by Freya Barker
Dimas is already waiting outside and motions for us to follow him to a service door around the side of the building.
“What’s going on?” Kyle asks again, but before I have a chance to shut him up, Dimi has him up against a wall, a forearm cutting off his air.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” he spits in Steele’s terrified face.
“Dimi...” I try to get his attention, but he is on a roll.
“You self-centered fuck! You don’t care how much havoc you wreak as long as you get what you want—am I right?”
“Dimi,” I call out a little firmer, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, but still he won’t let go. Steele’s eyes are bulging out of his face.
“Fuck. Dimas!” I finally yell, wrapping my arms around him from behind and wrestling him off the guy, who collapses, gasping for air.
“What the fuck is going on?” Yanis storms into the empty storage space and casts one look at Steele’s crumpled form before turning his focus on us. “Anyone?” he bellows.
It takes his brother only two minutes to fill us in, and then all three of us turn our glares on the man on the floor.
“We need to be sharp,” Yanis finally announces. “Get hotel surveillance video from one to five early Monday morning, ASAP,” he starts barking out orders. “And go over it frame-by-frame. Tag anyone you spot by time and location, and call the office the minute you’ve got something so Radar can pull as much background info he can get his hands on. I’ll get Bree to put out her feelers with our contacts in the police department. We need to know where they are at all times. No time to waste.”
I don’t bother answering and neither does Dimi. This is what Yanis is good at, damage control and delegating. We all have our roles within PASS, Dimi and I are more hands on than, for instance, Radar or Bree, who spend most of their time in the office. Radar is a former hacker, now our resident techie, and Bree has a background in social work and focuses on behavioral analysis and liaising with authorities when needed.
I lift my chin in acknowledgment and with one last pointed look, Yanis heads for the door, where he turns around, his hand on the knob.
“You—” he barks at Steele, who in the meantime has scrambled to his feet, his face white as a sheet. “You’re coming with me. I’ll let you explain to Drexler how you managed to put a sixty-five million dollar project at risk.”
“I REMEMBER SEEING HER.” I point at the screen where Dimi just spotted the redhead dragging her garbage bags to the front desk.
“Rosie Perkins, forty-two,” Dimi says, scrolling through the personnel files. “Assigned to housekeeping and on nightshift per request, according to her file. Hasn’t been here quite a year, and from what I can see in the note, doesn’t have a blemish to her name.”
“Rosie short for something?”
Dimi turns his head slowly away from the screen and eyes me with one eyebrow raised. “Come again?”
“Rosie—is that her full name? Not Rosanne, or Rosalind, or something like that?”
“It just says Rosie. Why?”
I shrug, not quite sure myself why that seems important, but something about the woman nags at me.
“She was chatting with the front desk clerk that night. I talked to him when I was trying to find Steele, but I never checked with her. I probably should.”
“She’s off Mondays and Tuesdays. Her next shift starts at eight tonight,” he informs me.
“Good. I’ll catch her when she gets here.”
CHAPTER 3
JAKE
“Hey.”
Her eyes grow big in her small face, as she swings around at my voice, and presses her back into that ugly as shit rust bucket she drives. When I approach, her hand comes up and slaps against her chest, right where the skin shows over her V-neck shirt. My eyes are automatically drawn to the dusting of freckles over her generous cleavage. It takes effort to lift my gaze up to meet the fear swimming in hers. She casts a quick glance around the quiet parking lot before finally coming back to me.
“Yes?”
Her voice is soft, like her body, and a little breathless. If I wasn’t watching as she tries to disappear into the ratty wood paneling on her piece of shit car, I could’ve sworn she was trying to seduce me with that near-whisper.
I’m well aware of the intimidating presence I have. I actually work at my dark, forbidding exterior. At just shy of six feet, it’s important to maintain my bulk with exercise. I don’t really smile, generally have little reason, and have what Bree jokingly calls, a resting asshole face. With my mostly black clothes and gravelly voice, I usually capitalize on the badass vibe I give off, but I don’t even know if she’s seen anything. I’m not getting any satisfaction seeing this woman cower in front of me, and scaring her may be premature.
So I wrestle my face into what I hope is a passable smile and soften my voice.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” I assure her, reaching out and touching her lightly on the shoulder, before quickly pulling my hand back, flexing my fingers.
ROSIE
Holy crap.
He spooked me, calling out like that.
Especially after seeing the heavy police presence on Third Street. I have no idea what’s going on, but it makes me uneasy.
I’m always aware of my surroundings, especially at night. A habit I brought back with me from the big city, where such vigilance was merited. I have to admit, spinning around to see the dangerous-looking security guy I’ve occasionally ogled approaching, turned the initial cold stab of fear into something a bit warmer.
My heart is still beating in my throat, but right now almost as much in excitement as in fear. The man is hot, in capital letters. His voice is rough, but quiet, and my mind instantly associates it with a lazy morning in bed. I can feel myself blush at the wildly inappropriate leap my imagination takes. Sadly these are the thoughts of a woman with no life to speak of. The mind is where all the fun stuff happens, because it isn’t happening anywhere else.
His words are intended to soothe, as is his touch, but the brief brush of his fingers on my shoulders has the effect of a cattle prod. It sets off a charge that seems to spread along my skin in a hot tingle.
Yowza.
“I just got here myself, and heard about what happened. Came back out to have a look when I saw you.” He tilts his head to one side, and I’m so focused on his face, it’s all I can do not to mirror his move. “You work the nightshift, right? Name’s Jake—my team provides security for the movie people, I’ve seen you around.”
I nod stupidly, still a bit flustered that I’m standing here talking to him. Well, technically he’s talking to me, since my mouth doesn’t seem to be working.
“I do, and I know. I’m Rosie,” I manage—barely—sounding more like a phone sex operator than a middle-aged spinster on a dry spell the size of the Mojave Desert. I clear my throat and try for a more natural tone. “You mentioned something happened?”
“Yeah, behind one of the restaurants on the next block.” I notice he doesn’t specify what and is looking at me closely as he continues. “They say it probably happened in the last couple of days. It wasn’t discovered until this morning when someone took the garbage out.”
My skin goes clammy as my mind travels back to an incident I’d all but forgotten over the weekend.
“Discovered what exactly?” I cringe at the note of anxiety in my voice, and quickly try to hide it with a smile.
“Homeless guy. Found him dead beside the dumpster. Crushed.”
There is no hiding my shocked intake of breath. My thoughts start spinning. The sound of a crash. An engine revving. The familiar face behind the wheel, belonging to a man who used to make my heart beat faster, but has lost all his appeal since he almost ran me over.
“My God,” I whisper, my hand covering my mouth.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jake apologizes, his hand once again reaching out, giving my shoulder a squeeze before dropping it back to his side. This time his touch helps
to anchor me when it feels like the ground is shifting under my feet. “Really,” he continues, “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“No, no,” I jump in; masking the panic I feel encroaching me. “It’s just so horrifying, and sad. Crushed?”
He nods somberly. “Pretty horrific scene from what I hear. I just came out here to see if I could find out anything more.”
I wrap my arms around myself protectively, trying to ward off the shakes that want to take over. I’m eager to go inside where I can hide out in the laundry room and gather my thoughts.
“Afraid I can’t help you there.” I force an apologetic smile. “I should go in or I’ll be late for my shift.”
“Of course,” he acknowledges and steps out of the way when I start moving around him. But I can feel his eyes on my back all the way inside.
“THE COPS ARE PROBABLY gonna want to talk to you too.”
Grant steals another bite from my half-eaten sandwich. He’s welcome to it. I have no appetite, but tried to force myself to eat a little anyway.
I never mentioned Monday morning’s incident to anybody. Had my hands full of daily life with Mom. I probably would’ve gotten around to telling Grant, but now I’m not so sure I should. Something tells me to be real careful about sharing any information—with anyone.
Especially since I’m not even quite sure what I’ve heard or seen. Hell, I don’t want to be responsible for ruining someone’s career by jumping to conclusions. What a mess.
“When did they talk to you?” I ask nervously.
“Were waiting for me when I got in. I guess they have an approximate time pinned down. They have a witness who heard a crash in the early morning hours on Monday. They’re checking with anyone who was on the nightshift. Not only here, I just got off the phone with Marvin. He’s the concierge at the Hampton Inn across the road, and the brother of a tall lean hunk of brown sugar I used to date. He says the cops are there, questioning their staff as well.”
“They have a witness?” I repeat the one piece of information I’m stuck on.
“Apparently.” Grant shrugs as he takes another bite, before mumbling through a full mouth, “Marvin’s wife is a police dispatcher. He gets all the dirt.”
If there is someone else, a witness to the incident, it takes some of the pressure off me. I’ve been struggling about what to do, and this may leave me off the hook.
Don’t get me wrong, I want to do the right thing, but I’m not quite sure what that is. I have my mother to take into consideration, since everything I do relates directly to her. I’m well aware it’s cowardly to stick my head in the sand and pretend I don’t know anything, but the only way I can create some order, in the chaos that is my life, is by tightly controlling any parts I can. There are already too many erratically moving pieces. The moment I open my mouth about the incident Monday in the parking lot, it’ll be like throwing myself off a cliff into raging waters. I just know it.
“Ms. Perkins?” I start at the voice behind me. “Officer Bergland with the Grand Junction PD. I have a few questions for you.”
JAKE
“She knows.”
Dimi’s head twists away from the monitor.
My eyes are still focused on the lobby, where we just watched Rosie almost jump out of her sneakers, when the officer approached her. On the screen, I see the officer gesture to the small office behind the front desk, and Rosie rubbing the palms of her hands on her jeans as she precedes him inside.
“You sure?” Dimi wants to know, probably sensing my hesitation.
A student, renting a studio apartment over the pizza place facing the north side of the alley, came forward with information. We checked it out to see if it would be damaging to our client. Yanis had been able to find out that other than hearing the crash, the sound of a car engine, and the approximate time of night, she wasn’t able to give any more information. On its own not necessarily a threat, but if someone can place Steele out and about during that time, it would become problematic. We have the bartender at the club taken care of, the night clerk never saw Steele leave the hotel bar, so that leaves only the skittish redhead with the big green eyes. Fuck. Part of me hoped that matters would be taken out of our hands when word of a witness came down. I really don’t want to lean on Ms. Rosie Perkins, but it may be unavoidable if we have any hope of keeping our client out of this.
Personally, I don’t give a flying fuck if that entitled asswipe goes down. In fact, I’d happily report the bastard myself, if not for what it would mean to the future of PASS and all my colleagues. Not to mention what it means for the future of this movie and all the people whose livelihood depends on it.
I never realized how many people are involved in a major production like this. The rich and famous are only a small percentage, compared to the many small cogs that keep the machine moving and are dependent on its survival. For someone who for years disregarded morals and ethics, I feel surprisingly conflicted.
The worst part is, I had some time tonight to go over the extensive background file on Rosie Perkins, Radar was able to pull together in a handful of hours. Life has not exactly been kind to the woman, and it’s about to get even worse.
Sonofabitch.
“She knows,” I repeat, turning my eyes to my friend. “But I don’t think she’s telling.”
“Why?”
I shake my head, taking a moment to sort my thoughts. “She would’ve said something when I talked to her outside.” I quickly raise my hand to cut Dimi off. I know he’s going to grill me, but I feel strongly about this. “If that’s not enough, the one person she would’ve told right away, would be him.” I point at the monitor where the night clerk is still chewing on the remains of a sandwich, apparently not too concerned with his friend who is being questioned by police. “If she told him anything, his eyes would be glued to that damn door.” I give Dimi a chance to check the screen, before I finish, “And finally, she rubbed her palms on her legs, which means she’s nervous. People don’t get nervous about telling the truth, they’re nervous about lying.”
The last comment earns me a nod.
“Point taken, but how do we—” he starts asking before I cut him off.
“I’ll make sure. Let me handle Rosie Perkins.”
ROSIE
I suck at lying. Was never any good at it.
I’m generally good at reading body language, though, and this officer’s body screams ambivalence.
Sticking as close as possible to the truth seemed the way to go, but when he asks me once again if I saw or heard anything when I dumped the garbage and got in my car on Monday morning, I’m starting to doubt.
Before I have a chance to panic at the thought I may now have committed a crime by giving a false statement to the police, Officer Bergland snaps shut his notebook and stands. I leap up in relief and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans again.
“Guess that’s all I need, for now. We may have some follow-up questions at a later time,” he announces, appearing slightly annoyed when I just nod with my lips pressed tightly together. He reaches out his hand and I automatically reach out my own. “I’ve got your information and will be in touch.”
His tone, and the fact he’s still holding onto me, suddenly gives off an uncomfortable vibe and I quickly retrieve my hand. Suppressing a shiver, I watch his eyes take a slow gander of my attributes before raising an eyebrow at me. He turns and walks out the door, leaving me feeling in need of a shower. Ugh.
I wave at Grant, who is busy with a guest, when I enter the lobby. I’ll have to fill him in later; work won’t wait.
The gym is deserted when I haul my cleaning cart down the hall, on the way to clean the women’s locker room. No one seems to be working out, or in the adjoining pool, which closes at midnight, only ten minutes away. The gym stays open all the time.
It doesn’t take me long to clean the locker rooms, and when I head over to do the gym, I hear splashing coming from the pool area. A quick glance at my watch shows a few minut
es past twelve. Odd—normally security would have locked it up. Maybe they have their hands full with the police presence. Not my place to enforce the rules, but I can give a gentle reminder. After all, I have to get in there to clean, and I’d prefer to do that without someone looking over my shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I call out, sticking my head around the door. A dark head pops out of the water, using a hand to wipe the strands from a familiar face. A very handsome face, which days ago would’ve had me giddy with excitement, but now has me swallow hard. “The pool is closed, you can’t be in here,” I finish in a much more subdued tone.
“I don’t think we’ve met before.” The charming smile, directed at me as Kyle Steele makes his way over to my side of the pool, reminds me of the Cheshire cat: big and toothy, slightly foreboding. “Do you know who I am?”
If I weren’t turned off on the guy already, that last question would’ve surely done the trick. Who asks that? Conceited ass. My unease is quickly replaced by anger.
“I’m afraid this area is off-limits, Mr. Steele,” I enforce, letting him know that yes, I know who the hell he is, but I don’t care.
“Surely you can make an exception? I’ve had a hard day and the water helps me relax.” I watch in amazement as he actually bats his eyelashes at me. It has no effect on me, other than to elicit a snort, which seems to confuse him.
“Afraid not. I need to clean this area.”
Clearly not used to taking no for an answer, the man makes his way to the edge of the pool and hauls himself up on the edge, making sure every single muscle on his body ripples with the effort. A body that should absolutely be illegal, it’s so pretty. Picture perfect, with the water sluicing down from his chiseled chest and abs.
It occurs to me how absolutely unfair it is that a man only seven or so years younger than me, can make me feel old enough to be his damn mother. And isn’t it sad I finally find myself in the middle of one of my favorite fantasy scenarios, and yet am wishing I could be anywhere else? Especially when he slowly stalks toward me.