Rook Security Complete Series

by Camilla Blake

  Rebecca gathered up all her cleaning supplies from where they were scattered around the house and dragged them all to the guest room. She looked around it with new eyes. Technically, it was modest, she supposed. White walls, no decorations, an Ikea bed with a plain blue bedspread and workout equipment in the corner.

  But after months of living in a shelter, it was the absolute height of opulence to her. She checked out the en suite bathroom and couldn’t wait any longer. Flicking the lock on the bedroom door and the bathroom door, she finally felt safe enough to get naked.

  Her clothes fell in a tumbled pile on the floor. She groaned when she stepped underneath the hot spray. The soap and shampoo were half filled, obviously something another guest had left at one point or another, but to her, they were perfect. She huffed hard at the mannish scent of the soap, using a washcloth to scrub every inch of herself, even in-between her toes. The shampoo also had a spicy, masculine scent that she couldn’t get enough of. She scrubbed at herself until she was pink. Until her hair squeaked.

  Finally, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the ridiculously large towels that she, herself, had folded into a triangle earlier that day. Not wanting to waste one of his guest toothbrushes, she finger-brushed with some toothpaste. Rebecca wiped the humidity off the bathroom mirror and used a comb from the drawer.

  She stared at herself.

  Who was this person in the mirror? There were her same green eyes. Her same little, triangular nose. Her same pushed-out lips. But her cheeks were impossibly hollow. And the bruising was still darkening. Her eyebrows hadn’t been shaped in six months and though they still arched, hair faded down toward her eyes. Even after six months, she still wasn’t used to this boyish haircut. She’d taken her rib-length hair and shaved it completely off when she’d left Atlantic City.

  Her long, chocolate hair had been her trademark and she hadn’t had the money or the time to dye it and alter it into another hairstyle. So she’d shaved it down to her scalp.

  Now, it was grown out in a very unattractive style. She looked like a pre-teen boy. And not just from the hairstyle. She was so skinny that her shoulders stuck out. Rebecca opened her towel to get a look at herself and grimaced. She could see every rib above and below her breasts. She looked absolutely terrible.

  Well, maybe that meant that she could eliminate sexual favors from Atlas’s motivations. The man was large and vibrant and muscular. Even with that horrendous beard, she was certain that he could go to any bar, crook a finger, and have girls falling over themselves for him. His beard covered too much of his face to tell if he was handsome or not, but he had kind eyes, a big smile, and there was just something about him.

  Rebecca turned from the mirror and frowned down at her clothes. She really, really didn’t want to put on her dirty clothes. Not only had she been cleaning in them, she’d been sleeping at the shelter in them as well. She only had about three changes of clothes and was only able to afford to wash them every couple of weeks. Now that she’d squeaked herself clean, she could smell her clothes from here.

  He’d mentioned that she could do her laundry. But that would mean being naked in a stranger’s house. Something she really didn’t want to do for any longer than necessary.

  But, not really seeing another way, she fastened the towel around herself and picked up her dirty clothes. She was just headed out to laundry closet when a phone rang from somewhere in Atlas’s apartment. A landline? She’d never heard it ring before. And actually, she’d never even seen it before.

  Shrugging, she ignored it and kept going toward the laundry closet. A second later there was a long beep and then a voice spoke to her from the direction of the kitchen.

  “Ruth? Rudy? Jessica?” Atlas’s voice rang out through the rooms and Rebecca realized that he was leaving a message and hoping she would hear it. “I’m not sure if you’re still over there, but I hope you are. I’m gonna come back in the morning. So, uh, I was serious when I said you should eat my food and stuff. Anything you want. And in case you don’t like to sleep in your clothes, um, I mean, in case you want some jammies, you’re welcome to whatever I have, okay? In my dresser, middle drawer, there’s t-shirts. And… yeah. Okay. Hope I’m talking to you and that you’re there and didn’t split. And I hope you sleep well. Okay. Nighty night.”

  He hung up and Rebecca just blinked at the air. Jammies? Did this man just call her and say jammies? And nighty night?

  “Who the heck is this guy?” she asked the air.

  ***

  Atlas stood outside of his apartment door at seven the next morning, hoping that he wasn’t waking her up. Actually, maybe he hoped that he was waking her up? And that meant that she was still there? And that she’d slept well? He didn’t know what he wanted. All he knew was that he was knocking on his own door and trying not to scare the shit out of his cleaning elf.

  He knocked again and a few seconds later, he heard one, two, three, all four of his locks get pulled open.

  And there she stood, in her own clothes, with wet hair. He could smell his laundry detergent and soap. It filled him with irascible joy to know that she’d, at the very least, used his cleaning products.

  “Morning, Sunshine,” he said, grinning because he couldn’t not grin.

  “Hi,” she said quietly, scurrying back to let him in.

  He kicked off his shoes and stepped around her. “Pancakes?” he asked.

  She blinked at him.

  “I’m gonna make some for myself,” he added. “You want in on the pancake action?”

  She blinked some more and then nodded.

  She was quiet as a mouse, but he could feel her following him toward the kitchen. He glanced around his house and into the guest room as he passed. He’d been hoping to see tousled sheets, or a towel on the floor, anything to indicate that she’d made herself comfortable last night. But no. Everything was as perfect as could be. Either she hadn’t really used anything or she’d gotten up early enough to put everything to rights.

  He sighed. He’d been hoping that he’d arrive here this morning and she’d be a little more open to him than yesterday. That maybe she’d accept his kindness and start to trust him a little bit. But, apparently not. At least she was letting him feed her this morning.

  “Was that an official guess?” she asked from behind him.

  Atlas paused, halfway through unloading pancake fixins from his cabinet and fridge. She’d never spoken to him unprompted before. It filled him up with an intrigued elation.

  “What’s that?”

  “Sunshine,” she clarified. “You just called me Sunshine. Was it an official guess at my name? Or were you just talking?”

  He laughed, delighted that she was acknowledging the name game. “You’ll learn that pretty much I’m always just talking.” He laughed and her face softened just a bit. “No, Sunshine was not an official guess. Unless that’s your name and then I’m taking credit for an incredible guess out of left field.”

  Her face still soft, she wrinkled her nose in that way that had become her way of telling him no.

  He chuckled again and flicked on the radio as he set out to make her pancakes. When he’d flipped them onto two plates he turned and saw that she was sitting patiently at the breakfast bar. Behind her was her cart of cleaning supplies, perfectly packed up.

  “So, you’re headed out after breakfast?” he asked, nodding at the cart.

  “Yes. I have three different houses to clean on Tuesdays.” Her lips set in a thin line and Atlas took the moment to study her.

  Her bruising was worse than yesterday, which meant that it was probably two days out from when she’d gotten hit. It would be at its worst today and then tomorrow it would start to heal. But the soreness wouldn’t let up for at least a few more days. And if her ribs were broken, that could be weeks or months before she stopped feeling those. Maybe longer if she didn’t give herself time to rest and heal.

  He inwardly grimaced at the idea of her cleaning three sepa
rate apartments that day. And he inwardly grimaced at the idea of losing track of her the second she left his door. She was going to leave here, work herself ragged, and then head back to spend the night someplace where she’d gotten the hell beat out of her.

  “Look, Michelle,” he said, playing the name game to lighten the intensity of what he was about to say. “I could dance around this and back into it and find some way to try and get you to accept what I’m about to offer. But you strike me as a smart person who’s been around the block a time or two and I’m willing to bet you’d see right through me. So let me just lay out all my cards.”

  Atlas cut through his steaming pancakes and took a huge, syrupy bite, filling his mouth to the brim and talking around the food. “I’m off work today. I have a car. You have injuries. Let me drive you around today to your jobs. Help you drag that cart to wherever you have to get it. It’s not my job to worry about you—I get that, seeing as we don’t know one another. But either I’m going to worry about you here, alone in my house, or I’m gonna worry about you there, with you, knowing that I’m helping just a little bit. So, come on. Just let me be selfish and help you? That way I don’t have to feel like a complete dipshit, sitting on my ass and eating bonbons while you’re slaving away with broken ribs.”

  She stared at him for a good, long minute and he was certain she was going to skitter away, her food barely touched, and disappear faster than he could snap his fingers. He half expected to blink and see a puff of smoke where she’d just been sitting.

  Instead, she cut into her pancakes. “What exactly is a bonbon?”

  Now, he was the one blinking. She hadn’t said no… Did that mean it was a yes?

  “A cookie, I think? Although,” he considered as he swallowed another gigantic bite, smothered in syrup. “Now that you mention it, whenever I think of a bonbon, I always picture a mini-quiche, but that can’t be right.”

  “I guess we’ll never know.” She kept her eyes on her plate and startled when his hand suddenly came into her view. He was shoving the syrup at her.

  “There’s plenty. You barely used any.”

  She raised an eyebrow at his plate, which had a half inch of syrup pooling at the edges. “Just because I didn’t drown my pancakes doesn’t mean I didn’t use any.”

  He gave her a smile, sopped up more syrup, and decided to push his luck. “So where are we headed for your first job?”

  It might have been the wrong question to ask because she stopped eating and leaned back in her chair. “I’m not going to sleep with you,” she said in a small, firm voice.

  Atlas was only aware that he was open-mouthed and showing her all his pancakes when her eyes flickered down to his mouth. “That is absolutely not what is happening here,” he assured her. But he was vaguely aware that that was exactly what anyone would say, regardless of whether or not it was his motivation. He leaned back and considered how to prove it to her.

  “What if I called you a car service for the day? I’ll stay here, a million miles away from you.”

  She pushed her food around her plate for a while before she looked up at him again. When she spoke again, it was with the same question she’d asked him last night. “Why?”

  He knew what she was asking. He understood. “Hold on just a second, all right? Please don’t leave until I get back.”

  She nodded her head and Atlas slipped out of the room. He dug to the back of his closet and came up with a shoebox filled with photos. As always happened, a shiver ran down his spine when he made contact with it. This shoebox contained more photographic evidence of his shitty childhood than any person needed. And still, every time he saw it, he couldn’t help but hope that hidden somewhere inside of it, there was evidence of good things too. He’d yet to find the good things.

  He brought the box back to the kitchen to see that she’d finished her plate clean while he was gone. Without much thought, he took two pancakes off his own plate and plopped them onto her plate and then started digging through the shoebox for the photo he was looking for.

  He found it and his stomach twisted tight. He was familiar with the photo, but it still fucked him up to see it.

  He handed it over to her and her eyes widened for a minute as she took in the image, bouncing from the photo to his face and back. “You have a twin,” she eventually said.

  “Yup. He lives next door.” Atlas watched her absorb the image, knowing what she was looking at. Two fourteen-year-old boys with their arms around one another, identical twins. They were dirty and wearing ill-fitting clothes. Their bones were too big for their bodies and their eyes were sunken. Signs that they were not getting near enough to eat. One of them was barefoot and the other had toes peeking through one sneaker. They weren’t smiling so much as grimacing.

  Anyone who was just taking a casual look at the photo might think that they’d given one another the black eyes and split lips. That maybe this was a photo taken to commemorate a fight with one another. A battle royale between brothers.

  Nope.

  “I wanna help you,” Atlas started, then when he noticed how much emotion was in his voice, shoved in another bite of pancakes. “Because I know what it’s like to have home be the place you get the shit kicked out of you. And I know what it’s like to go too long between hot meals. And I know what it’s like to feel like everyone in the world is safe except for you. So. Yeah. Lemme help. Lemme call you a cab or drive you around and schlep your cart all over. I’m not gonna make your life worse. I swear. I’m not gonna make your life worse.”

  Her hand shook as she set the photo down. She was quiet for a long time before she finally gave him her eyes again. “Just for today,” she whispered.

  He felt like dancing. Instead he just threw one fist in the air and dropped his head down. When he looked up, she was rolling her eyes at his dramatics, but he didn’t care. This was a win.

  ***

  Rebecca wondered when exactly it was that she’d lost her royal mind. Maybe it was when she, wrapped in nothing but a towel, had gone into Atlas’s room and found a big old t-shirt to sleep in. Or maybe it was after she’d switched her laundry to the dryer and slid under the delightfully heavy covers in the guest bedroom and gotten her first eight hours of uninterrupted sleep in six months. Maybe it was when she’d woken up, the sun just coming up, around five a.m., and she’d watched the curtains playing lightly in the air from the ceiling fan.

  She hadn’t had the dream. For the first time in six months she hadn’t woken up with sweat covering her even as she shivered. She hadn’t had to blink visions of blood and last, gasping breaths out of her mind. She hadn’t had to relive those hours of running. Rainy streets, turning her ankle again and again in her high heels. Sprinting into the night to get away from a murderer. A murderer who was no doubt chasing her.

  Nope. She hadn’t had that foul dream and she’d slept like she was in a Nyquil commercial.

  She’d been comfortable. And safe. And rested. And clean.

  And she’d thought, you know what? Maybe I won’t sneak out right now.

  She’d stayed. She’d put her sheets through the wash, re-made the bed, folded the guest towels, and gathered up her cleaning supplies before she’d decided, at the last second, to take one more shower. And then she’d gotten dressed in her freshly-clean clothes and she’d done the most insane thing of all.

  She’d waited for him to come home.

  In any version of this story in her head, she would have split as soon as she’d woken up. But somewhere between the voicemail he’d left her and the full night’s sleep, she just, sorta, forgot to fear him at all costs.

  Not that he didn’t have the capability to scare the hell out of her. Obviously he was still a very large, very strange man. She hadn’t gone completely off the deep end and done something crazy like trust him. But still, last night had been a better night than she’d had in years. And she at least owed him a serious, heartfelt thank you.

  So, she’d stayed.

  And then th
ere were pancakes and syrup and big bites and finally, the photo he’d shown her. God help her, she believed him.

  Of course, people could be motivated by more than one thing, but she really believed that he’d sensed her desperation and had legitimately wanted to help.

  She figured she could be skeptical of that, she could be offended by that, or she could be grateful for that. She went with a little bit of all three of those options.

  And still found herself in the front seat of his bright blue Chevy Bolt. He made the car jounce on its struts when he thumped his big body into the driver’s seat.

  “What?” he asked her, his brow furrowed at the expression on her face.

  “I guess I’m just a little surprised that this is your car…”

  He grinned. “Yeah. Because it’s an electric car? Or because of the girly color?”

  She thought hard. “I guess I was expecting an Escalade? Or maybe a motorcycle?”

  He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, you can be bad ass and save the earth at the same time.”

  She watched the backs of his tattooed hands on the steering wheel and had to concede that he was right. For some reason, the silly car suited him. It made his hardcore beard and tats stick out even more. He kinda looked like he’d just jacked this car from some schmuck in Connecticut.

  “Actually,” he continued on. “I would never have thought about getting an electric car, but my buddy, Cedric, his girl is an environmentalist and she talked me into it.” He was a slow, kinda cautious driver and Rebecca felt her brow furrow as she realized this. She’d expected him to be a pedal-to-the-metal kind of guy. But there he sat, with his blonde hair flopping over his mirrored aviators, checking his blind spot.

  He laughed to himself. “I don’t know why I called Elena Cedric’s girl. That’s dumb. I mean, she is his girl. But she’s also one of my closest friends. I should have introduced her that way. Kind of sexist otherwise.”