Rory: Hope City, Book 7

by Maryann Jordan

  “I think she… she may have…” Sandy sucked in a deep breath, panic threatening to claw up her throat. “Been roofied.” She reached out and grabbed the woman as she slumped against the wall again.

  “Shit!” Maeve yelled, causing both Sandy and the woman to jump. Maeve whirled around and ran back to the bar, grabbing a glass from the tub near the sink while calling out to the small group of first responders. “Need help, boys!”

  Sandy glanced over her shoulder and watched as Torin moved close to Maeve and the two whispered. His jaw grew tight, but he grabbed a plastic bag from under the bar and helped Maeve put the glass inside before zipping it closed. Sandy was immediately surrounded and gently pushed to the side as several of the first responders moved in.

  Just before she slipped out of the way, she could hear Rory’s voice talking to the woman, “Stay with me, lady. Can you tell me your name?”

  Sandy’s feet moved of their own volition and she grabbed onto the bar for support. Her vision was dimming and so was her hearing. She thought Torin was on the phone and it sounded as though he’d called 9-1-1. I need to leave. I need to get home and get away from this. As more people crowded toward the bathroom hall, she bumped and pushed her way toward the front. The door opened and several police officers stalked into the bar. Trying to get out of the way, she slipped to the side, plopping onto the padded leather seat of the booth in the front corner as her legs no longer supported her. There, she pushed her body into the corner, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around her shins.

  Sounds of people talking, exclamations, even shouts of instructions were heard, but for Sandy, pressed tightly into the corner of the bar, she closed her eyes, and her mind slipped into the past.

  10

  Rory grabbed the woman and eased her to the floor. “Stay with me, lady. Can you tell me your name?” She mumbled incoherently, and he noticed her purse next to her. Glancing over his shoulder, he spied James, one of the other paramedics. “Soon as the police get here, give them her purse.”

  Taking her pulse, he called out, “Heart rate forty. Call it in!”

  “Already done, ETA two minutes,” someone next to him said.

  “See if anyone can identify her drink,” he ordered.

  “Already done, too. Torin’s got it bagged for the police.”

  “That was quick thinking on someone’s part…” The woman moaned again, forcing his thoughts back to her and off the confusing blonde that too often invaded his mind. Continuing to monitor her vital signs, the hall soon became crowded as the on-duty paramedics arrived with their equipment. Rory stepped back but stayed in the hall, offering assistance and giving what information he had before they placed her onto the gurney.

  As they rolled her out, he swiped his hand over his face. It hadn’t escaped his attention that her blouse was disheveled. If she had been roofied… Christ, my sisters come to this bar to drink. A clap on his shoulder had him swing his head to the side, seeing James.

  “You okay, man?”

  Nodding, he replied, “Yeah. Just can’t believe that happened here. I mean, fuck, here! Fuckin’ police and rescue workers right here!”

  “I know, it’s crazy. The police are out there, a couple of detectives, too. They’re gonna want to talk to you.”

  The words were barely out of James’ mouth before a detective Rory knew stepped over. “Rory, is this a good time?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly. “Yeah, yeah.” He answered the questions, first as a paramedic, and then as a pub patron. Shaking his head, he admitted, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I didn’t notice anything. I mean, I walked over to the bar earlier to get a beer. Talked to a… an acquaintance for a moment, but there wasn’t anyone else around. Someone else came over and started talking to me. It was just a moment later when I heard the commotion in the hall and saw Maeve rush back into the bar, calling for help.”

  The detective scribbled on his pad. “I just interviewed the woman that had been sitting at the bar, she remembered seeing this lady close to her but didn’t notice anything. She was bumped by a man who was talking to the other woman. She said she was twisted on the stool with her back to them. She looked over her shoulder and could only give us a description of the back of the man. She’s the one who discovered the lady trying to come down the hall from the bathroom and called for the bar owner. She was a quick thinker, too. She had the foresight to have the bar owner get the glass before it was taken to the back and washed.”

  Shit… Sandy! Is he talking about Sandy? When he walked up to get his beer, Sandy was the only person he saw on that end, so she was probably the person just interviewed by the detective. She was also the person kneeling over the unconscious woman… the one who told Maeve to save the glass and call for help. And I pushed her out of the way. Swiping his hand over his face, he suddenly felt tired. “Is that all you need?”

  The detective snapped his notebook closed and said, “Yeah. I know where to find you if anything else comes up.” With a two-fingered salute, he moved away.

  Walking into the main area of the pub, Rory saw that most of the crowd had left. Torin and Maeve were behind the bar, Torin’s expression showing a man barely holding on to his shit. Maeve was patting his arm, trying to calm him, but she looked ready to spit nails as well. Rory hesitated, wanting to offer words of solace, but found he was empty. What the hell would I say? I’m sorry the bar that you live, breathe, and love was violated by someone preying on women? Looking toward the back, there were only a few patrons left, all first responders. James looked over, and Rory threw his hand up in a half-hearted wave, no longer interested in a night out.

  The barstools were empty, so he stepped close, capturing Torin’s gaze. “This is not on you, man.” His gaze shot to Maeve before moving back to Torin. “Not on either of you. You run a good place. A safe place. Hell, most of the people in here are first responders and none of us noticed anything. So don’t take this on, Torin.”

  Torin’s mouth remained shut, his jaw was tight, but he offered a quick nod. Unable to think of anything else to say, he slung his coat over his shoulder and started for the door. A flash of pink to the side caught his attention, and he turned to look toward the booth in the front corner. Sandy sat, squeezed so tightly into the corner it was as though she was trying to meld her body into the wall. Her face was pale, and she stared at her clasped hands resting on the table.

  Stepping closer, he called out softly, “Sandy?” She remained perfectly still. Concern filled him, and he leaned closer. “Sandy?”

  She jumped slightly, her head turning so that her blue eyes landed on his face, but she said nothing. Staring into her gaze, he wasn’t sure she was seeing him.

  “Sandy, what are you doing here in the corner? The police don’t need you anymore. You can go home.”

  She blinked, still not speaking, and he grew more concerned. He reached forward and placed his hand on hers, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Out of professional habit, he felt her pulse, concerned that it was low. Tugging ever so gently, he encouraged, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  She blinked again, looked down at his hand on her arm, and then back up to his face, confusion written in her expression. “Rory?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and he grew more desperate to get her out of the pub.

  He continued to pull her gently out of the booth, assisting her to stand. Her body was shaking, and he wrapped his coat around her shoulders. It was huge on her petite body, but he hoped the warmth would settle into her.

  Her gaze darted around as though she were waking from sleep. “I… I… uh… I need to… uh… get home.”

  “Yes, you do, and that’s what I’m gonna make sure happens.” He guided her toward the door, pushing it open while keeping one arm wrapped around her shoulders. Once outside, the cool wind seemed to help revive her, and she sucked in a deep, ragged breath. “That’s good, Sandy. Breathe deeply.”

  She looked up and down the roa
d as though trying to identify her vehicle. As she reached into her purse, he observed her hands shaking. With his arm still wrapped around her shoulder, he guided her toward his truck.

  She looked up in surprise and pointed in the other direction. “My SUV is over there.”

  “You’re in no condition to drive. I’m going to take you home.”

  Still pale and shaky, he could feel her spine stiffening. “I… I can drive. I’m sure I can drive.”

  Despite her resolve, he didn’t trust that she was over the trauma and wasn’t about to leave her alone, especially since there was an obvious predator in the area. He turned and faced her, both hands on her shoulders, and leaned down so that his face was directly in front of hers. “Sandy, you’re a smart woman. Right now, with what happened in there, it’s obviously shaken you up a great deal. On top of that, there’s somebody out here preying on women. Now, I’m going to take you home, whether you want it or not. You can be mad at me, but I can go to sleep tonight knowing you’re safe.”

  She sucked in her lips and held his gaze for a long moment. Finally, she deflated, and her shoulders slumped. Nodding slowly, she said nothing but allowed him to guide her to his truck.

  Once on the road, Rory continually glanced toward the passenger side of his truck, his concern growing as she stared listlessly out the window. In all the months they’d been acquainted, he’d seen Sandy happy, laughing, talking, and even angry. But he had never seen her quiet, fearful, lost in her own thoughts. And now, she was all three. He had no idea where she lived but thought it might be in the trendy, high-rise condos near the Inner Harbor. Turning toward the downtown area, he said softly, “Sandy, you need to tell me where you live.”

  She blinked and looked toward him before turning back to the windshield as though seeing the street for the first time. “Oh, sorry. I’m not anywhere close to here. I’m off of Almeda.”

  Now it was his turn to blink as he turned the corner to head in the other direction. He knew the area off of Almeda Street, and it was far from trendy. It was the type of old neighborhood that was slowly being revitalized. Probably, in another five years, the townhouses and condos would be mostly bought and flipped, bringing in new owners and renters. That would also bring in some new businesses catering to the younger residents. But for now, while it was not run down or dangerous, it certainly wasn’t where he pictured her living.

  As he got closer, she directed him at each intersection, finally saying, “This is my street. I have a condo on the corner. You can just park up here and let me out.”

  “No way. I’m going to make sure you get inside safely.” If he expected her to argue, she didn’t, merely offering a shrug. For some reason he didn’t want to ponder, her indifference gnawed at him. Parallel parking, he glanced toward her building, surprise hitting him once again. He hustled out, and by the time he made it around to her side, she’d opened the passenger door. He assisted her to the ground, and considering he could still feel her body shaking, kept his arm around her shoulders as they moved to the front door.

  So many neighborhoods in Hope City were multi-storied townhouses, but he still had trouble hiding his surprise. Hers was only two stories, right on the street level and on the corner. He glanced down, seeing her hand shaking as she attempted to insert the key into the lock. Gently taking it from her, he twisted it and the door swung open. She stepped through, flipped the switch to turn on the lights, and since she didn’t immediately dismiss him, he followed her into the living room. There, the surprises kept coming.

  Instead of expensive, luxurious, plush furniture or trendy, modern furniture that would have been just as expensive and yet made a visitor feel as though they shouldn’t sit on anything, he entered a quaint space, filled with furniture that appeared comfortable and inviting. The coffee table and end tables were wood and appeared old but not antique. The lamps emitting the soft illumination were mismatched and yet seemed to blend perfectly. A large, circular rug in the middle of the wooden floor reminded him of one his grandmother used to have in her house. A long, narrow table that had seen better days sat next to the brick wall, a widescreen TV perched on it. He was surprised that the TV was much smaller than the one he had in his place.

  She dropped her keys and purse onto the coffee table and turned, her face still pale in the lamplight. Before he had a chance to speak, a loud meow squawked, and his gaze jerked down. A scrawny orange cat wandered into the room, making its way directly to Sandy. Its tail was stubby, part of its ear was missing, and it walked with a pronounced limp.

  He blinked at the creature, but she dropped to a squat, her hand darting out to rub its fur. “Hey, Ocee, how are you? Did you miss Mommy?”

  He couldn’t imagine that cat was hers. If he’d thought of her with a pet, it would be a tiny Yorkiepoo or some other such designer combination of dog. Something she could have put an outfit on, stuffed into an expensive carrier that looked like a purse, and gone out for a walk, one where she walked and the dog sat in the bag. But as he stared, the cat rubbed along her shins, its purr louder than its meow had been.

  Her voice was soft as she continued to coo, and her face transformed as the tension eased. For the first time that evening, a glimpse of her appeared—the Sandy he remembered when he’d first met her. A smile spread across her face and lit up the room.

  “What’s your cat’s name?” he asked. He desired to keep the smile on her face and the obvious affection she had for the scraggly animal seemed to be the way to go about it.

  “Ocee. At the vet, I spell it o-c-e-e but it’s really for the initials O and C—orange cat. I got him at the shelter, and they’d only called him orange cat. He’d been hit by a car and left for dead. No one wanted to adopt him, but as soon as I saw him, I knew he was the one. On the cage, they had his initials, and when I called him Ocee, he immediately came over and rubbed against my fingers.”

  “The shelter?” As hard as it was for him to think of her volunteering there, it was equally hard for him to imagine her getting a pet from the shelter.

  She hefted her shoulders in a small shrug. “It’s the shelter I was at the other day. I used to volunteer more, but as I got busier at work, it’s been harder.” She continued rubbing the cat’s head for another moment. As she stood, she leaned forward and rested one hand on the coffee table. Lifting a leg, she slid off first one stiletto heel and then the other. Groaning slightly as she wiggled her toes, she stood and looked up at him.

  “Thank you for seeing me home,” she said, her voice soft as she brought her hands forward and clasped them in front of her. “It was an unexpected evening, but I’m fine now.”

  “What happened, Sandy?”

  Giving her head a quick shake, she repeated, “It was just unexpected. I was very concerned for her, but like I said, I’m fine now.”

  She continued to hold her hands together, and he noticed her knuckles were white with a tight grip. “They said you thought to have Maeve get the woman’s glass.”

  “Anyone would have done the same.”

  He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again, weighing his words. “I know it was upsetting to see the woman like that, but your reaction was… well, it appeared devastating.” He stepped closer but stopped, seeing her take a step back. Continuing, he said, “It just illuminates how careful we all need to be. You should always be very aware of your drink—”

  “I assure you, I know how to protect myself. I don’t need a lecture.”

  He heard the quiver in her voice but was uncertain if its origin was fear or anger. He hated the first for her but the second could easily be directed toward him as well as the faceless man out there who roofied the woman. “I’m not trying to lecture you, Sandy. I do care and just thought that as upset as you were, you might want to talk. Obviously, this incident has really hit you.”

  She shook her head and snorted indelicately. “Oh, you want to be friends now? You’ve barely said a word to me in the last six months except to occasionally say hello. You’ve
made it abundantly clear that we’re not even friends. Certainly not as close as the woman who was pressed up against you earlier. One of many women I’ve seen pressed up against you over the months. I’m sorry, Rory, that doesn’t spell friendship to me. And it surely doesn’t spell Let’s have a glass of wine and tell each other our secrets.” She heaved a deep breath and lifted her hands, dragging her fingers through her hair, pulling the heavy tresses away from her face. Her features were pinched, and the tension from earlier had settled into her eyes again. “As I said, thank you for bringing me home, and now, I’m tired, and it’s time for you to leave.”

  He wanted to stay. He wanted to argue. He wanted her to talk to him, confide in him. And his fingers twitched at his side, wanting to pull her close and offer comfort. Maybe even accept comfort from her. He stared at her face, seeing strength war with uncertainty. Sighing heavily, he nodded. He’d brought her home and seen her safely inside. She was right—he’d made it clear that they were not in each other’s lives, so he needed to leave. He turned and walked to the door, throwing it open, then looked over his shoulder, seeing her still standing in the middle of the room. Her pink dress was modest while clinging to her curves, but her bare feet gave her a vulnerability he’d never witnessed before.

  “Good night, Sandy,” he said, his voice soft. He pulled her door closed behind him, waiting until he heard the click of the locks before moving to his truck. Driving home, his thoughts were in turmoil, conflict spearing through him. She was not the girl who flirted and then shut everyone down. There was a lot more to Sandy Carmichael than most people knew, and he hated how shallow he’d been to have listened to others.

  Sandy didn’t want to watch him leave. She didn’t want to watch him at all. But her feet seemed to have a different agenda, and she found herself standing at her front window, pulling back the curtain slightly. Her gaze landed on Rory as he walked to the corner and climbed into the driver’s seat of his truck. It roared to life, and he pulled out onto the street. She stayed rooted to the spot until his red taillights disappeared in the distance.