Leah Braemel - Personal Protection

“It’s too late for apologies, you fucking bastard. Rosie’s gone.” His voice caught in his throat.

“No, she’s not.”

“I went straight to her apartment once you let me go. Her neighbor said she’d come home but left ten minutes later with a suitcase. I’ve tried phoning her Berry, but she’s not answering, I’ve texted her. I’ve checked with her friends and either they don’t know or they’re not telling me. I even phoned her parents and they don’t know where she is.”

“I know where she is, Sam.”

Sam pushed his knee harder into Mark’s back, tightened his hold on his arms. “Where? Where is she? You tell me now, damn it!”

“Let me up first.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Sam rolled off of him and leaned against the couch. He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Where is she? And how do you know?”

“Andy drove her to the airport. She’s gone to visit her brother in Puerto Rico.”

“I have to go.” Now he had direction again, he jumped to his feet. “I’ve gotta arrange a flight. I’ve gotta find her, tell her I love her.”

“Sam.”

He picked up the phone. Shit, he didn’t know the number of the travel agent. Damn, it was after midnight, they’d be closed anyway. He’d have to phone the airline directly, book a seat himself. Ignoring Mark, he hurried into his study and grabbed the phone book.

“Sam,” Mark had followed him and now leaned against the doorframe, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops, “Rosie was pretty upset. She may not listen to you. She may not even want to see you. Not for a while yet. Maybe you should let her calm down for a couple days.”

He put the book down, willing the threatening panic away. “Don’t you see? I have to go after her, I have to try. I have to tell her I love her and I want to marry her and… I have to make her listen. If I have to get on my knees and beg, I will.”

Rosie pulled on her collar as the chilly December wind blew down Zerega Avenue, taking her breath away. When she reached the familiar white wrought-iron fence at the corner, she turned right.

She should have stayed in D.C., or at least used her ticket to Puerto Rico as she’d originally planned instead of running home to New York.

Her parents had sensed something was wrong when she’d arrived out of the blue. Her mother immediately started questioning her, but she wasn’t ready to talk about Sam. Not yet. So she’d come up with an excuse that she had a meeting at the Hauberk offices and booked it out of there first thing that morning.

Instead of going to the office, having to face Rick’s inquisition, of possibly having him phone Sam to find out why she was back in the city, she’d spent the day examining the Christmas displays in the shops. When the cold grew too much, she took refuge in the Guggenheim. But no matter where she went, no matter how hard she tried to pretend Sam didn’t exist, she couldn’t convince herself that the constant ache in her chest was jet lag.

As she reached the warm vestibule of her parents’ building, she heard voices at the top of the stairs.

“You broke my daughter’s heart. You think I don’t know why she came home to her mama?”

“I know I did, Mrs. Ramos. That’s why I’m here.”

Sam. He’d followed her.

She hurried up to her family’s apartment and found Sam standing in the doorway, her mother blocking the door, her arms folded across her chest. Her gaze dipped down to check his right hand to see if he still wore the ring, but he’d stuck his hands in his coat pockets. Surely he wouldn’t be still wearing it if he were here.

“You made my Rosie cry.”

“Mama!”

Sam turned at her call. “Rosie! God, I’ve missed-”

“No, no, no.” Her mother insinuated herself between Sam and the top of the stairs, forcing Rosie to stay on the second step. “You don’t try to sweet talk my Rosie, you big oso.”

“Mama,” Rosie whispered. “It’s all right, you don’t need to protect me. And for heaven’s sake, I wasn’t crying.”

When her mother switched to Spanish, Rosie didn’t bother to tell her that Sam would understand every word. “You think you can fool your mama? You think I couldn’t tell from your eyes this morning that you weren’t crying half the night? Or that I wouldn’t hear it in your voice, or see it as you drag yourself around like a puppy that had been kicked?”

Sheesh, did her mother have some hidden camera in her room? And what was wrong with her eyes-she’d looked in the mirror this morning just in case and they’d looked fine. Maybe Rick should think about hiring her mom to do interrogations. Heck, Homeland Security should hire her.

She chanced a glance at Sam and instead of the amused grin she’d expected him to be wearing, he looked mortified.

“Senora Ramos,” not taking his eyes from Rosie, Sam addressed her mother in their own language though he used a European Spanish rather than their Puerto Rican, “I never meant to hurt Rosie, and I certainly never-”

“Sa-a-m.” Rosie clenched her teeth together. He was going about this all wrong if he wanted to win over her mother. He needed to smooth talk her, compliment her, not admit he was wrong. Once he’d shown a weakness, her mother would never let him forget it. But depending on what he was here to say, maybe she didn’t want him to charm her mother.

“Let the man speak, cariсo.” Her mother lowered her voice and spoke out one side of her mouth, still not getting that Sam could understand every word. Or maybe she did, but just didn’t care. “It doesn’t hurt for a man to grovel once in a while. Especially when he’s hurt someone he loves.”

“Mama, Mr. Watson’s my boss.” God help her if her mother discovered she’d been sleeping with him without benefit of a wedding ring.

“Pssht.” Her mother batted her hand in Rosie’s direction. “You’re in love with him, Rosie, don’t argue with your mama. If Mr. Watson’s here looking for you-at your home-that means he loves you too.”

Rosie stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Sam however hadn’t taken his eyes off her, the heat from them as intense as a laser beam.

“You come in, Mr. Watson, you talk with my daughter. Tell her how sorry you are that you made her need to run home to her mama and papa.”

“Mama!”

Her mother grabbed her arm and hauled her into their apartment only half-whispering, but loud enough that Sam, who was following, could hear. “He’s not married, is he? If he is, I’ll get rid of him, don’t you worry.”

“No, Mrs. Ramos, I’m not married. And Rosie came home because she knew it was the only way I’d listen to her.”

“Ay, my Rosie tries to teach you a lesson, no? And what did you not want to listen to that was so important?”

“That the past is the past, and she’s my future.” His voice grew soft, soothing.

Rosie forced her legs to keep walking away from him instead of turning around. She knew if she looked at him, she’d melt and accept everything he said.

“Ah.” Her mother stopped in the middle of the room and pushed Rosie toward the couch. “Sit. Both of you. I’ll get coffee and some nice cake I baked this morning.”

When she started to shrug off her jacket, Sam’s hands brushed hers. The electricity between them still crackling, she dropped her hands. He folded her jacket and laid it neatly over the arm of her father’s chair, and stroked it once before turning back to her.

Feeling dwarfed by him, feeling the walls closing in about her, she took a step away from his towering presence but couldn’t go any farther because of the Christmas tree jammed into the corner of the tiny room.

Once, twice, she opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words.