feel utterly alone.

  “Ready to go?” Grant’s voice startles me out of my daze, and I glance over at the bed, where Mom has fallen asleep. With a kind expression on his face, he pulls me out of the chair and hooks my hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m taking you for lunch.”

  “I should probably call Jake. Knowing that man, he’ll have a posse out looking for me before we get our food.”

  “Already messaged him.”

  I look sideways at Grant’s profile. “You like him,” I conclude.

  “He’s good for you.”

  “He’s bossy.”

  “Like I said; he’s good for you,” he repeats, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes.

  “You’re bossy too.”

  This time a wide grin appears on his face. “That’s why I like him.”

  “Chad was bossy,” I point out as we get to the car, and Grant opens the door for me.

  “Chad was a self-centered, controlling, lying piece of shit,” he fires back before adding, “Buckle up.”

  “Yes, Dad,” I mumble, as he shuts my door and stalks around to the driver’s side, and suddenly I’m hit with a wave of sadness. I miss him almost as much now as I did when he’d just passed. He was always my safe, soft place to fall. Part of me wonders if unconsciously I look for him in the men I let into my life. Chad, who fell miserably short, and now Grant, even Jake. They all—well, at least Grant and Jake— seem to be able to make me feel safe, and cared for. Each coming at it from a different perspective.

  I guess bossy is not so bad when it comes from the right place. All the things that irritated me these past few days—things I felt as belittling—suddenly feel comforting when I look at them under a different light. With that realization, I suddenly feel petty and ungrateful.

  “Instead of eating out, can we perhaps pick something up for all three of us and eat it at Jake’s? He’s probably home by now.”

  Grant’s large hand reaches over and pats my knee. “Sure thing, Rosebud. Let’s make sure that boy of yours keeps up his strength. God knows he needs it with you around.” I choose to ignore the barb, determined not to let anything touch my charitable mood.

  Thirty minutes later, we pull up to Jake’s bungalow with two bags of Chinese takeout from Bamboo City.

  “Honey, we’re home!” Grant calls out, as he marches in the door first. I follow behind a bit slower, but halt in my tracks when I see the sunny bouquet of flowers in a plastic juice pitcher on the kitchen counter.

  “Couldn’t find a vase,” Jake says from behind the stove where he is stirring a pot.

  “Doubt you have a vase,” Grant answers, plunking the bags of food beside the flowers.

  “True enough.” Jake’s eyes never leave mine.

  Ignoring Grant, I make my way over to Jake and slip my arms around his waist, tilting my head back to look at him. “Those for me?”

  He rolls his eyes but when they come back to mine, they’re sparkling with humor. “Sure as fuck am not gonna buy that tree-sized fruitcake any flowers.”

  “Hey! I resemble that remark,” Grant reacts, as he shamelessly opens every kitchen cupboard until he finds plates.

  “Thank you,�
�� I whisper for Jake’s ears only. He wraps an arm around me, and gives my shoulders a squeeze, before dropping a hard kiss on my lips.

  “Are we eating or what?”

  We both turn to Grant, who has spread the boxes of takeout on the counter and is loading his plate.

  “I didn’t know you’d be cooking,” I tell Jake, indicating the pot on the stove. “We brought lunch.”

  “Just chili, which will be better tonight anyway.”

  “Am I invited?”

  “Nope,” Jake informs Grant firmly. “After lunch I’m kicking you out. Rosie and I have plans.”

  “We do?”

  He tilts his head down, looking me straight in the eyes. “Damn right we do.”

  The gruff sound of his voice, and the promise of his words, head straight down my body, making my spine tingle and my knees weak.

  “Easy, boy,” Grant protests, his mouth full of chow mein. “You’re ruining my appetite.”

  AS IT TURNS OUT, THOSE plans get delayed, when right after Grant leaves; Jake gets a work call. He spends the next half hour, while I’m cleaning up the kitchen, sitting in front of his laptop with the phone to his ear.

  I just catch snippets of the conversation, but it’s clear they’re talking about the SUV that tried to run me down. Something about the cops coming up empty on a search of the vehicle. I assume that means they found it and am itching to hear. I make myself some tea, grab my Kindle, and curl up on the couch, trying to concentrate on my book while Jake works.

  “You keep falling asleep on my couch, I’ve gotta be doing something wrong.”

  I blink my eyes open to find Jake on his knees beside me, on the floor. “Nothing wrong with you on your knees.” Still sleepy, I accidentally voice my thought out loud, and immediately realize my mistake. I scramble upright in my seat. Jake’s expression holds the middle between shock and amusement. Embarrassed, I start rambling, “I didn’t mean to imply...I mean...that came out wrong. I wouldn’t presume...I didn’t even think of it...well, clearly I did think of it, but more in a way of observation, rather than wish. That’s not to say I wouldn’t want that, but not now. This...” I start waving my hand between us, “whatever this is here, it may or may not end up there. But not now...or maybe ever. So forget I said anything. Please...”