Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ROSIE

Conversation ceases in the station when Nicole and Damien come in, guided by Officer Richards. She left us at her desk with Officer Nutman, who has spent the last three and half minutes-slash-eternity telling us about his idea for edible dental floss as if he hadn’t been throwing passive-aggressive and aggressive-aggressive threats at us for the previous hour.

Maybe he prefers to pitch to people who are under the threat of arrest because they’re not in a position to tell him it’s a godawful idea.

Nicole’s hair is in utter disarray that suggests they’re five minutes late because she and Damien decided to get their quickie in before coming. She’s wearing a shirt that says My sister-in-law sucks. I swallow.

“Thank God,” Anthony mutters, possibly because Officer Nutman seems to have come around to the idea that he might really be rich, and this whole pitch is leading to a request for funding. I wonder if that happens to him a lot.

“Oh, it’s you,” Nicole says as they get closer, snapping her fingers and pointing at Officer Nutman. He palls noticeably.

“You know each other?” I ask, both fascinated and worried that it could lead to our arrest.

“Sadly. And we know this guy, too,” she says, indicating Anthony. “That’s Anthony Rosing Smith, certified super rich guy.” She pulls a piece of paper out of her purse and shoves it at Officer Nutman, who takes it with a scowl.

He glances at what looks like a photocopy of Anthony’s driver’s license, presumably from the paperwork he put together for Nicole and Damien, then says, “Look, you’re telling me you know this man, and I suppose you must. But I still don’t see it.”

Sighing, she takes a sharpie from the container of pens on Officer Richards’s desk and draws a beard on the photocopy of Anthony’s license.

An amazed “huh” escapes Officer Nutman as he studies the picture from various angles.

“Why don’t we go to an interrogation room to talk?” Damien suggests.

“I think we’d prefer to leave,” Anthony says stiffly. “It’s been a long, unnecessary night.”

A little gasp must leave my lips, because he turns to me and adds, “This last misadventure, I mean.”

“I could get you in on the ground floor, with the Flossnacks,” Officer Nutman says. “That’s trademarked, you know. Did the whole paperwork and everything.”

“No, thank you,” Anthony tells him stiffly. “I work mostly in real estate.”

“We all need to have a talk in the conference room,” Damien repeats, this time to Anthony. “Do you think it’s a coincidence someone called the cops on you the same week someone threatened your mother?”

I feel like an idiot for not having considered that possibility sooner, but the expression on Anthony’s face suggests he hadn’t thought of it either.

“What’s this, now?” Nutman says.

Officer Richards sighs and grabs his coffee from his slackened hand, taking a sip. Her eyes lift in surprise. “Is there whiskey in this?”

He pulls it away from her. “Try that again, and I’m going to file an internal complaint against you.”

She heaves a weary sigh. “Why don’t I handle this, Nutman? You can go take a rest in the breakroom.”

He considers her offer before briskly nodding. “Well…all right. But don’t let them walk all over you, Jolene. Make sure you’re the one holding the carrot and the stick.”

“You’re into kink, aren’t you, Nutman?” Nicole says with a grin. “I could tell the moment I met you.”

Damien murmurs something to her, possibly shut the fuck up , because, surprisingly, she does shut up, and Officer Richards leads the four of us into a room that’s empty other than a little rectangular table surrounded by six wire chairs. I glance at Anthony as I sit, and he smiles at me, but this isn’t a real smile. It’s the kind he gave out to patrons at the bar tonight and probably clients at work—a placating smile meant for other people. I give him a return smile that probably looks the same.

“Can I get you anything?” Officer Richards asks.

“Coffee with whiskey sounds pretty good,” Nicole says.

“We’re fresh out,” the officer tells her. She glances at Anthony, who looks like he would rather be anywhere in the universe than this small, stuffy little room. I can relate. It feels like years ago, not hours, when we were gliding around the heaps of supplies in the warehouse, dancing to Cyndi Lauper.

I should have let him kiss me.

I should have let him, and now maybe the moment is gone forever.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” Officer Richards says as she folds her hands on the tabletop. “My colleague can be a little…reactionary, and we did get a phone call telling us someone was seen breaking and entering.”

Anthony gives me a sidelong glance. “Did this person by any chance sound like a thirteen-year-old in an adult’s body?”

“Dom wouldn’t do this!” I say, bumping him with my shoulder. “He’s our friend.”

Anthony gives me a stern look. “And he was there when it happened. Him and Gene.”

“Gene looks like he’d sleep through a hurricane.”

His expression firms, his jaw giving off major Mr. Darcy vibes. “If they didn’t do it, they might have seen someone else at the building.”

“Actually,” the officer says, adjusting in her chair. “The person who called in the tip was using a voice scrambler.

“And you didn’t find that suspicious?” Damien asks as he settles back in his seat, as comfortable here as he seems to be everywhere.

“I did,” she corrects. “But you’d be surprised how often it happens now that it’s so easy for people to access this sort of thing. Everyone’s got some kind of skeleton in their closet, some reason they think we might bust them.”

I know I must be imagining it, but it feels like every person in the room turns to stare at me.

“Well, it wasn’t Dom,” I repeat, trying to sound calmer than I feel.

“Sure,” Officer Richards says in the same voice she uses to placate her idiot partner. “Of course not.” Turning to Anthony, she adds, “Now, tell me about the threat to your mother.”

Ultimately, Officer Richards says she’ll send someone to do a search of the warehouse. The call might have come from a concerned citizen, or someone who was hiding something in the warehouse and didn’t want the owner to find out.

Anthony gave me a significant look when she said that part, and I had to admit—to myself—that it didn’t seem entirely impossible that Dom might have been hiding weed or limited edition nerdy collector cards in the warehouse. Gene either, for that matter.

The third possibility is that the person who sent the threat to Mrs. Rosings also made the call, just to let Anthony know they’re watching.

I like that possibility least of all.

What happened in the warehouse was our moment, and someone took it from us. That makes me furious.

I’m grateful for the fury, mostly.

I’d much rather be furious than scared.

After our talk with Officer Richards, Nicole and Damien drive Anthony to his office, but before he can get out, I reach for his hand. He turns to me, his eyes intense, the gray so alive and deep tonight. It’s like galaxies writhe within them.

On second thought, maybe I need more sleep.

“I didn’t get you your ice cream, but I will,” he says. “It’s on my bucket list. We can cross that off before we go riding.”

“You still want to do all of that?” I feel something that had been broken earlier inside of me be rebuilt. I’d figured after the last couple of nightmare hours he would decide this side quest with me was too much trouble and he’d be better off aligning himself with someone unlikely to cause him any grief. Like Leigh, the accountant.

He smiles at me. “All of it.”

“But you haven’t picked out the rest of your list.”

“I will. Anything to get to number five.”

Then he gives me a smile that shows both dimples, and it’s a religious experience, especially since his hand is still tucked within mine. I run my finger over the back, not wanting to let go even though I know it’s time.

Heat radiates through me as I admit, “I agree.”

“We could go for some McWhatsits now,” Nicole says. “I know they never like to make those ice cream things at night, but if they try to tell me their machine’s broken, I’m gonna say I’ll come in and fix it, if you know what I mean.”

“They want to get ice cream together , Nic,” Damien says, reaching over and ruffling her hair. “Alone.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Anthony tells me, and then he lifts my hand and kisses the palm before leaving the car. That makes two times someone’s kissed my hand, but this time I get to curl my fingers around it. I do exactly that as I watch him enter the office building to get his wallet, taking in the length and breadth of him. Admiring him in a way I haven’t really let myself before tonight. Because I’ve let myself imagine possibilities that probably aren’t possible.

Nicole glances back at me, her eyes sharp. “So, now you’re going to tell us everything, obviously.”

I sigh as Damien pulls away from the curb. “Where are we going?”

“To the Golden Arches, baby,” Nicole says. “You awakened a craving. But you might as well get started. What’s preventing you from volunteering as tribute for that hot piece?”

I can see Damien’s lips twitch in the rearview mirror. I can’t blame him. I’d probably be laughing too if I weren’t at the center of this thing.

“He’s nearly a stranger,” I say, even if that doesn't feel quite true. “Marrying him would be a terrible idea for us both.

Nicole turns in her seat as Damien maneuvers the car. “One,” she says, jutting out a finger, “You’d both get lots of money. Two, if it didn’t work out, you could get divorced. No harm, no foul. He’d have the money, you’d have the money, and divorce is no big deal for most people. My mom’s done it twice. Three, it would be very entertaining for all of us, and we’d probably get more invitations to Smith House. I’m guessing Mrs. Rosings throws some quality parties.”

“You obviously know about my brother’s upcoming proposal,” I say, gesturing toward her shirt.

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I knew before he did.”

My lips lift slightly before drooping. “Well…I’m not going to ruin that for them. And I’m definitely not going to ruin Anthony’s inheritance for him either. That would be a dick move, and whenever possible, I try not to be a dick.”

She gives me some more of her laser stare. “This isn’t just you worrying about burning your fake identity. I’ve told you and your brother it’s solid. It won’t break.” She stares at me. “So what’s it about?”

I take a deep breath and stare out the window, watching the city pass by. “I… My brothers don’t know this. Only my uncle knew. But I got arrested when I was younger. As Rosie O’Malley. It was for something incredibly stupid, but my prints are on record. If anyone looks them up, they’ll know exactly who I am.”

“Fuckkkk.” Nicole draws out the word as she angles herself sideways in her seat so she can be in my face when she says, “What’d you do anyway? Rob a 7-11? I’ve been tempted before. Everyone knows those places are supposed to be 24-7, but we tried to get a midnight Slurpee one night after a stakeout, and it was closed. Damien had to hold me back.”

“No,” I say, incapable of laughing right now. “I got drunk and climbed into a hedge maze and got lost. This guy convinced me to do it. It wasn’t a proud moment.”

She winces. “Stealing Slurpees would have been cooler.”

“Agreed.”

“Wait, who’s the guy? You’re not already married, are you?”

“No, thank God. His name was Jay. I was engaged to him for a hot minute, but I found out he was already married when his wife called to chew me out. He doesn’t matter, though.”

There’s a flash of yellow lights, and then Damien’s turning off the highway. “I think drive-thru would be best,” he adds with humor in his tone as he joins the short line of cars weaving around the building. Apparently, Nicole is not the only person who wants late-night ice cream.

“I’m good,” I say. “Nothing for me.”

“There’s not a single situation ice cream makes worse,” Nicole says, then nods to Damien and holds up two fingers.

I shrug, because it’s a decent point.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about all of this before now?” Damien asks, giving me the look of a disapproving father. He can’t be more than a decade older than me, but it sticks the landing, dammit.

I glance down at my hands. “I didn’t want my brothers to freak out, and it seemed like it wouldn’t matter.”

“I tell you what. This wasn’t on my bingo card,” Nicole says, slapping the glove box. “This year really wants to go out with a bang, doesn’t it?”

Earlier, dancing with Anthony, I felt like I was floating. But now the past is wrapping around me, as if it has a mind to give me concrete shoes and sink me in the East River.

If I were a good person, I’d text Anthony right now and double down on trying to push him into a platonic marriage with Leigh the accountant. I’d say that maybe things will be different in the future—a year from now, two. Never, if that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

But I want Saturday. I want it.

I’ve devoted most of my life to helping other people figure out their wants, and this is something I want.

“You know, the solution could be for you to never do anything that could possibly get you arrested,” Nicole muses.

“I’m not very good at that,” I admit with a sigh.

Through the fuzz in my mind, I hear Damien pull up to loudspeaker. “Yes, we’ll have three McFlurries. Make them large.”