Chapter 12 Rosco
ROSCO
Holding Rachel soothes some of the fear that has been consuming me since I’d realized she was missing.
I’d searched for over fifteen minutes before finding her.
The longest fifteen minutes of my life. I’d been both relieved and pissed when I’d found Rachel being manhandled by that thug in the hallway.
She’d looked terrified until she saw me. Relief had washed over her. She’d known I’d protect her. An unexpected warmth had flashed through me at the trust she has in me, despite our turbulent relationship. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe the ice around my heart cracked a little.
The ditzy-female act she’d been putting on had been confusing, but I’d played along.
Instinct told me her life depended on it.
I’d seen the fear in her eyes. I’d fought the urge to throat punch the asshole who was manhandling her.
I’d clocked the gun he had holstered inside his jacket.
While I, too, am packing, it wouldn’t do to have a shoot-out at a client’s home, unless there was no other option.
Something is terribly wrong here. I’d felt it the moment we’d arrived.
Seeing Rachel freaking out and being dragged by a hulking brute has only solidified my worries.
I need to contact Kelvin, see if he’s been able to find out anything about our hostess, but Rachel needs me.
It can wait until my angel is no longer shaking like a leaf.
My angel? I suppress an eye roll and derisive snort. She isn’t my anything. But do I want her to be?
I have to admit she fits perfectly in my arms. Her head lands in the center of my chest, just right to comfortably rest my head on top of hers. Her body molds to mine in perfect harmony. I can’t remember ever having a woman in my arms that felt this right.
I’m so screwed. I hate to admit it, but I’m beginning to think I’m the next of my brothers to fall victim to the love bug that’s bitten Luke and Bo. Enos had warned me, when Bo fell that I was next, but I never thought it possible.
I suspect Enos has been bitten, too, judging by the way he acts around Kristen.
I don’t want to think about him with her though.
I have enough problems without dealing with his.
If I’d be honest with myself, I’d admit I’ve already taken the hit and fallen hard, but I can’t be honest with myself, not about this.
It’s not that I enjoy being single or that I don’t want a love like Luke and Bo have found.
I do. I want it, more now than ever, but I don’t deserve it, not after what happened to 1Lt.
Montgomery. She’s dead. Gone. She’ll never have the chance to have a life, love, children.
How can I think I should have those things?
My biggest fear is letting Rachel down by failing to protecting her. The sound of Cindy and other staff entering the tent startles me and pulls me from my morose thoughts. Focus. Rachel’s life could depend on it.
I release my hold on her. “You okay, for now?” I ask, staring into her expressive eyes. I’ll know if she’s bullshitting me. While she is very good at schooling her expressions, her eyes tell me everything I need to know.
She gives me a slight nod, without speaking. Her body is no longer trembling and color has returned to her cheeks. Satisfied that she’s as good as she can be, in the moment, I step back, putting a little distance between us. She moves to greet Cindy.
Pulling my cell out, I call Kelvin, who picks up on the second ring.
“Yo, what’s up?” Kelvin answers.
“Where are you at?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.
“We just parked. We’re heading toward the big tent,” he answers. “What’s got your knickers in a wad?”
“You all were supposed to be here hours ago,” I accuse. “We needed more manpower on this one.”
“I’m sorry, man.” Kelvin’s apology sounding sincere. “My car is in the shop. I had to wait for Enos to pick me up, or I would have been here. You know that.” I did know that. I’d known Enos was the reason they hadn’t shown up. Ever since Kristen came on the scene, he’s been less than reliable.
“What have you dug up on our hostess?” I ask, instead of getting into why Enos is being an idiot.
“Not much, really. She comes from old money. Her family has lived in the area for generations. They run a shipping company that began in late 1800’s. She’s married to a businessman who moved to the area from Chicago about ten years ago, when they wed,” Kelvin answers.
“I’ve got a background check running on the husband. There have been a couple of news articles alluding to him not being one hundred percent above board, but so far, it has only been accusations, nothing concrete. Why do you want to know? Has something happened?”
“Yes, but I can’t get into it right now.
” I huff in frustration because I don’t know what’s happened.
“Let me know what you find out and tell everyone to keep their eyes open. I’m ready to get out of here, but Rachel has to meet with the hostess first. Make sure the staff is watched over as they pack up, okay? I’ll be with Rachel.”
“Sure thing,” Kelvin agrees. “You need backup? You sound on edge.”
“I’ve got it for now. Thanks, but stay alert…just in case.” I end the call.
Rachel is conferring with Cindy over the pack up and exit. I wait for them to finish before I move in closer. I don’t plan on letting Rachel out of my sight the rest of the time we are here. She turns as I approach. Her body relaxes slightly when our eyes meet.
She tenses up again, as one of the guards approaches us. “I’m here to lead you to meet Mrs. Winthrop,” the large suited-man says. Her nervous eyes meet mine, and she swallows hard.
“I’ll go with you.” She gives me a single nod.
Rachel and I make our way to the library where the hostess is waiting. I can feel Rachel’s unease as we stride through the large home. She looks around nervously, and her body tenses at each turn we make.
The large man in a suit is leading the way. I can tell by the way he carries himself he’s not just a butler. He’s a trained soldier. Former military or something else? Why would a businessman and a socialite need this level of protection?
The man stops outside of a closed door. He knocks firmly.
“Enter,” a man’s voice on the other side of the door calls out. Rachel tenses next to me. Her body begins to tremble under my hand at her lower back as I’ve escorted her through the house. I press it more firmly against her. She glances at me with a tight smile.
Our escort opens the door just enough to step inside but blocks our sight into the room. “Baby Girl’s Catering is here to see the Misses, Sir.”
“Send her in, Davis” the unknown male commands. Davis continues to stand in the door. “Sir, there is a man with the woman as well,” Davis informs him. A moment of silence passes. What’s this about? My senses, already on high alert, rocket into overdrive.
With a nod, Davis motions for us to move forward. Rachel takes a tentative step forward despite how badly she’s trembling. I grab her hand and take the lead. She lets me. I don’t like it.
This morning she would have kicked me in the balls for taking the lead. Now she follows meekly behind. Annoying as it is for her to fight me on everything, it’s who she is. The fact she’s not fighting me speaks volumes. Something’s wrong. Something really, really bad.
The room is dimly lit. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line the walls. The musty scent of old books, cigars, and potpourri fills the air. The dark hardwood floors add to the foreboding feeling of the room.
A fiftyish, gray-haired man with a clean-shaven face sits in a large, overstuffed chair near an unlit fireplace. His abdomen is straining against the buttons of his dress shirt. Next to him is a middle-aged woman in a matching chair who looks vaguely familiar. They both rise as we enter the room.
“Welcome, Rachel, right?” the woman asks, stepping forward as we near the couple.
“Yes, I’m Rachel with Baby Girl’s Catering,” Rachel answers, her voice cracking a little while holding out her shaking hand. The woman takes Rachel’s hand in hers then lays her other hand over their joined hands.
“It’s so good to meet you, again,” the woman says. Her eyes and her tone belying her words. She takes Rachel in head to toe and back again. Her nose wrinkling in disgust. Instantly, I dislike this woman.
“I’m Gladys, and this is my husband, Lawrence.” Gladys gestures to her husband. “Everything was absolutely wonderful! I’m very happy to have booked your company for this event. I will likely be using you again.” Apparently she’s keeping up the ruse despite her facial expressions.
“Thank you,” Rachel murmurs, nervously. “I’m glad you’re pleased with our services. I’ll be sure to let the owners know,” Rachel states. She, too, seems to play her role. What the fuck is going on around here?
“They would’ve loved to have been here, but weren’t ready to be out, yet.
” The hostess nods with a fake grin. Her husband, Lawrence, stands and steps toward the women.
Rachel stiffens. Her fear is palpable. Her smile falters for a split second before she pastes it back on.
I move up beside her, replacing my hand to her lower back. His gaze finds mine.
“And you are?” the man asks. His dark eyes assessing me, sizing me up.
“Rosco Robertson, head of security for Baby Girl’s,” I answer, holding out my right hand to him while keeping my left hand on Rachel.
He glances at my arm wrapped around her waist. Then he grips my hand tightly giving it a firm shake.
His hand is soft and a bit clammy. I want to wipe my hand on my pants, but refrain from doing so.
“Tell me, Rachel, have you worked for Baby Girl’s very long?” the man asks, shifting his attention to her. His eyes scan Rachel head to toe and back again with a calculating, appreciative gaze. I want to punch his lights out. No one gets to look at her that way.