Chapter 11Rafe
Chapter 11
Rafe
W hat. The. Fuck.
I drove down Eighteenth toward the Chocolate Lab where two cop cars and a city ambulance crowded the curb in front of the café.
The last time my heart rate had spiked this way was two weeks ago when I’d gotten the call to pick up Rose and Lauren from the restaurant and take them home. Well, Rose’s home.
Yeah, my heart had beat double time when I’d learned they were planning to text a total stranger to give them a ride. At least, until Rose’s girl had decided to call me instead—on the sly, as it turned out.
Once back here, Lauren had followed up with her flip suggestion (or not so flip, hard to tell with that girl) about me living in Rose’s garage-turned-apartment.
I’d frozen because…how had she read my mind? Rose had seemed surprised, probably embarrassed, by the idea—if her red face had been any sign. Rather than saying anything, we’d both looked at our feet, then the garage, and then back at the pickup where Princess was sticking her head out the window and grinning. Obviously enjoying her part in the rescue mission.
I’d jumped into the breach, throwing out commands like I was back in the army.
“Rose, let me have your house keys. I’ll go in first, switch on some lights, and make sure everything’s okay. Is Pirate in the backyard?” I briefly paused until she nodded. “Good. You can let him in while I’m inside. And don’t call a taxi tomorrow morning to take you to your car. I’ll pick you up early, around five thirty, and take you over there.”
Okay, I’d been so far over the line, I couldn’t even see the line, it was so far in the distance.
I’d been lucky Rose hadn’t handed me my ass right then and there.
Instead, she’d looked stunned, and her girl had snorted. She’d stuck out her hand with the keys dangling. I’d grabbed them. Then we’d done everything I’d suggested.
In the last couple of weeks, our exchanges had been pretty much “just-the-facts-ma’am.” That was after Rose had again apologized for the late-night call, and I’d given her a look. Princess had continued to hang out with Pirate when I was working. We’d even taken the dogs out for a walk around the neighborhood a couple of times, shooting the shit as we went.
But when she’d asked me to join her, Mateo and some of the café kids for pizza last Monday night, I’d replied thanks but declined, saying I had something to do with Pete. No use getting (too) attached.
Now it was a Wednesday morning here at the café—super early since I wanted to get a head start on a jam-packed roasting day.
Flashing lights in the dark. An ambulance with its rear doors thrown open. Two police cruisers angled into spaces in the front of the Chocolate Lab, blocking part of the main drag.
What the fuck was going on? And where the fuck was Rose?
I pulled into the side street, parked opposite the café’s deck and launched myself out of the pickup. Pirate was howling in Rose’s house across the street, throwing his big self against the front door. Princess started barking too, but I ignored her and ran across to the front sidewalk.
And immediately stopped. Broken glass had shattered everywhere along the front of the café. Some fuckers had smashed the hell out of the two plate glass windows on either side of the entry. Jagged shards jutted from the bottom sills. More glass fragments covered the floor beyond the windows.
Inside, Rose huddled in one of the chairs, wearing a T-shirt, shorts and what looked like bedroom slippers. Goddamned slippers. A medic knelt in front of her, his jump bag beside him on the floor. She twisted her head down, watching him clean and bandage the bloody cuts on both her knees. Thick white dressings already wrapped her hands.
An old wooden baseball bat, scarred and mottled with age, laid on the table within her reach.
I pulled a fast breath in. Stand down for now, soldier. Stand down. She’s safe. No thanks to you, but she’s safe.
I started forward, crunching over glass in my work boots, to get to her. A patrolman stepped in front of me and stuck his arm out.
“Stop right there. This is a crime scene. Who are you?”
I was getting ready to swat his arm out of the way—not thinking too clearly at this point—when Rose looked up.
She said one word—“Rafe?”—in a tentative voice and swallowed a sob.
I shoved my way past the cop and stalked through the door to Rose. She must have seen something in my face. She grabbed my hand, winced and offered, “Rafe, it’s okay, no harm done. I’m okay. I got by with a few scrapes and bruises.”
Shit. She was trying to comfort me.
“What happened?” I managed to growl out—limiting the swear words to zero since I didn’t want to upset her any further. I walked to her side, angled close, squatted and got my right arm around her shoulders. I may have squeezed a bit.
Rose turned her face to me and drew in a shuddering breath. Her skin, always pale and creamy, was now stark white. Her green eyes filled with tears, and she looked up as if to keep them from falling.
“I was asleep when the alarm for the Chocolate Lab went off in the hall outside my bedroom. I fumbled for a moment, got my phone off my nightstand and called 911. I grabbed Dad’s bat and ran over here.”
She side-eyed me, still trying to keep the tears in check.
“I could hear yelling and laughing, and I came around the front. Some guys took off running down the street after I shouted. Broken glass was scattered across the sidewalk, so I was careful. I really was!”
I must have made some noise for her to feel the need to reassure me.
“I could hear sirens in the distance, so I figured it was okay. I’d forgotten my keys, so I cleared some of the glass pieces off with my bat and climbed over the sill. And that’s when I slipped and fell on the glass.”
I didn’t know where to begin. Other than planning how to strangle the person who set Rose up with an alarm that only sounded in her house. She needed the right sort of system that rang not only in her fucking house, but also on her phone and at the café and at a security company. Plus, signs posted everywhere blaring “these premises protected by….”
Maybe it was a matter of money, not being able to afford a real commercial system. But, still, someone had jerry-rigged this excuse of a system, and I wanted to find out who.
Time for that later, maybe when I’d cooled off.
I hugged Rose closer. She looked down at me again, and the tears finally spilled out of her eyes.
“I was so stupid not to wait,” she whispered.
Well, shit. That was it. She did not get to beat up on herself when she was already hurting. And her place was a shattered mess. I hugged her again and shushed her.
I hadn’t been a platoon sergeant for nothing.
The medic, who’d overheard our exchange, finished and stood.
I raised my eyebrows at him and said, “Will any of these wounds require stitching?”
He shook his head.
“How should I take care of them, and do you have some extra supplies for me?”
He nodded, explained what to do, and left some bandages and antibiotic ointment. He also advised Rose to take some acetaminophen or ibuprofen when she got back home—not aspirin since that could cause more bleeding. Plus see her doctor for follow-up. And take it easy for a few days.
By this time, Rose was frowning, appearing ready to push back on the instructions and enforced rest. So I stood and thanked the guy. Even hurting, she realized he was just doing his job and thanked him too.
Another police officer—an older guy and luckily not the youngster who’d tried to prevent me from getting to Rose—stepped up next.
He must have already taken her statement since he smiled and said, “Looks like you’re feeling a little better, Ms. Connolly, now that your husband—or is he your boyfriend?—has arrived.”
I may have been reading into it more than I should, but it sounded like the word “finally” was implied.
But Rose jumped in before I could say anything. “No, no, Officer Brennan, this is Rafe Amato. He’s the coffee roaster here. He was coming in early to work. He lives across town.”
Brennan smiled again, noting my arm still around Rose, and moved on to share, “I wish I had better news for you, Ms. Connolly. It’s unlikely that we’ll catch these guys. They smash windows, maybe spray graffiti, then take off. No fingerprints. Even if there are cameras, no dice. They usually wear beanies and masks.”
I butted in there. “Is this common in these neighborhoods now? Do they ever do more than break windows?”
“Nah, it’s usually the thrill of vandalizing. However, in one or two recent cases, they moved further into the premises, looking for cash or valuables. So, Ms. Connolly,” he said as he looked Rose square in the eye, “please, in the future, should this happen again, wait for the police.”
I kept my mouth shut this time. Rose nodded, asked for a police report for her insurance and thanked Brennan. He left through the front door.
Right on cue, Mateo opened the side door with his key, walked in and said, “Princess is going crazy in the pickup, and I can hear Pirate barking up a storm at Rose’s. What going on?”
He stopped when he saw us. “What the fuck?” He had the morning shift this week, with Rose taking the afternoons. We hadn’t thought to call him in all the chaos.
Mateo rushed over at the same time that Rose and I both yelled, “Watch the glass, watch the glass!”
He put the brakes on. When he saw Rose’s bandages, he let loose with a soft string of Spanish swear words—some even I couldn’t make out.
“Rosita, are you okay? What happened?”
By this time, Rose was fading—and fast. I needed to get her home and give her some pain meds so she could nap.
I raised my eyebrows at Mateo, and he immediately got my message.
Rose launched into an explanation of what happened and what we should do next. I pressed my fingers against her lips and said softly, yet sternly, “Rose. Shut it.”
She stopped and narrowed her eyes.
Before she could start up again, I informed her, “Mateo and I have got this covered. Right now, I’m going to carry you home so you don’t slip in those stupid slippers.”
I reached down, put an arm under her knees and tightened my arm around her shoulders. I’d never let go from earlier. Picking her up, I cradled her in front of me like a hurt dog, like a tired child. Or like a bride.
“Once we get you settled on your couch or bed with some pain meds, I’ll deal with the dogs. Then I’ll come back and work on things with Mateo.”
At this point, Rose was staring at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had, starting when I’d clocked her white face and bloody red knees.
“Please, please, Rose, let me help.” I wasn’t afraid to beg.
She nodded slowly and rested her head against my shoulder.
I nearly spoiled it all by saying, “Princess and I are gonna get our stuff from Pete’s and move into your garage apartment tonight.”